"Loved the book! One of the freshest takes on the living dead I have read in a long time. A great Sci-fi novel."

-- Michael Hein, Director of the New York Horror Film Festival

. . . The Story . . .

Set in a distant future, a deep space colony is stricken with a deadly outbreak, forcing Earth's World Government into action. The Star Corp warship Warlock is assigned to aid the colony, but its crew is also devastated by the mysterious plague. The government desperately hires a team of mercenaries to carry out a simple humanitarian mission: transport both the Avaric colony victims and a group of volunteers back to Earth for research. Led by ex-Star Corp Commander Jefferson Gale, Omni Inc. takes the mission, prepared for outbreak conditions and the grisly fate of Gale's brother, who reportedly perished on the Warlock.

But what should have been a simple taxi mission would turn deadly. The Omni team discovers there are those in the government with a private agenda of revenge. Treachery will stalk the Omni team, and an unknown space entity will set off a horrible, savage rebirth to thousands of dead psychotic plague victims.

Will anyone survive?

. . . Excerpt . . .

Two minutes later he tried hard to ignore the pounding and threatening shrieks outside his door, concentrating on the two fingers working the keyboard. He was out of time and knew his life could now be measured in seconds. With a pair of final jabs he saved the brief message, wincing at the jagged agony of his damaged ribs. Frowning, he picked up his pistol. There was now dead silence outside his door.

Christopher was caught staring into the shadows when the explosion tore the doors from their slide frames. Instinctively he tossed himself toward the bed, pain erupting from his bad hand and ribs as he struck the floor. Without thinking he was firing his weapon through the smoky darkness. Deranged crewmen flowed, whooping and screaming, into the cabin. He actually shot two or three of them as they were momentarily disoriented, but it only took one brutal kick to his midsection to forget he even had a gun in his hand. A second kick made him clench into a tight, agonized ball.

Someone tore the gun from his hand and he was kicked a third time in the small of his back. He cried out, his body arching from the floor. Even with his good eye open, he was blinded by tiny red and silver flashes, pain exploding in a sparkling brilliance that would have been breathtakingly beautiful had it not signaled the approach of his death.

Strong fingers snatched his head up by the hair. Blinking away the silver and blood colors, he focused on the face of a man whose eyes were as feral as any wild animal. The man's other hand welded a knife, his bloodstained fingers curled through the metal eyelets of the hilt. Christopher watched as a solitary drop of blood fell from the blade's edge to the floor. The rich crimson reminded him of the rose he had given to his mom the previous Mother's Day. She had hugged him so tight, tears in her eyes about the rose and his lengthy, deep space tour of duty. Her hair had smelled of -

He grunted as he was lifted higher, his scalp screaming in protest. Pain forced the last thought of his mother away. The man leaned in close as if he were going to kiss him. His tormentor might have been handsome before the virus ravaged his body, but it was hard to tell. His skin was pulled taut to the muscle and bone, a symptom of those affected. Most of the surviving victims shared the same qualities of the man he was face to face with: extreme bloodshot eyes staring out from an unnaturally tight mask of skin. The vampire-like eyes alone would have held Christopher's attention until the grotesque necklace swung away from the man's chest. Christopher moaned in disbelief, closing his eye at the sight of the crudely severed ears strung one after another. There were more than a dozen of the things, ragged and bloody. The sight was beyond anything his mind and stomach could cope with. Something deep inside him shattered into a thousand pieces. He retched, but nothing came up. His injured ribs tightened like razor wire, but the sight of the ears disconnected him from his ravaged body. For the first time in hours, Christopher Gale felt no pain.

"You tell me where the antidote for the bug is and I'll do you quick." The man whispered the words to Christopher, but he could feel the smattering of spit flying from the angry man's mouth. The Ear Man's breath was as hot as a desert wind and reeked of blood and a sour stomach. Christopher could only stare at the ears, a tear welling up in his good eye. Slowly, he was able to pull his attention away from the obscenities, and look into the faces surrounding him. The Ear Man's eyes darted around at the others, his mouth splitting in an ugly grin. The infected men and women crowded around Christopher, held in check only by the presence of the Ear Man. Most were carrying knives or club-like objects and seemed ready to descend upon him like locusts. One woman, dark blood smeared over her naked torso, was staring into Christopher's eyes with an inhuman hunger. The nipples of her bare breasts were taut, and a thought so vividly horrid struck him with a power that almost caused him to beg for his life. The way she was staring at his eyes wasn't from some unleashed primal lust. She craved his eyes, like some others in the pack wanted to break his bones, or others wanted to taste his hot blood straight from his veins. She wanted his eyes, whether to pop in her mouth and munch like grapes or just to put in her pocket like a rabbit's foot. Or maybe she just wanted to feel them ooze between her fingers when she crushed them in her fist.

The Ear Man finally turned his attention back to Christopher with a grin perfect for a snake. "Maybe you didn't hear me, sir." He cackled at his own joke, sparse laughter joining in. The knife blade slid closer, becoming blurry in Christopher's limited sight.

Christopher's last act as an officer and a gentleman was to spit into the man's leering face.

An instant later the Ear Man's knife sliced the air, then the officer's throat from ear to ear. Blood sprayed like a fountain. Christopher hardly struggled as his life drained away. The Ear Man tossed the dying officer aside and waved a hand absently in the air. His crazed followers fell on top of the dying man like a ravenous pack of wolves, ripping and hacking and wallowing in the heap of bloody remains that quickly could not be recognized as human.

Christopher Gale was well beyond suffering when the various trophies were taken from his body. The Ear Man casually added to his collection, using his knife to slice and puncture. Then he laced up the newest additions, dangling the bloody necklace in front of himself, the pieces of flesh twirling. A mad glee in his eye, he admired the severed ears like an owner of priceless art. It was nearly a minute before he re-hung his hunting trophies around his neck. He could feel the strength of his many victims flowing like fire through his veins. He drifted out of the cabin, the other deranged crew members straggling behind. The Ear Man walked down the corridor, the flickering ceiling lights causing an eerie strobe effect, making their movements appear jittery and strange. A malignant smile plastered on his face, he headed toward the captain's suite, content to continue the search for the antidote, and so much more fun...