“Old school horror.” —Jonathan Maberry
WHAT HAS LONG PINK FINGERS AND SMELLS LIKE ROTTING FLESH?It is a slime-covered fungus known for its pinkish red tentacles and pungent odor. It is indigenous to Australia but has spread to North America. Its Latin name is Clathrus Archeri, also known as Octopus Stinkhorn. Most people call it The Devil’s Fingers . . .
I DON’T KNOW BUT IT’S GROWING ON YOUR NECK.
Deep in the woods of Washington, botanist Autumn Winters stumbles onto a field of the luridly colored fungi. Two of her fellow campers make the mistake of touching it. Now it’s growing on them. Fleshy gelatinous pods. Sprouting from their skin. Feeding on their blood . . .
AND IT’S STILL GROWING.
Autumn watches in horror as her friends are transformed into monstrosities—grotesque, human-fungal hybrids as contagious and deadly as any virus. Autumn knows she must destroy these mutations before they return to civilization. But if there’s one thing that spreads faster than fear, it’s The Devil’s Fingers . . .
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Or it would be in a couple more years.
“Jesus, don’t touch it!” Tina yelped.
Autumn turned to her friends, all of them looking as if they were standing on the precipice of untold horrors. Latrell’s smooth, shaved head ran with rivulets of perspiration. Seth’s hand went to the machete secured at his hip.
“It’s all right,” Autumn said.
“That does not look all right,” Carrie said, her hand on Dan’s chest.
A breeze whispered over the meadow, animating the tentacles as they swayed back and forth. Tina yipped. Brandon pedaled backwards, falling on his ass.
The only thing worse than fried calamari was living calamari. Blinking hard, Autumn willed her mind to just shut up and deal with what was in front of her.
You’re not at Nicky’s Fish Box or lost at sea, dummy
Autumn reached into her pocket for the little baggie of nuts she’d packed for quick snacking. Dumping the nuts on the ground, she inverted the bag over her hand.
She reached down, fingers grazing the papery flesh of the tentacle. She plucked it free from the pod. It was almost as long as her forearm, yet weighed next to nothing.
“Don’t bring that thing near me,” Carrie said, cringing.
Latrell’s eyes grew wide. The wind changed direction, blowing Autumn’s long honey hair into her face.
Hands flew to mouths as everyone started choking, Tina making tiny retching sounds.
Uh-oh, Autumn thought. I should have known better.
The stench rolling off the meadow was impossible to ignore. It hijacked their lungs, nestled into the membranes of their noses, coated their tongues.
A fetid redolence encompassed the campers, the presence of death too much for Autumn to handle. Eyes watering, she dropped the tentacle, hands grasping her knees, stomach heaving.
“Oh my God,” Carrie gasped between gouts of vomit splashing her and Dan’s boots.
She was the first to pass out.
But not the last.
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