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Cell Civilisation slips into its second dark age on an unsurprising track of blood, but with a speed that could not have been foreseen by even the most pessimistic futurist. It is as if it has been waiting to go. On October first, God is in his heaven, the stock market stands at 10,140, and most of the planes are on time (except for those landing and taking off in Chicago, and that’s to be expected). Two weeks later the skies belong to the birds again and the stock market is a memory. By Halloween, every major city from New York to Moscow stinks to the empty heavens and the world as it was is a memory.’ The event became known as The Pulse. The virus was carried by every cellular phone operating in the world. Within hours, those receiving calls would become insane — or die. In Boston, a young artist, Clayton Riddell, flees the explosive heart of the city. He makes the connection between those using their cell phones and the mayhem that ensues. Clay’s son has a little red cell phone. Often out of juice. But what if this time the battery is full? Clay has to reach his son, before his son reaches for his phone. There are one hundred and ninety-three million cellphone users in the United States alone. Who doesn’t have one? This utterly gripping, gory, and fascinating novel doesn’t ask the question ‘Can you hear me now?’ It answers it with a vengeance. High concept, ingenious, and terrifying: Cell is the perfect nightmare for a whole new generation of Stephen King readers.
In a disused lighthouse on the Devon coast lives Peter Straker, a recluse who, in his dreams is visited by some of the 78 people he believes he killed 24 years ago. But Straker’s solitude is about to be invaded. Imogen Doody, a school caretaker with a painful history that has left her prickly and unapproachable, inherits a run-down cottage in the nearby village. And she needs help restoring it. Guilt, loss and a Tiger Moth plane lie at the heart of this story of two misfits learning to reconnect. Related with warmth and wit, it is a testament to the essential goodness of the human spirit.
Who, what or where is Contact Zero? Deep is the mythology of the Service, whispered in training, clung to in moments of despair, is the belief that it is out there, the last chance saloon. You think you’re beaten, betrayed and utterly alone, but maybe you’re not. Maybe you get your one shot at rescue, if not redemption. Contact Zero: run by members of the Service, for members of the Service. When an operation is mortally compromised in David Wolstencroft’s fabulous second novel, four first-year probationary agents, cut adrift in four corners of the World, must put Contact Zero to the test. But first they have to find it.
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Natural Flights of
the Human Mind
Contact Zero