Barrington is a quiet town; friendly, quaint, and welcoming.
But like any other town, it has its fair share of secrets, none more so than Dr Nichols, a talented scientist whose mysterious existence is marred by spiteful gossip, urban legend and exaggerated speculation. Residing in the picturesque mansion on the hill, people see the man as a ghoul, a pariah who experiments on innocent people. Yet, despite their willingness to partake in the hearsay, no one has ever confirmed these malicious rumours…
Then Dr Nichol receives a tragic phone call.
A call that changes his simple life forever, one that strips him of his cherished identity. Unknown to the residents of Barrington, Dr Nichol is aware of their negative feelings towards him, and when the call comes through instead of a personal house visit, the blame for the loss falls squarely on the town itself.
With his life in ruins, and his professional courtesy affronted, Dr Nichol exacts a plan of horrific revenge that will have dire consequences for the population of Barrington.
The outbreak is about to begin...
Genre: FICTION / HorrorOutbreak was my first entry into the ever-popular/heavily diluted zombie genre. As a fan of the genre since I was five, I wanted to create an original zombie story, one that shied away from previous entries. According to the reviews, I did it.
Highest Amazon Chart: #5 in Apocalyptic/#4 in Horror/Thriller
Release sales for Outbreak were immense, mainly because I released it on the same weekend as Walker Stalker London in the UK (a Walking Dead convention). I sold hundreds of physical copies at the event itself, and the promotion helped push the title into the Top 10 of the Apocalyptic chart - a very tough Amazon chart to rank in (due to the plethora of books out there).
This is the first of three books in the Cerebral Series, and is very popular with the UK zombie crowd. Getting this translated into Italian - who are famed for their love of all things zombie - is a must for me.
He closed his eyes as he remembered the phone call.
The police called him—it wasn’t a personal visit—to tell him his only daughter, the pride of his life, was dead. Nichol had told the caller to stop pranking him, thinking it was someone playing a sick, demented joke. They'd asked him to come to the station.
It hadn't been a sick joke.
An hour later, he was staring at his daughter, her violated body discarded like an unwanted steak on a dirty silver tray in the police morgue.
He wept like a baby.
How dare they?
"Can I take her home?" he'd asked.
"No, we need to determine the cause of death," one of the anonymous officers had said. "We need to perform the autopsy."
"I can do it. I'm a doctor."
"With all due respect, sir, I think that would be unethical."
"Why?"
"We have a procedure."
Procedure.
Take your procedure and shove it up your fucking arse.
You call me on the phone and expect me to be okay with this?
"Can I have a moment alone with her?"
The naïve officers duly nodded and left the room.
Which is when Nichol sprang into action. Rummaging through a box to the side, he found two straps and three white sheets. Wrapping his daughter in one sheet, and then using the straps to tie her to the gurney, he'd covered her with the remaining sheets and wheeled her out of the morgue, down the short hallway to the exit, and rolled her into the back of his van.
Twenty minutes later, she was in his laboratory.
| Language | Status |
|---|---|
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French
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Already translated.
Translated by Marie-Pier Deshaies
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Valentina Impellizzeri
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Angel Molina Lopez and Anna Fernández
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