Excerpt: A Swamp of Bones

      Excerpt from my next short story 'A Swamp of Bones'

   She stood in the middle of the swamp, her bare feet squishing through the ooze and slime that water had made from the dirt and earth and blood. She was blindfolded and holding a stave, the hood of her sweatshirt pushed back so she could hear. She never knew where they would come from but she always knew where they would end up.

      There were different kinds of them and some were more dangerous than others. A wicked blade was attached to one end of the stave and it had taken her a while to learn how to use it without cutting herself. They didn’t believe in easy training. There was no training but the fight.

      Which is why she was standing in the swamp, her muscles tensed and her ears straining. In the swamp there was only one enemy and it was best not to look on their faces, or what was left of their faces. She was protecting the band while they foraged. Guards were posted, some sweating nervously. It didn’t take much to be promoted to guard, too many died for the leader to be picky. She wasn’t even the youngest though she’d been guarding the longest.

      Many of the survivors who ended up in the camp survived by accident. She had survived due to design. She was born after it had started and the world had broken into feral bands and camps, struggling to stay alive. She was born a survivor and she’d been raised on blood and violence.