Courtney

I'm afraid. She's not as strong as I am, she never was. I can feel her weakening next to me. My cell is dying, we don't have a lot of light left to see by, we don't know how long we've been down here.
Sometimes I think I can hear voices, whispering, taunting, false sayings. They whisper among themselves, arguing, agreeing, always about feeding. It scares me. I think they're talking about us.
Then I hear the other voices, voices of sorrow, crying, deep voices, different pitches, young, old, familiar, strange, all asking for help, for freedom, for sunlight. I find myself calling with them, asking for the sunlight, for the taste of fresh air, a view besides branches and bark everywhere.
We're still in the car, we can't go anywhere, what ever is surrounding us is real, breathing, living, unbreakable. Sometimes the voices come from through the window, almost waiting for us to succumb to the darkness, to the voices, to the truth that we can't, won't will not survive. They will win, they can feel it, before we can.

I'm afraid the... it will come through the broken window and take Courtney with them, and she will become one of the taunting whispers, bringing me into the downward spiral of madness.
Please... let us live...