Read Online Castaways by Brian Keene - Free Book Online
Authors: Brian Keene
Tags: Fiction, thriller, adventure, Thrillers, Horror, Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945), Occult & Supernatural, Horror Tales, Horror & Ghost Stories, General & Literary Fiction, Fiction / Horror, Reality Television Programs, Occult, Horror Fiction, Horror - General, Wilderness survival, American Horror Fiction
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antidepressants and turn the television up louder and shrug, because you've been conditioned to believe that you can't do anything about it. You can't change anything."
His voice grew softer again, but still forceful.
"Well, we can. We can and we will. We are the Sons of the Constitution. They say we are criminals and terrorists, but that is simply more propaganda. The truth is that we are freedom fighters—fighting for your freedom and ours and our children's. Our political system is in shambles. The two parties are the same coin. We will enact change by whatever means necessary, and we will not stop until things are different. This is your wake-up call, America. You want reality television? Well, by God, we will show you reality. We will show you how the world really is. This is your fault."
Jesse felt Matthew shift his weight. The bamboo was pressed harder against his neck. He started to speak, but then there was a sharp, burning sensation, and suddenly, his neck and chest felt hot. The pain vanished. He heard a hissing, sputtering sound, like a leaky garden hose. Something wet trickled down his arm and soaked his shirt. His eyes darted to the right, and he saw blood splattered all over a fern.
Blood. His blood.
Jesse tried to scream, but found he couldn't breathe.
The jungle grew blurry and red. "Jesse!"
Mark lowered the camera and ran to his friend. Jesse slumped over onto the trail, blood jetting from the deep, ragged wound in his throat. It pulsed in time with his heart, and bubbles formed around the gash each time Jesse tried to breathe.
"Jesse, hang on, man ..."
Straddling Jesse's body, Matthew thrust the spear at Mark. Blood dripped from the tip. Mark backed away.
"Freeze."
Mark stopped, his face aghast.
"Keep filming," Matthew ordered. "I'm not done yet. You keep filming, or I'll kill you, too."
Mark paused. His gaze flickered from the spear to Jesse to Matthew. Then he dropped the camera, turned, and fled.
"Help," he shouted. "He's fucking crazy! Somebody help."
Behind him, he heard Matthew curse. Footsteps pounded along the trail as the crazed man gave chase.
"Get back here. You're only making it worse. Don't make me chase you." "Go to hell!"
Mark ran harder, his hair flapping in the breeze. Sweat stung his eyes, but he didn't blink. His lungs burned, but he dared not stop. He felt his pulse pounding in his throat. Too late, he remembered his pocketknife, folded up and resting against his right thigh inside his jeans pocket. There was no time to stop and pull it out now. Matthew charged along behind him, but Mark didn't dare turn around.
Something punched him hard in the middle of his back. It felt like he'd been kicked by a mule. Suddenly, it hurt to breathe. Behind him, he heard Matthew grunt, as if straining from some task. The pain in his midsection grew worse. Mark glanced down and saw something protruding from his chest,
just beneath the fabric of his T-shirt. He tasted blood in his mouth.
Matthew pushed the spear the rest of the way through, then yanked it back out and impaled the cameraman again. Mark gritted his teeth against the pain and tried to turn around to confront his attacker. He couldn't. He felt weak, and his legs and head didn't want to work. He opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was a sigh. Blood dribbled down his chin. He felt pressure on his back a third time, but now there was no pain. Struggling, he managed to raise his head enough to see the sky peeking through the treetops. The deep blue had given way to foreboding gray.
Got to get back to the ship, he thought, before the storm comes. It's gonna be bad.
Mark reached for his camera, intent on getting a shot of the incoming storm. When he couldn't feel it nearby, he wondered where it was.
Then he knew no more.
Chapter Six
Pauline stretched, thrusting her ample breasts forward. Her nipples stuck out. The breeze ruffled her hair. She preened and pouted, alternately displaying her rump and bosom,
His voice grew softer again, but still forceful.
"Well, we can. We can and we will. We are the Sons of the Constitution. They say we are criminals and terrorists, but that is simply more propaganda. The truth is that we are freedom fighters—fighting for your freedom and ours and our children's. Our political system is in shambles. The two parties are the same coin. We will enact change by whatever means necessary, and we will not stop until things are different. This is your wake-up call, America. You want reality television? Well, by God, we will show you reality. We will show you how the world really is. This is your fault."
Jesse felt Matthew shift his weight. The bamboo was pressed harder against his neck. He started to speak, but then there was a sharp, burning sensation, and suddenly, his neck and chest felt hot. The pain vanished. He heard a hissing, sputtering sound, like a leaky garden hose. Something wet trickled down his arm and soaked his shirt. His eyes darted to the right, and he saw blood splattered all over a fern.
Blood. His blood.
Jesse tried to scream, but found he couldn't breathe.
The jungle grew blurry and red. "Jesse!"
Mark lowered the camera and ran to his friend. Jesse slumped over onto the trail, blood jetting from the deep, ragged wound in his throat. It pulsed in time with his heart, and bubbles formed around the gash each time Jesse tried to breathe.
"Jesse, hang on, man ..."
Straddling Jesse's body, Matthew thrust the spear at Mark. Blood dripped from the tip. Mark backed away.
"Freeze."
Mark stopped, his face aghast.
"Keep filming," Matthew ordered. "I'm not done yet. You keep filming, or I'll kill you, too."
Mark paused. His gaze flickered from the spear to Jesse to Matthew. Then he dropped the camera, turned, and fled.
"Help," he shouted. "He's fucking crazy! Somebody help."
Behind him, he heard Matthew curse. Footsteps pounded along the trail as the crazed man gave chase.
"Get back here. You're only making it worse. Don't make me chase you." "Go to hell!"
Mark ran harder, his hair flapping in the breeze. Sweat stung his eyes, but he didn't blink. His lungs burned, but he dared not stop. He felt his pulse pounding in his throat. Too late, he remembered his pocketknife, folded up and resting against his right thigh inside his jeans pocket. There was no time to stop and pull it out now. Matthew charged along behind him, but Mark didn't dare turn around.
Something punched him hard in the middle of his back. It felt like he'd been kicked by a mule. Suddenly, it hurt to breathe. Behind him, he heard Matthew grunt, as if straining from some task. The pain in his midsection grew worse. Mark glanced down and saw something protruding from his chest,
just beneath the fabric of his T-shirt. He tasted blood in his mouth.
Matthew pushed the spear the rest of the way through, then yanked it back out and impaled the cameraman again. Mark gritted his teeth against the pain and tried to turn around to confront his attacker. He couldn't. He felt weak, and his legs and head didn't want to work. He opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was a sigh. Blood dribbled down his chin. He felt pressure on his back a third time, but now there was no pain. Struggling, he managed to raise his head enough to see the sky peeking through the treetops. The deep blue had given way to foreboding gray.
Got to get back to the ship, he thought, before the storm comes. It's gonna be bad.
Mark reached for his camera, intent on getting a shot of the incoming storm. When he couldn't feel it nearby, he wondered where it was.
Then he knew no more.
Chapter Six
Pauline stretched, thrusting her ample breasts forward. Her nipples stuck out. The breeze ruffled her hair. She preened and pouted, alternately displaying her rump and bosom,
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