Frankenstorm: Survivors

Book 6: Frankenstorm

by Ray Garton

Genres: Thrillers

Synopsis

There are things worse than death. . . In the sixth and final installment of Ray Garton's Frankenstorm, a devastated California community must fight for their lives—or fall prey to a bio-engineered nightmare far worse than death. . . Frankenstorm They were told to prepare for the worst. The storm of the century, Hurricane Quentin. But nothing could prepare the citizens of Humboldt County for the shocking chain of events that would touch everyone in its path. In a secret government lab, a biological weapon has been injected into homeless test subjects and unleashed upon the world. A band of survivalists have unwittinglyexposed themselves to this man-made infection that turns them into rabid killing machines. In homes across the coast, mothers, fathers, and children struggle to stay alive while a few brave souls—virologist Fara McManus, blogger Ivan Renner, and Sheriff Mitch Kaufman—will risk more than their lives. . .in what could be humanity's last stand. Many will fall prey to the chaos. Because .when terror hits the fan, there is no shelter from the storm. Praise For Ray Garton "Scary. . .involving. . .mature and thoughtful." —Stephen King on Dark Channel "Gripping, original, and sly." —Dean Koontz on Live Girls "Ray Garton is, and always has been, one of horror fiction's great innovators."—F. Paul Wilson "Garton never fails to go for the throat!" —Richard Laymon "Garton has a flair for taking veteran horror themes and twisting them to evocative or entertaining effect." — Publishers Weekly "Razor-sharp and gut-punch brutal, Garton will scare you." —Mark Kidwell, Fangoria magazine "Garton does not even know that there is top to go over." —Rick Kleffel, The Agony Column "Ray Garton has consistently created some of the best horror ever set to print." — Cemetery Dance magazine 18,300 Words

Release date: February 18, 2014

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 55

Sample

During the hurricane’s peak, the Samoa Cookhouse was reduced to a pile of barn-red wood that was quickly underwater. The entire community of Samoa and the whole northern peninsula on which it was nestled were submerged, as were the sparsely populated Indian Island in Humboldt Bay and Woodley Island adjacent to it. On Woodley, the bar and restaurant that looked out on the marina were flooded and destroyed. So was the National Weather Service station and the nearby Humboldt Bay Harbor Recreation and Conservation District.

Most of the boats in the harbor had been moved or put in dry dock in preparation for the storm, but not all. Some had simply been tied down. But none were safe from the storm. Many of them would next rest on dry land in the middle of town, or in someone’s front yard.

Beyond the two islands, Humboldt Bay opened into Arcata Bay, but now there was no discernible difference between the two because both had expanded and flooded inland, covering the Eureka-Samoa Bridge and flooding into Old Town.

The proud turret on the Carson Mansion was ripped out like a tooth by the storm and came to pieces as it tumbled through the air. Not long after that, the mansion was hit by the storm’s main surge, a rushing wave of water that viciously attacked the beautiful old house. But it moved in well beyond the historic mansion, flooding streets and parks and lots.

It flooded the cocktail bars and coffee shops and restaurants and gift shops and art galleries in Old Town. It flooded the Humboldt Bay Maritime Museum, the Clarke Historical Museum, and the Redwood Discovery Museum. It rushed up to embrace the California Department of Fish and Game, the Public Defender’s office, and the county library. The storm flooded the town all the way up to Fifth Street, making worse a situation that already was severe thanks to the hurricane’s bludgeoning winds.

The fire in the Old Town Shelter did not last long. It was snuffed out by the flood, which followed not long after the power pole crashed into the shelter.

By the time Hurricane Quentin moved on, it had destroyed most of Eureka.

Andy had never experienced such menacing weather in his life. As he walked down the front steps of Giff’s house, his arm wrapped protectively around Donny’s shoulders, it felt as if the storm had noticed them, turned its attention to them, and was deliberately trying to knock them down.

Andy’s right foot sank into the thick mud of the driveway and it took some effort to pull it out. Before Donny could do the same thing, Andy grabbed him and swept him up in his arms. He carried him as he made his slow, clumsy way to Ram’s patrol car.

The world was exploding all around them. There was no safe way to move through the storm because of the debris, large and small, constantly flying through the air at dangerous speeds. All around them, Andy could hear the cracking and popping of trees straining against the force of the wind, and more than once, he heard what sounded like a tree going down. He had the unnerving fear that one would fall on them before they could take cover.

Andy put an arm over Donny’s head and lowered his own as he battled the wind to stay on his feet and move forward. The wind felt like a wave of meaty fists that never stopped punching him. The car seemed a long distance away and Andy felt exhausted. His feet seemed made of lead and the mud made them even harder to lift.

The car loomed out of the murky darkness, slowly appearing larger as Andy pushed forward, gradually getting closer. The mud sucked at his feet, tried to swallow each one up with every step he took.

Donny was tense and stiff in his arms, scared to death.

A white gate, the kind that might be found in a picket fence around a front yard, cartwheeled through the air, slicing across Andy’s path less than three feet in front of him.

Donny shouted something, but even though his head was next to Andy’s, he couldn’t understand what the boy said. It didn’t matter. They were almost there.

Andy reached out his right hand as he approached the driver’s door, grasped the handle, and pulled it to open the door, but the handle snapped from his grip and the door didn’t open.

It was locked.

Ram had the keys.

There were other cars parked in front of the house. Andy just wanted shelter from the storm. One of the vehicles there had to be unlocked. None of Giff’s friends struck Andy as especially responsible people and it seemed unlikely that they were all conscientious enough to lock their cars.

The closest vehicle was the Toyota Highlander parked behind him. He wrapped both arms tightly around Donny and turned, slowly making his way to the dark SUV. It was parked next to another SUV and standing between them provided some shelter f. . .