Read Online INFECTED (Click Your Poison) by James Schannep - Free Book Online
Authors: James Schannep
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few steps wetter than just the morning dew, the foliage growing denser and greener, until the forest transforms into almost a jungle. Soon the puddles of stagnant water do more than just squeeze out from the grass underfoot, and you find swamp pouring into your shoes from above. The water rises to mid-calf level before you’ve even immersed twenty yards into the bog.
“Much further?” you ask.
“Quiet.” You keep moving forward, Rosie a few yards to your side with her rifle, searching for threats. Some steps sink lower than others, but the overall trend is a deepening of the marsh. You’re now wading in brackish water up to your thighs.
There’s a thick film of algae on the surface, which you break when you wade through, and the stale water beneath is brown and cloudy. You’re hoping it won’t get much deeper. There’s an eerie silence. To your horror, you realize this is patently wrong. In a place as rich and biodiverse as this, there should be frogs or insects at the least.
“Shouldn’t there be animal noises?” you ask.
Rosie stops and so do you. Both of you stand frozen, listening. No sounds, just eldritch silence, save for the sloshing water settling into place. A few bubbles percolate in the pool ahead of you. Then they grow in intensity. Rosie Points her rifle at them, just as bubbles start appearing on her side as well. These globules of rank air escape from below and soon you’re surrounded by blistering froth, rollicking something deep from within.
A wetland zombie comes at you from behind a tree, catching you off-guard, almost as if the bubbles were a planned ruse. “Goddammit—get out of the way!” Rosie shouts. You’re between the zombie and her line of sight, and there’s not enough time for you to flee. You’re forced to fight.
You crack your axe against the ghoul, instantly collapsing his forehead with the blow. Then another rises from the murk. Dramatically. Slowly. Up from a curled position, one vertebra at time, like a yogi exiting a pose. Crack! Rosie sinks a round into his forehead.
More of the undead rise from the marsh, four of them, thick brown sludge pouring off their bodies. They’re not decaying, but the flesh is missing in chunks and most of the skin has been picked away by the swamp’s other inhabitants.
You swing at the one closest to you but the weapon’s too large and ungainly and gets caught in the vines and branches. The nearby zombie moves in on you. Rosie plugs away at the other fiends, taking each of them down with a crack from her rifle.
Thinking quickly, you pull a knife from your belt and jab it into the ghoul’s eye, pushing it all the way in. The zombie drops. Two more come from behind the trees and barely get a moan out before Rosie fires a round for each; headshots. The bog is silent once more.
Rosie lowers the rifle with a smile. “You owe me, buckaroo,” she says, already reloading with a fresh clip. “Just you remember this when it comes time to do the cooking at camp.”
You’re about to say that sounds pretty good to you, but you don’t get the chance. With an unexpected speed and ferocity, one last zombie bursts out of the water behind her and grabs a handful of her hair. Rosie screams and the ghoul brings her down splashing into the water below. You try to rush in and grab her, but you’re greeted with only empty slough below the surface.
From ahead, through the swamp, another figure rushes in. He’s armored, but running with incredible ease. Although you hold your axe at the ready, you can recognize him as a human man wielding a katana sword and moving with such effortlessness, he’s practically skimming across the surface of the marsh.
He wears a Kendo uniform—simply put: practice samurai armor.
He locks in on the commotion in the moor and sinks his blade into the water right where Rosie went down. With quick, clean movements he cuts at something beneath the surface. “Here!” he shouts, tossing you his blade. You look at
“Much further?” you ask.
“Quiet.” You keep moving forward, Rosie a few yards to your side with her rifle, searching for threats. Some steps sink lower than others, but the overall trend is a deepening of the marsh. You’re now wading in brackish water up to your thighs.
There’s a thick film of algae on the surface, which you break when you wade through, and the stale water beneath is brown and cloudy. You’re hoping it won’t get much deeper. There’s an eerie silence. To your horror, you realize this is patently wrong. In a place as rich and biodiverse as this, there should be frogs or insects at the least.
“Shouldn’t there be animal noises?” you ask.
Rosie stops and so do you. Both of you stand frozen, listening. No sounds, just eldritch silence, save for the sloshing water settling into place. A few bubbles percolate in the pool ahead of you. Then they grow in intensity. Rosie Points her rifle at them, just as bubbles start appearing on her side as well. These globules of rank air escape from below and soon you’re surrounded by blistering froth, rollicking something deep from within.
A wetland zombie comes at you from behind a tree, catching you off-guard, almost as if the bubbles were a planned ruse. “Goddammit—get out of the way!” Rosie shouts. You’re between the zombie and her line of sight, and there’s not enough time for you to flee. You’re forced to fight.
You crack your axe against the ghoul, instantly collapsing his forehead with the blow. Then another rises from the murk. Dramatically. Slowly. Up from a curled position, one vertebra at time, like a yogi exiting a pose. Crack! Rosie sinks a round into his forehead.
More of the undead rise from the marsh, four of them, thick brown sludge pouring off their bodies. They’re not decaying, but the flesh is missing in chunks and most of the skin has been picked away by the swamp’s other inhabitants.
You swing at the one closest to you but the weapon’s too large and ungainly and gets caught in the vines and branches. The nearby zombie moves in on you. Rosie plugs away at the other fiends, taking each of them down with a crack from her rifle.
Thinking quickly, you pull a knife from your belt and jab it into the ghoul’s eye, pushing it all the way in. The zombie drops. Two more come from behind the trees and barely get a moan out before Rosie fires a round for each; headshots. The bog is silent once more.
Rosie lowers the rifle with a smile. “You owe me, buckaroo,” she says, already reloading with a fresh clip. “Just you remember this when it comes time to do the cooking at camp.”
You’re about to say that sounds pretty good to you, but you don’t get the chance. With an unexpected speed and ferocity, one last zombie bursts out of the water behind her and grabs a handful of her hair. Rosie screams and the ghoul brings her down splashing into the water below. You try to rush in and grab her, but you’re greeted with only empty slough below the surface.
From ahead, through the swamp, another figure rushes in. He’s armored, but running with incredible ease. Although you hold your axe at the ready, you can recognize him as a human man wielding a katana sword and moving with such effortlessness, he’s practically skimming across the surface of the marsh.
He wears a Kendo uniform—simply put: practice samurai armor.
He locks in on the commotion in the moor and sinks his blade into the water right where Rosie went down. With quick, clean movements he cuts at something beneath the surface. “Here!” he shouts, tossing you his blade. You look at
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