Swarms of powerful mosquitoes sucking victims dry. Insatiable horseflies feasting on living flesh. Huge roaches with a ferocious bite. N...

Review || Infested by Carol Gore




Swarms of powerful mosquitoes sucking victims dry. Insatiable horseflies feasting on living flesh. Huge roaches with a ferocious bite. No tent is safe at the Green Swamp Zip-Line Adventure and Campground.

Camp manager, Casey Lovitt, and entomologist, Dr. Phillip Edwards, must go up against powerful business interests and cover-ups from the local sheriff’s department to stop the deadly infestation. And with the busy tourist season fast approaching, time is running out. 


Will Casey and Phillip stop the onslaught of hungry bugs, or will the bodies continue to pile up among the long-buried secrets of the Green Swamp?



A quick search of Google will tell you that 64% of people have a fear of insects. Some so much even that they encounter an irrational gripping terror. What is it about these creatures that our feelings of dread are so closely tied up with feelings of disgust? What is it about them that makes them so fear-inducing? Is it their alien appearance? Or that they make us feel unclean or our territory invaded? Infested takes this visceral rejection response and lets it crawl all over you.

Infested is a lively, entertaining read filled with frothy slime eyeballs and dripping, tattered flesh. Gore truly has a gift for descriptive words that will have your skin crawling. The fun of Infested is that there's no one insect that has mutated—they all haveleading to copious amounts of proboscis poking and mandible chewing that will set your teeth on edge. Written in horrifying explicit detail, this is one book that will have you reaching for the Raid can. 
Within a short 97 pages, she gives us gigantic hissing cockroaches, face-melting spiders, and all sorts of creepy critters with way more legs than necessary. She also manages to give us a villain who, in the end, retains their humanity and an MC that is more than one dimensional. Infested is gratifyingly gruesome, the pulpy kind of goodness that makes my heart go pitter-patter.