After the death of his wife, Dr. Bobby Reed gives up his life as a geneticist and settles down to raise his kids. He thinks he has destroyed everything related to his research, until an old rival calls for help.
Bobby races against the clock as both the virus and Alpha Corp bear down on Walker's Pass and his children. Held prisoner by Alpha Corp until he can figure out what went wrong, it is only a matter of time before he outlives his usefulness and becomes yet another victim of Caliban.
In all of his years as Sheriff, Mark BaldEagle has never seen a flu like this one. Something is happening to the citizens of Walker's Pass. As he begins to put the pieces together, he finds his town under an illegal quarantine; anyone who tries to leave is killed.
Under the cover of a severe winter storm, Mark will have to protect his town...or die trying.
Strong sales record, multigenre novelist
The scream was distant and lasted just long enough to make the hair on the back of Laura Drake’s neck crawl toward her scalp. Her pen froze in its journey across the graph on Elden Richards’ chart and her breath caught in her throat. She waited for the cry to repeat itself.
Nothing.
Out in the hall, the wheels of a linen cart creaked, followed by the soft padded thuds of sneakers. When it faded, Laura was left with the whirr of the soda machine and the ever-constant buzz of the staff refrigerator. Orange plastic streamers fluttered in the breeze created by the heating duct above the soda machine. Nothing more ominous than the tick-tick-ticking of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling answered her listening ears. She glanced at the emergency light above the break room door. It would blaze red if there was an emergency on one of the halls.
It remained dark.
When the clock above the coffee machine ticked off another minute, Laura dropped her pen on the table and eased the door open. To her left, Daisy Hall was deserted save for the linen cart she’d heard moments earlier. It was parked at the far end of the hall, close to a set of glass double doors. Night pressed eagerly at the panes, but nothing else.
To her right, two nurses and an orderly, dressed in pressed white uniforms, walked past the hall heading towards one of the other wings. Their steps were unhurried and one nurse chittered an irritating little laugh in response to something the orderly had said.
Laura had been working as the head charge nurse for two weeks. It’d been almost long enough for her body to get used to working the graveyard shift again. Apparently, that timeframe did not include her brain getting used to functioning during the witching hour. How she had survived the all-night parties and crash study sessions in college was beyond her.
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Spanish
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Translated by Sol
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