I no longer know how long I have been walking. The air grows heavier with every step, and the beam of my torch is beginning to weaken. At first, I believed the sounds around me were nothing more than echoes. Water dripping through old pipes. Metal contracting in the cold. My own footsteps returning from the darkness.
I was wrong.
There is something here.
At first I tried to explain what I heard. Lack of oxygen. Exhaustion. Fear. But explanations become harder to believe with every passing hour.
I hear howls somewhere ahead. Sometimes I catch movement beyond the edge of the light. Shapes. Figures. Things that seem human for a moment before disappearing into the darkness again.
I still have ammunition. Enough to defend myself against anything made of flesh and bone. But what use is a rifle if the torch finally dies? What use is a weapon if the light disappears and I am left alone in the dark?
Every time I stop, the sounds stop with me.
Every time I begin to walk again, they move as well.
They are following me.
And now I can hear them breathing.
I no longer know whether they are real or whether this place is destroying my mind little by little. I tell myself there must be an explanation. That the stale air is affecting me. That fear is distorting my senses. Yet each explanation feels weaker than the last.
I want to run, but I cannot.
Something is approaching.
And for the first time since entering this tunnel, I no longer have the feeling that I am searching for a way out.
I think something is searching for me.
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