Swamp. Mangroves. Old grounded fishing boat. Booby-traps wired up. A smaller fanboat tethered outside. An abandoned rucksack and gun. Rations and a map. Bad smells from rotten food in the cargo hold. Blood marks. A disarmed grenade trap behind the wheelhouse door. A hand print on the wall. Scattered medical supplies in the galley. A cabin. A few flies. We're already on breathers. A long-dead man in camo, with bandages around his midriff. Died with a commlink and a pistol in his hands. Check the cylinder, but leave the gun. Splashing noises out there in the mangroves.
Find a paper journal to speed-read: he settled here two years back. Hack his hardware and find his last audio log: he got bitten by something out in the swamps, investigating rumours of a shaman in these parts. He made it back home, but the thing followed him. He bled out while waiting for it to go away, and he never made it to Riverside for medical help.
Look through the rest of the boat. Find some salvage. Tidy the medical supplies back in the kit they came from, and leave it behind when we go. There's not really anywhere we can bury him. We close the cabin door again.
Heading out of the mangroves, something makes a "bloop" noise out in the water. We don't see anything but a ripple of wide rings, expanding out across the surface. It's noon, but we're leaving the place like it's midnight.