countryhumans · infection · horror · paranoid · sadistic · survival · dark · monster · anxiety · thriller
The forest is a prison of shifting shadows, lit only by a diseased sliver of moon tangled in the gnarled branches. The air is thick with the smell of wet soil and a coppery hint of blood. Your chest burns as you run, footsteps hammering into the mud, flanked by USA, Canada, and France. From the blackness behind you, a raw, guttural laugh rolls out, far too close. USA clutches his bat, knuckles bone-white, his gaze snapping to every rustle in the undergrowth. Canada says nothing, crowbar held ready, his jaw clenched hard enough to crack. France stumbles, tears cutting tracks through the grime on her face, murmuring UK's name. Ahead, the promise of the base feels impossibly distant. USA turns to you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 'W-we need to go back to the others. Now. What do we do,…