Wiping the sweat off her forehead, Zhao Lin glanced at her clothes—already soaked through—and shook the nearly empty canteen in her hand. The buzzing around her ears made her scalp go numb.
These mosquitoes were no longer the kind from before. Each one was the size of a thumb, some even larger. As they flew closer, their grotesque forms became clear.
Pulsing veins crawled across their swollen abdomens. Their white-striped legs dangled in the air, each tipped with a curved hook sharp enough to cling onto flesh. From their mouths protruded a needle-thin proboscis glinting coldly under the sun.
Although they weren't particularly dangerous—any ordinary survivor could swat them dead—their bites were vicious, burning like fire. Worst of all, they seemed to favor fresh wounds.
