No white man had ever wanted Hellbottom swamp. Not even the land-hungry hordes of newly freed slaves tried to settle it. But the outcasts, the hunted, did - and it changed them.
They became hard, wary, their eyes caught the smallest movements, their ears the slightest sounds. The swamp punished even the most simple mistakes with death, so they, like all other creatures in Hellbottom, were of the finest of their kind. They were black, ruthless, deadly and waiting ... and one day hunters came.
