The smile was forced. Hiding his emotions was a skill he’d mastered from the time he’d been a child. “I knew a transatlantic voyage would be exciting. I am just not sure my stomach is up to so much fun.”
The scientist laughed. “We are fortunate that the American president has considered us with such favor. Who knows what horror would have fell upon us had we stayed in Germany?”
Most on board were German scientists, engineers and physicians. “President Truman sounds like a loving father to nation of accepting people.” Himmler coughed into his handkerchief and released the wall. He knew the truth, and assumed the man he was talking to did as well. The president knew allowing Germany to keep intellectual talent was dangerous to the rest of the world. The operation of herding everyone and transporting them to the United States was the selfish act of a country wanting all the power and glory of a superior military. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course,” the man said.
The ocean liner was impressive with enough space for nearly 3,000 passengers. The German transplants were afforded first class room accommodations; each of the thirty-one cabins contained its own bath. There was also a stocked saloon on one of the floors, a library, a two story room for smoking, and a few dining halls.
It was a long trip, and Himmler did not venture too far from his own cabin. He didn’t mind people, he just wasn’t making this journey to make friends. There was work to be done. It didn’t matter if he did his research for the Germans or the Americans, as long as the funding came from a limitless budget.
Inside his room, he shut and locked the door. He took a moment to suck in a deep breath. Part of him would not admit that he was seasick. At first he had assumed being on the ocean must always be similar, having never sailed before. It was the dark sky when he was on deck that informed him otherwise.
The boat had been on rough waters since leaving Amsterdam. His legs felt weak and rubbery. The United States could not be too much further away. They had to be close to Ellis Island.
Despite American hospitality, he’d been allowed to bring only one suitcase and nothing else. Most of the items left behind he didn’t want to keep anyway. He sat beside the suitcase on the single bed and opened it up. On top of his folded clothing was a red triangular patch cut from a piece of clothing. It was a memento and all he dared keep from Ravensbruck. Had he of known then that he’d have been one of the fifteen hundred selected to go to the United States perhaps he would have done some things differently.
Gunther Himmler closed the suitcase, set it on the floor, and pushed it under the bed. He laid on his back and held the patch in his hands. His finger ran over the fabric. It was not unique. All of the Polish women in the camp wore them. It was one of the ways to identify the different nationalities.
The knock at his door startled him. He fumbled stuffing the triangle of clothing into his suit coat pocket. “Come in.”
The doorknob rattled.
“One moment,” Himmler said, getting up and out of bed. The ship swayed. He lost his balance and hit his shoulder against the wall before reaching the door. He unlocked the knob. “Yes?”
A man in an American military uniform stood at the door. In flawless German he said, “Please put on your life jacket, and proceed up to the next level.”
“What is happening?” Himmler said.
The soldier did not respond. He went to the next door and knocked.
The George Washington had to be sinking. Himmler knew escaping Germany had been too good to be true. The past does not forget. The crimes committed could not be so easily overlooked. Someone had to pay the price. Why shouldn’t it be those guilty of the sin?
Himmler removed the life jacket from the hook on the back of his cabin door. He fit the vest over his head and secured the ties around his waist and chest. If the ship was going down, he did not want to be trapped inside the cabin since it now felt only slightly larger than a coffin. He knelt by his bed and retrieved his suitcase. The clothing inside was worthless. The two journals at the bottom were priceless. They were wrapped in plastic; he stood up and tucked them into the back waistband of his slacks.
Running out of his room, Himmler noted the soldier still made his way down the hall, knocking on doors. People rushed toward the staircases at both ends of the hallway. He could not imagine being commanded to knock on doors and warn people. How about the soldiers on lower levels? They were already that much closer to watery graves. It had to come down to looking out for yourself. Why risk the lives of the military needlessly? The guests on the vessel were highly intelligent people. Sound an alarm. If people didn’t respond, then they died sinking with the ship.
Himmler shuffled into the line as those in front of him seemed to casually walk up the stairs, and their lack of urgency annoyed him. The ship rolled from side to side. To keep his balance, he pressed fingertips to the walls. He was not used to waiting or walking in a line. Even if the others were accustomed to lines, he knew he was above this kind of treatment. It was disheartening.
They only went up one flight of stairs. The passengers were ushered into one of the larger dining halls. It resembled a fancy restaurant. The round tables had white linen tablecloths. The chairs were set eight to a table. No one was eating. People sat quietly, in complete silence, wearing their puffy orange life jackets. The overhead lights flickered, and winked, and went out.
It sounded like hell had been unleashed up top. He would not be surprised if the army announced the ship had split in two. Himmler pulled the straps on his life jacket tighter. It was hard not to think about Ravensbruck.
He remembered the stench of fear on the Jewish and Polish women when they were brought from their living quarters to his operation rooms. The Fuhrer commissioned him specifically to render tests, secret tests, that if successfully completed, results positively achieved, could change the outcome of the war.
Close. He had gotten so close.
If there had been one more year, six or seven months more, his experimentation would have paid off. That was how close he was.
