The Bites

Chapter 9

Suddenly, as if pulled by an otherworldly force, Brea's consciousness was wrenched from her healing body. She was suspended in the shadows, watching from a mysterious vantage point. The constraints of the forest room did not limit her view, and she saw the scene unfold with an uncanny clarity.

This enigmatic presence, standing in proximity to the group, remained unnoticed by Nick, Jack, and Blake. Brea, now a spectral witness, watched as the atmosphere around them thickened with the weight of internal conflict.

Ding! - The number on the wall changed as it began to count down.

"Shit!" Nick's anger burned brighter with each passing moment like a smouldering ember. Jack's determination clashed with the desperation etched across Blake's face. The once-unified group, now fractured, was tangled in a web of distrust and fear.

Brea, in her spectral state, could sense the escalating anxiety that gripped each member.

Nick's frustration had reached a boiling point. "We can't keep going like this! Those numbers on the wall... they're counting us down. We're running out of time!"

In an attempt to maintain a semblance of control, Blake shot back, "We can't afford to lose our humanity in this madness. Killing each other won't solve anything."

Jack, his eyes reflecting the gravity of their situation, added, "We're not monsters. We can't become the very thing we're trying to survive."

The atmosphere crackled with tension as their conflicting ideologies clashed. Brea, a silent witness to their struggle, felt a surge of contradictory emotions. The forest room's shadows whispered secrets as the group grappled with the grim reality that their remaining time was running out.

As they argued, Brea noticed the remaining numbers on the wall. They were a stark reminder that their actions had consequences and that their fate was inexorably tied to the dwindling countdown. The realization weighed heavily on the group, intensifying their internal strife.

She heard Blake's plea, "We need to find another way. There has to be a solution that doesn't involve us turning against each other."

But Nick, his frustration unyielding, retorted, "We've been searching for another way, and look where it's gotten us. We're trapped in this nightmare, and time is slipping away!"

The desperate situation left them with a chilling choice – to turn on one another or face the relentless march of the undead. Brea, caught in the ethereal realm, could only watch as their internal conflict manifested in heated arguments, pleading gestures, and anguished expressions.

Jack, usually the voice of reason, was torn between survival and morality. "I don't want to kill any of you, but if we don't act, we'll be at the mercy of those things."

The forest room, a surreal backdrop to their human drama, cast elongated shadows that danced in cadence with their desperation.

His plea, a desperate attempt to preserve some semblance of humanity, was brushed aside as fear and survival instinct overwhelmed reason. Fueled by frustration and a sense of betrayal, Nick lunged at Jack with primal aggression. The metallic clash of makeshift weapons echoed through the clearing.

Blake, caught in the crossfire, attempted to mediate, "Stop! This won't solve anything!" Her voice, once a beacon of leadership, now drowned in the chaotic symphony of their struggle.

Brea, still recovering from the gunshot wound, watched the violent scene unfold with a mix of disbelief and agony. Her disembodied presence, unable to intervene, felt the sting of betrayal as the bonds of survival fractured.