By James Herbert
The unmissable new action-thriller from one of many greatest names in British fiction -- the number one bestselling writer of The Ghosts of Sleath, Haunted, The Magic Cottage and The Rats. As hundreds of thousands of readers all over the world will testify, James Herbert's skill to surprise and enthral is matchless. Now, in '48, he has exceeded his personal outstanding achievements to create an electrifying new novel of natural heart-stopping motion and invention that may take readers to new degrees of terror and pleasure. In 1945, Hitler unleashes the Blood dying on Britain as his ultimate act of vengeance. Hoke, an American pilot and considered one of a tiny minority with a unprecedented blood crew unaffected by means of the lethal affliction, has survived by myself one of the particles and the lifeless of London for 3 years. Now, in 1948, a slow-dying workforce of Fascist Blackshirts think their purely wish is a transfusion of blood from certainly one of Hoke's type. Ever extra determined as their deaths strategy, they are after his blood.
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Additional resources for 48
I paused, taking in all three of them. ' A crash of metal against metal as the Bedford barged past a black Austin, tearing off the little car's white-painted fender in the process. ' I yelled, and I guess the urgency - and the fear - in my voice convinced them. A single gunshot from the approaching truck was the only other encouragement they needed. They ran, following me. Although limping slightly, I was in no serious pain, and was soon inside the cool, twilight ticket hall of Holborn Underground Station.
I lost control then, plummeting faster than I could cope with, my trunk trying to overtake my legs so that I began to turn. More bullets split the air, keeping me company, but I must have been just about invisible as I slid further into the blackness. The automatic was back inside my jacket holster, where I'd shoved it before the ride, and I clamped a wrist against it as I began to spin off the ramp. The next thing I knew I was falling, toppling off the slide and onto the stairs, soft (but brittle) things there breaking my fall, cushioning the rest of my uncontrolled descent.
I guess I must have lost concentration, because the light wavered and Cissie lost her footing. With a tiny yelp she came toppling towards me. I caught her easily and held her there in my arms until her panic subsided. She held on to me too and seemed reluctant to let go. She touched my face. ' she asked, voice muffled and eyes vague behind the misted glass of her own mask. I made a decision. It'd be tougher for them, but we'd all make better headway if they could see more clearly. 'You can take your gas masks off,' I said, pulling her aside so that I could direct the beam back onto the stairs.