The Allies surprised everyone.
Most of all Adolf Hitler.
Himmler had been devastated to learn the war had ended, not just because the Allies were freeing prisoners from the camps, but because his research came to an abrupt end.
For months he feared not just being arrested for war crimes, but that he’d never work in his own laboratory again. He could not imagine his life work so easily discarded. The answers he sought so carelessly lost and forgotten.
And then the American president, full of fear and confidence, invited him and others like him into his country, onto his soil.
Himmler listened to men around him mumble prayers. He sat against a pillar.
Loose tables and serving carts rolled and toppled by him.
He kept his knees drawn, and arms wrapped around his legs.
Himmler did not pray.
He waited.
Had it been hours? Days?
The storm did pass, and the George Washington was not trapped in the abyss, leagues below the ocean surface.
It wasn’t until a soldier appeared and shouted, that Himmler knew everything would be alright.
“We have reached the coast. Ellis Island dead ahead!”
Read on for a fee sample of Vampirus
About the Authors: [email protected]
Phillip Tomasso III (Father) is an award-winning author of numerous novels and short stories. He works fulltime as a Fire/EMS Dispatcher for 911. As the father of three, he spends any spare time with his family, writing and playing guitar. He is hard at work on his next novel.
www.philliptomasso.com
[email protected]
@P_Tomasso (Twitter)
Phillip Tomasso IV (Son) is a recent college graduate who currently is a sales/marketing manager for a media company. He spends most days with his girlfriend working on new novel ideas, as well as marketing strategies for existing works.
S
pecial Thanks
No book writes itself. We have so many people to thank. We hope we do not leave anyone out. First, to our Beta Readers: Amy Downs, Veronica Smith, and Janice McFadden Mickolas. Next, we would like to thank our editor Linda Tooch and Amy Downs for proofreading copies prior to publication. Any found mistakes still contained are entirely ours and we accept the blame. We would like to thank Gary, and everyone at Severed Press. They treat us well, respond to our countless emails, and answer our neverending list of questions. . .promptly! Thank faith in The Nightbreed Saga! The constant love and support of family, friends, and readers is humbling. Thank you.
Other Novels by Phillip Tomasso (Father)
MIND PLAY
TENTH HOUSE
THIRD RING
JOHNNY BLADE
ADVERSE IMPACT
THE MOLECH PROPHECY (as Thomas Phillips)
CONVICTED
PIGEON DROP
PULSE OF EVIL
SOUNDS OF SILENCE
VACCINATION
EVACUATION
PRESERVATION
TREASURE ISLAND: A Zombie Novella
BLOOD RIVER
DAMN THE DEAD
Reading Groups / Book Clubs
We would like to extend an invitation to reading groups/book clubs across the country.
Invite us to your group, and we’d be happy to participate in your discussion. We are available to join your discussion either in person or via the telephone/skype. (Reading groups should have a speakerphone/computer.)
Looking for discussion questions? Let us know which book your group/club is scheduled to read, and we can assist with developing a list of questions. You may use your own. If your book club comes up with any interesting and provocative discussion questions, please e-mail them to us.
Also, to schedule book signings, speaking events, or arrange for interviews, feel free to contact us.
[email protected]
Praise for Phillip Tomasso
“This is different … confident, addictive storytelling, great characters, and an intriguing plot. You’ll read it fast but remember it for a long time. ” —Lee Child, best-selling author of One Shot and the Jack Reacher series
“Tomasso’s writing is crisp and clear … thoroughly enjoyable.” —Joseph Nassise, author of Internal Games and King of the Dead
“His characters are three-dimensional and they engage your sympathy and your anger,”— William Meikle, author of Night of the Wendigo and The Midnight Eye Files
“…His prose is adept and visually evocative. Like a sculptor, Tomasso deftly handles the psychological thriller genre, hewing out a mystery rolling with suspense and empathy…” —Matthew Butler, Table Hopping
“Tomasso has a talent for building consistent characters and bringing them through some fast paced scenes.”—Judi Clark, Mostly Fiction Review
“ This guy is GOOD! The characters are terrific and I can’t think of anything better on a cold winter’s night than another Phillip Tomasso novel. Well done!” —Thom Racina, best-selling author of Deep Freeze and Deadly Games
“Tenth House is fast-paced, super-scary, and supernatural. Mr. Tomasso writes thrills with a twist!” —Sarah Lovett, author of Dark Alchemy, Dantes’ Inferno and Desperate Silence
Praise for DAMN THE DEAD
“It has left me breathless,” –Mike Evans, The Orphans
“An unflinching post-apocalyptic trek into uncharted territory,” –David Sakmyster, author of Jurassic Dead and Blindspots
“Excellent start to a new series.Full of action and zombies. Damn the Dead is a great read!” –Allen Gamboa, author of Dead Island: Operation Zulu
“A never-slowing, heart-pounding, adrenaline-rushing adventure. It’s not a simple want, it’s a NEED to know what happens next!” –Kya Aliana, author of The Sly Darkness series
Praise for BLOOD RIVER
“I think anyone who enjoys life threatening suspense with no conceivable way out will appreciate this story.”– Cellar Door Lit Rants & Reviews
“This was an incredibly enjoyable read that I highly recommend.” –H.E. Goodhue, author of Tidal Grave and Pink Slime
“A taut thriller that reels you in until the last page of the book.” –Briar Lee Mitchell, author of Big Ass Shark
“The pace is incredible, out of the frying pan, and into the fire. There’s no lack of danger for these characters! I loved it.” –Michael Clary, author of The Guardian Interviews
Praise for The Vaccination Trilogy
“Smart, intense and damn right frightening, VACCINATION is a must for any zombie fan.”
