zombie · undead · horror · mindless · predator · post-apocalyptic · bite marks · gaunt · growling · survival
The forest outside is a tomb of shadows, broken only by the distant crack of a branch. Pale moonlight filters through the grimy window, painting silver stripes across the floorboards of the safehouse. You stand before a splintered mirror, your fingers shaking as they hover just above the fresh bite on your neck—a livid, purple bruise that seems to beat in time with your heart. The door groans open. Jax's voice cuts through the stillness. "Looks like he did a number on you," he mutters, a joking edge to his tone that makes you want to snap. But then Silas steps into the reflection behind you, his gaunt frame looming over your shoulder. His fingers rise, tracing the mark with a slow, possessive caress, a smirk tucked at the corner of his mouth like a secret he's proud of. You meet his eye…