Beneath The Trees

Doubt

Mason's heart pounded as he stared at the capturer, their words echoing in his mind. Something worse. He didn't trust this person—didn't know who they were or what they wanted. But as he looked around, the dark, unending forest surrounding them, he knew he had no choice. He was alone, disoriented, and the terror of what he had witnessed still gripped him like a vice.

The capturer stood, their gaze shifting away from Mason, scanning the forest as if they were listening for something. Mason pushed himself to his feet, his legs shaky, his body aching. He wanted to run, wanted to find Tyler and get away from this nightmare, but he didn't know where to go. And there was something about the way the capturer moved, the way they spoke—as if they knew the forest, as if they understood what was out here—that made Mason hesitate. The fear of the unknown, of what might be waiting in the dark, paralyzed him. He could feel his legs shaking, his breath shallow, his mind caught in a loop of indecision.

"Why should I trust you?" Mason asked, his voice barely audible. His eyes were on the ground, his fingers curling into fists. He hated how weak he felt, how powerless. The words tasted bitter, laced with fear and resentment. But he needed something, anything, to make sense of this madness.

The capturer looked at him, their expression unreadable. "You shouldn't," they said simply. "But right now, I'm the only chance you have." Their voice was steady, calm in a way that cut through Mason's rising panic. It was like a lifeline, as frayed and fragile as it might be, and he clung to it.

Mason swallowed hard, the weight of those words settling over him like a shroud. He didn't know if he believed them, didn't know if he could. But as he looked around, at the dark, endless expanse of trees, the memory of the blood-soaked clearing still vivid in his mind, he knew one thing for certain—he couldn't survive this alone. His fear of the capturer was dwarfed by the terror of the forest, of whatever might be lurking in those endless shadows.

With a deep, shaky breath, Mason nodded, his eyes meeting the capturer's. "Okay," he whispered. "What do we do now?"

The capturer turned, their gaze shifting to the shadows that stretched around them. "We keep moving," they said, their voice low. "And we pray we're not being followed." There was an urgency in their tone now, a tension that hadn't been there before. It sent a chill down Mason's spine, and he swallowed hard, his throat dry. He knew there was more to this—more to why they were running, more to why he had been spared. But for now, he could only do as he was told.

They began to move again, the darkness of the forest closing in around them, the silence pressing down like a weight. Mason followed, each step feeling heavier, his senses on high alert, the fear that something might be watching them growing with every moment. He had no choice but to trust this stranger, no choice but to follow them into the dark unknown, and hope that somehow, they might make it out alive.

As they moved, Mason's mind wandered, questions bubbling up and then fading just as quickly. What was this thing hunting them? Why had the capturer spared him but not Elaine and Robert? The silence between them was thick, each unanswered question a stone added to the growing weight in his chest. He wanted to demand answers, wanted to know what had happened to Tyler, but the fear of breaking the silence—of drawing attention to themselves—kept him quiet. He glanced at the capturer, their silhouette barely distinguishable from the shadows around them. There was something about them, something that felt both familiar and foreign, a sense that they knew more about him than they should.

The forest was endless, each step taking them deeper into the darkness. Mason's feet ached, his body screaming for rest, but the capturer showed no sign of stopping. They moved with a purpose that Mason couldn't understand, their eyes always scanning the trees, their ears attuned to every sound. And in the silence, Mason found himself wondering if he'd ever see Tyler again—if he'd ever get a chance to hold him, to tell him that he loved him one last time. The thought made his chest ache, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away, focusing on the path ahead, on the shadows that seemed to stretch on forever.

He didn't know what lay ahead. Didn't know if he'd make it out of these woods alive. But as long as he kept moving, as long as he kept following, there was still hope. And that, fragile as it was, was enough.

They walked in silence, the crunch of leaves underfoot the only sound. The capturer's gaze flickered back now and then, checking on Mason, and each time their eyes met, Mason saw something that might have been sympathy—something that made him think that maybe, just maybe, there was a reason he had been spared. The thought gave him a flicker of hope, a small ember in the cold, dark night.

The forest shifted around them, the trees thickening, the path disappearing beneath layers of fallen branches and underbrush. Mason's body was aching, his legs heavy, but he forced himself to keep up. He could hear the capturer's steady breaths, their focus unwavering, and he tried to draw strength from that. He couldn't let himself fall behind. He couldn't afford to stop.

And as the hours wore on, the darkness deepening, the sense of being hunted never quite leaving them, Mason knew one thing for certain—he would do whatever it took to survive, to see Tyler again. He had to. For Tyler, for the memory of what they had shared, for the future they had dreamed of. He couldn't give up, not now, not ever.

As long as they kept moving, there was hope. And in this endless, suffocating darkness, hope was all they had left.