Feral → newt, tmr

Chapter 27: The Haunted Tunnel

The jeep screeches to a stop, its tires kicking up loose gravel as the group stares at the dark mouth of the tunnel ahead. A gaping, endless void stretches beyond the entrance, swallowing the last traces of daylight. The air is thick with dust, carrying the scent of damp decay, the staleness of a place long abandoned.

Newt narrows his eyes, tilting his head toward the tunnel. "You want us to go in there?"

Katherine crosses her arms, her gaze locked on the yawning darkness. "It looks horrible for my taste."

Thomas is silent, staring down at the crumpled map in his hands. He doesn't have to say it. They all know there's no other way.

Newt exhales, shaking his head. "I don’t wanna come across as too negative, but if I were a Crank, that’s exactly where I’d be."

Thomas finally looks up, his shoulders dropping with the weight of their reality. "I don’t think we have much of a choice."

Newt raises an eyebrow, his mouth twitching into something almost amused. "All right. I get shotgun."

They pile back into the jeep, the tension pressing down like an unseen force as Frypan turns the key. The engine rumbles to life, and they roll forward, swallowed whole by the tunnel's darkness.

"Well, here we go," Frypan mutters, gripping the wheel tighter.

"Yeah, just take it nice and slow," Newt advises, sweeping his flashlight over the crumbling walls as the jeep creeps forward.

The tunnel stretches on, suffocating and silent. The only sound is the hum of the engine, the occasional drip of water echoing off unseen surfaces. Then—

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Thomas's sharp voice cuts through the quiet.

A figure stands in the distance, barely more than a shadow in the dim tunnel light. Motionless. Watching.

Katherine stiffens, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Dear God, we're shucked. May we rest in peace."

The jeep jerks to a halt, Frypan twisting to look at Thomas, waiting for some kind of direction.

Thomas swallows hard. "It's okay. It's just one. Take it slow, go around him. We'll be fine."

Even as he says it, Frypan’s knuckles whiten on the wheel. His voice is barely a whisper as he repeats Thomas’s words, like saying them enough times will make them true. "Take it slow. Take it slow."

Then, out of nowhere—a face slams against the window.

A woman. Gaunt, eyes sunken into hollow pits, her skin torn and peeling like old parchment. She jerks at the handle, her cracked lips forming frantic words. "Please. Please." Her voice is raw, desperate. "Help me. Please! Let me in."

Another Crank appears, slamming its bloodied hands against Katherine’s window. It snarls, half-human, half-something else. The smell of rot seeps into the jeep’s vents. Katherine and Thomas instinctively press closer together, their arms tangling as they recoil from the glass.

"Okay, Fry, we gotta go." Thomas’s voice is firm, but there’s an edge of panic. More shadows move in the darkness. Dozens of them.