Swamp People: Blood And Guts Novels & Stories

I dipped a single finger into the crystal-clear stream and brought it to my nose. The coppery, rotten stench of blood hit me like a fist. Not old blood. Fresh. Metallic and sweetly foul. I gagged, twisting away, spitting nothing but bile. My heart hammered against my ribs. I scrambled back onto dry ground, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. It was a creek of blood. Perfectly transparent, perfectly still blood. I ripped a handful of ferns and scrubbed my foot and hand raw, the green juice doing nothing to erase the phantom slickness. The urge to bolt back to the fake safety of the beach was overwhelming.

"What did you do to my body? Swap us back!" Julia laughed, covering her mouth. "Why would I? Your body works just fine for me! Aren't you still fooling around with Norman anyway? How does it feel to be a homewrecker?" She looked at me with a mocking grin. I lost it and shoved her aside. Julia stumbled, and her hand hit the side of a pot of boiling soup. A big blister instantly appeared on her hand. Julia screamed, "Ah…! My hand! It hurts!"

The wind howled violently, scratching at my throat until I felt an itch that seemed to make me want to cough. "Enough talking. Choose, or I'll let them both go." At Amber's signal, the men next to us hoisted both me and Tara up. The salty sea breeze hit me in the face, and the sharp smell of ocean water churned my stomach. However, nothing compared to the screaming in my ears. Before I could even draw a breath, Ethan had already made his choice. At that moment, everything went silent. Amber instinctively turned to look at me. My vision flickered and spots of black clouded my sight, but I did not know why.

"Long,long ago, there was a hermit who lived deep in the heart of the swamp. His life was a simple one, he loved the swamp and its solitude. But he hated adults and children alike, and he despised TEENAGERS. He considered them a lousy bunch of overgrown kids who loved noise. Then civilization grew, cities and towns were built but no one bothered about the swamp. It was uninhabitable, they said. One day a bunch of teenagers decided it would be fun to go camping in the swamp. You know how teenagers are, they made a lot of noise, drank alcohol, smoked weed and made a mess everywhere. The hermit was upset cos of their actions and decided to teach them a lesson. Due to his absence from civilizati

So we were left with absolute darkness, the kind that makes every breath feel loud. "Step exactly where I step," Gideon rasped. His scarred face got lit up by that sickly green chemical flare. He had a machete in one hand, and in the other, a compass that spun like it wanted to escape him. "The Blood-Paths are the only solid ground, you step one inch off the root line and the mud will swallow you whole… it won’t spit you back out." I didn’t need the warning, my Alpha senses were already yelling. The swamp wasn’t only highly toxic , it was alive. Every shadow seemed to wear a pair of watching eyes.

A group of people who had been forced out from their hiding place, poisoned and left to die. The fisherman switched off his torchlight. “Well I guess we’ll either be killed by a bullet or die out of hunger” he said with a serious tone. He was right, how much more time do we have before we go out of extinction. How much more before the colour of our waters become reddened by blood just like the river nile but just one difference – “Peoples real blood” *** The fishermen was quite generous to stop me in the city. The city was nothing as I had anticipated it to be. The markets were almost vacant, the soldiers were trouping around the streets in their large numbers.

--- Dinner was… an experience. The menu consisted of dishes that looked normal enough—roasted meats, glazed vegetables—but every goblet at the table was filled with blood. I stuck to water. Which, by the way, made me the only person in the room not drinking blood, and I could feel the curious stares from the other guests.

Rows and rows of them. I clamped a hand over my mouth, muffling the scream that threatened to escape from my throat. Inside each tanks and soaked in the strange bubbly green liquid were men and women. Some looked human. Others were Outworlders—werewolves, vampires, ghouls. They were all naked. Their bodies were suspended in the thick green liquid and their eyes were wide open, as if frozen in an expression of silent horror. “What the hell?” I muttered in a shaky breath.

‎Of all the wretched, soul-scarring chores this new world had forced upon us, taking down the zombies was the worst. It wasn't just the danger; it was the profound, gut-churning disgust of it all. It was the most disgusting shit I’d ever done in my whole life, a phrase that felt woefully inadequate to describe the visceral horror. The act itself was a brutal, messy business. It wasn't like in the old movies, a clean shot to the head and a tidy collapse. It was a gruesome ballet of decay and resistance. The sickening, wet thud of the crowbar connecting with a skull that was more liquid than bone. The way they sometimes didn't just fall, but sort of… deflated, spilling their putrid contents on

“Kate will kill me.” “Since when, Kent? Kate is okay with you drinking as long as you go back home early.” “You know her well,” Kent laughed. “There’s a rumor around the city that you people here have a book containing the secrets of the Hamuumbu’s.” “The Hamuumbu’s?” Kent asked. “Nalishuwa Hamuumbu. The man with stroke and all the controversy,” Obrien answered. Kent’s face was numb. “Don’t tell me you don’t know him,” Obrien said.