–Max Booth III, author of TOXICITY
“It’s hard not to get emotionally attached to the small group of survivors and root for them despite their personal flaws.” –Zombie Guide Magazine
“Tomasso is a warmhearted writer with an edge...Each character Tomasso introduces is wholly convincing and entirely distinct; he is a writer of virtually limitless breadth,” –The Bookie Monster
“It’s a bloodbath, and no one is exempt. They say to go out on top, and that is exactly what Phillip Tomasso has done.” –Shana Festa, author of the Time of Death series
“Loved the Vaccination Trilogy! I am sad the story is over I am really going to miss the characters. You feel like they are your family. Action packed. Strong believable characters.” –Janice Mickolas, a Goodreads Reviewer
1
In the long, gray days towards the end, Luke Barrows would sit in his chair by the window with his eyes closed, listening to the snow brushing against the pane like the softest of moth wings. He would hear this, but inside he was listening deeper, maybe for those things that were gone now and would not come back: the laughter of his daughter and the humming melodies of his wife.
The immense sharp-toothed silence outside would lay heavy over the world like a graveyard slab, blocking out the light. Sometimes it would be punctuated by the lonesome howl of a dog but rarely anything else.
Even at high noon, the town seemed dark and dim, peopled by ghosting shadows and described in cool gray tones. He would listen to the snow and it would sound like spirits from a long-dead world rustling over the drift, waiting for the last men to die out so they could rise up again and claim the land.
The loneliness, the emptiness, the lack of hope is what brought the real terror to him. The neighborhood and the house, both so familiar, were like alien things to him now. They made him feel like a stranger treading silently on a deserted, unknown street, hooded eyes watching from secret, dark spaces.
Though he was exhausted, he rarely slept, and when he did, it was usually in a chair because the idea of lying in the bed he’d shared with his wife was almost too much for him. On those few times that he had tried, he could not relax. His eyes would not stay shut. The room was haunted by shadowed memory and his heart rattled uncomfortably in his chest. The sleep of oblivion was denied him, stark reality never quite letting go, its red claws always tenaciously digging into the flesh of his mind and body. On those rare occasions when he did begin to drift off, he would see a white face of pestilence floating above, its voice scratching in his ears: I am the spirit of this world now. I’ll take everything and everyone you love one by one by one and there’s nothing you can do about it. Your science and your god cannot help you. I am eternal. I am disease and suffering and night without end. I pick my teeth with the bones of men and blow through the cities like crematory ash. In the end, there will only be you and I. The others will be dead. Then I’ll come knocking at your door.
Luke would come awake then, his skin damp with sweat, a silver scream shattering in his throat, and the face would be there…a drifting, crawling obscenity that had come to turn the world of men into a graveyard. It would not be satisfied until every town, city, and village was strewn with corpses.
It was evil.
It was ravenous.
And it had no name.
2
His routine was the same day after day.
&
nbsp; He would pace the house, tending to the needs of Sonja and Megan as the plague set its red-stained teeth deeper into them. He would wash them, make them comfortable, give them injections and try to get food in them. Then at night, he would stare out into the barren, godless, wind-blown streets, watching, always watching, and for what he did not know. It was coming, though, and its name was Death. Then the night would end at last and he would stare with bloodshot eyes at the pale gray light of dawn and do it all over again.
3
By December, there was nowhere to hide from the plague.
When it broke out in Asia and Europe, the World Health Organization claimed the human race was standing at the threshold of a major pandemic, but the CDC in Atlanta claimed otherwise. A highly infectious viral pneumonia was making the rounds, they said, but it could be contained with Tamiflu and Relenza.
Which was bullshit, of course. And Luke knew it at the time.
Perception management. Spin. The government was trying to avoid mass panic and doing a very poor job of it. People were freaking out and barricading themselves in their houses and apartments, refusing to come out and you couldn’t blame them with the crazy stories that were making the rounds.
Then the plague hit with force and nobody bothered with official denial any longer. The truth was in the streets…along with a lot of bodies.
As of the first week of December, the CDC and WHO still had not isolated the germ. They claimed it was a virus, but that’s all they claimed.
Luke kept track of it all in a notebook. On December 5th he wrote the following:
Young Blood: The Nightbreed Saga: Book 1 Page 22