Wild: The Dark Canopy

By Postmortem Studios

The jungle still holds secrets. Some of them are dangerous, even deadly. Some of them defy our modern understanding. Some of them, like the pale, ghostly girl who runs through the trees, can save your life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Postmortem Studios
• Release date: Feb 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301864744

Postmortem Studios

Game designer, writer, self publisher, freelancer, rakish fop, gentleman bastard, ten times more charming than that Arnold on Green Acres.

Book preview

Wild Cover

 Wild

The Dark Canopy

Written by James 'Grim' Desborough

Editing by Salome Jones

Layout by Michael Garcia a.k.a. The Crazy GM

Published by Postmortem Studios (James Desborough)

© Postmortem Studios (James Desborough) 2013

Episode One – Out of the Twilight

THOCK!

The machete blade bit into the succulent green of the tree and stuck fast. White rubbery goop seeped out of the trunk and gummed around the blade, already sticky. Every time he cut Bernard had to stop, wipe the goo from the blade and start over. The trees here were too big, too dense, to cut through and the undergrowth was all this rubbery tangle. The stuff smelt like a mix of school glue and semen, which really wasn't that pleasant at all.

He stopped and rubbed the gluey mix from the blade, turning to look to the rest of his team. Christ was a local doctor and bore the jokes made of his name with remarkable stoicism. He wasn't that good at cutting through the undergrowth but with all these blades flying about, you wanted someone who was a dab hand with a needle. Divine, French educated, Congolese by birth, was a scientist like him. Her shock of dark, curly hair was yanked back into a tight braid. She was strong, drenched with sweat as she clove away at the undergrowth with the rest of them. Ray and Fred, their guards - all he'd gotten out of them were their first names. They didn't deign to help chop, but that wasn't their job. They scanned the dense jungle, even though they couldn't see very far at all, AK-47s slung back over their shoulders. 

Fred had his boots off, hung around his neck, walking barefoot over fallen tree trunks and deep leaf litter. Bernard