Read Frankenstein: The Dead Town Online

Authors: Dean Koontz

Tags: #Horror, #Suspense, #Fiction, #General, #Thrillers

Frankenstein: The Dead Town

ACCLAIM FOR DEAN KOONTZ’S
FRANKENSTEIN SERIES

BOOK ONE: PRODIGAL SON

“Like [an] expert plate-spinner, the [author sets] up a dizzying array of narrative viewpoints and cycle[s] through them effortlessly.… The odd juxtaposition of a police procedural with a neo-gothic, mad scientist plot gives this novel a wickedly unusual and intriguing feel.… A compelling read, with an elegant cliffhanger ending.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Koontz realizes his original concept for a cable TV effort from which he withdrew. It was TV’s loss, for, filmed utterly faithfully,
Prodigal Son
could be the best horror thriller and, hands down, would be the best Frankenstein movie, ever. This is a book that helps restore horror’s good name.”

—Booklist
(starred review)

“This rich and complex tale is not only an ambitious project, but one of the most enjoyable monster stories in years.… This is classic Koontz at his best.”


Fangoria

“This first book in a multipart saga features fascinating characters and an intriguing premise.”

—Library Journal

“Koontz … examine[s] society’s present milieu under the lens of traditional western mores and in so doing has presented the public with works that are perfectly entertaining and, more importantly, prescient.… In [
Prodigal Son
] the dimensions of the universe are in collision. We are brought to the door of chaos, anarchy, and destruction. In chilling, vivid detail, the author will keep the reader on the edge of his chair, as they begin the journey toward the ultimate blasphemy.”

—California Literary Review

BOOK TWO: CITY OF NIGHT

“Relax, Dean Koontz’s Frankenstein, volume one of which,
Prodigal Son
, was a pulse-pounder all the way, is going to be a trilogy. But don’t expect to relax all that much. This book cooks, no second-volume doldrums anywhere in it.… Smart dialogue and cutting-edge scientific notions are the oh-so-sweet icing on this delectable thriller’s irresistible, devourable cake.”


Booklist
(starred review)

“Dean Koontz gives us another major dose of all the great things we received in the first book. It is filled with sharp narration, imaginative situations, and a thrilling suspense-filled adventure.… This book is not only an insightful and an intellectual delight, but it is also a fun and exciting read.… Koontz has given a fresh new feel to an old story.”

—Associated Content

BOOK THREE: DEAD AND ALIVE

“Spinning the old Mary Shelley classic on its head, Koontz has a grand time making the ‘monster’ his noble hero and the scientist the immoral, heartless villain. He does this with amazing skill. [He] understands that in a world of sinners and saints, we don’t need special effects to make monsters.”

—INDenver Times

BOOK FOUR: LOST SOULS

“Koontz does his dance of … suspense, wry dialogue, sharp characterization … charming (and well-integrated) comic relief, and cultural criticism more adroitly than almost ever before.”


Booklist
(starred review)

“This successful mix of crime-inspired detective story and sf adventure is ideal for Koontz devotees as well as readers who enjoy genre crossovers.”


Library Journal

“[Koontz] sets the scene, tantalizes and goads us to want more.”


Bookreporter.com

ACCLAIM FOR DEAN KOONTZ

“Of all bestselling authors, Koontz may be the most underestimated by the literary establishment. Book after book, year after year, this author climbs to the top of the charts. Why? His readers know: because he is a master storyteller and a daring writer, and because, in his novels, he gives readers bright hope in a dark world.”

—Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“A modern Swift … a master satirist.”

—Entertainment Weekly

“A rarity among bestselling writers, Koontz continues to pursue new ways of telling stories, never content with repeating himself. He writes of hope and love in the midst of evil in profoundly inspiring and moving ways.”

—Chicago Sun-Times

“Koontz is a superb plotter and wordsmith. He chronicles the hopes and fears of our time in broad strokes and fine detail, using popular fiction to explore the human condition [and] demonstrating that the real horror of life is found not in monsters, but within the human psyche.”

—USA Today

“Perhaps more than any other author, Koontz writes fiction perfectly suited to the mood of America: novels that acknowledge the reality and tenacity of evil but also the power of good; that celebrate the common man and woman; that at their best entertain vastly as they uplift.”

—Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“If Stephen King is the Rolling Stones of novels, Koontz is the Beatles.”


Playboy

“[Koontz is] far more than a genre writer. Characters and the search for meaning, exquisitely crafted, are the soul of his work. This is why his novels will be read long after the ghosts and monsters of most genre writers have been consigned to the attic. One of the master storytellers of this or any age.”


The Tampa Tribune

“Dean Koontz is not just a master of our darkest dreams, but also a literary juggler.”


The Times
(London)

“Dean Koontz writes page-turners, middle-of-the-night-sneak-up-behind-you suspense thrillers. He touches our hearts and tingles our spines.”

—The Washington Post Book World

“Dean Koontz almost occupies a genre of his own. He is a master at building suspense and holding the reader spellbound.”


Richmond Times-Dispatch

“Demanding much of itself, Koontz’s style bleaches out clichés while showing a genius for details. He leaves his competitors buried in the dust.”

—Kirkus Reviews

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Bantam Books Mass Market Original
Copyright © 2011 by Dean Koontz

Excerpt from
Odd Apocalypse
© 2012 by Dean Koontz

All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

A signed, limited edition has been privately printed
by Charnel House.
Charnelhouse.com
.

BANTAM BOOKS and the rooster colophon are
registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

This book contains an excerpt from
Odd Apocalypse
by Dean Koontz. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

eISBN: 978-0-440-42330-0

Cover art and design: Scott Biel
Title page art from an original photograph by Margaret Young

www.bantamdell.com

v3.1_r3

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Dedication

Excerpt from
Odd Apocalypse

Other Books by This Author

About the Author

Men can always be blind to a thing so long as it is big enough. It is so difficult to see the world in which we live
.
—G. K. CHESTERTON

chapter
1

Owl-eyed and terrified, Warren Snyder occupied an armchair in his living room. He sat stiff, erect, his hands upturned in his lap. Now and then his right hand shook. His mouth hung slightly open, and his lower lip trembled almost continuously.

On his left temple, a silvery bead gleamed. As rounded and as polished as the head of a decorative upholstery tack, it looked like a misplaced earring.

The bead was in fact packed with electronics, nanocircuitry, and was rather like the head of a nail in that it was the visible portion of a needle-thin probe that had been fired into his brain by a pistol-like device. Instantaneous chemical cauterization of flesh and bone prevented bleeding.

Warren said nothing. He had been ordered to remain silent, and he had lost the power to disobey. Except for his twitching fingers and the tremors, which
were both involuntary, he did not move, not even to change position in the chair, because he had been told to be still.

His gaze shifted back and forth between two points of interest: his wives.

With a silver bead on her left temple and her eyes glazed like those of an amped-out meth junkie, Judy Snyder perched on the sofa, knees together, hands folded serenely in her lap. She didn’t twitch or tremble like her husband. She seemed to be without fear, perhaps because the probe had damaged her brain in ways not intended.

The other Judy stood by one of the living-room windows that faced the street, alternately studying the snowy night and regarding her two prisoners with contempt. Their kind were the spoilers of the earth. Soon these two would be led away like a couple of sheep, to be rendered and processed. And one day, when the last human beings were eradicated, the world would be as much of a paradise as it had ever been or ever could be.

This Judy was not a clone of the one on the sofa, nothing as disgusting as a mere meat machine, which was all that human beings were. She had been designed to pass for the original Judy, but the illusion would not hold up if her internal structure and the nature of her flesh were to be studied by physicians. She had been created in a couple of months, programmed and extruded—“born”—as an adult in the Hive, deep underground, with no tao other than her program,
with no illusion that she possessed free will, with no obligation whatsoever to any higher power other than her creator, Victor Leben, whose true last name was Frankenstein, and with no life after this one to which she needed to aspire.

Through the parted draperies, she watched a tall man crossing the snow-mantled street, hands in his coat pockets, face turned to the sky as if delighting in the weather. He approached the house on the front walkway, playfully kicking up little clouds of snow. Judy couldn’t see his face, but she assumed he must be Andrew Snyder, the nineteen-year-old son of the family. His parents expected him to return home from work about this time.

She let the draperies fall into place and stepped out of the living room, into the foyer. When she heard Andrew’s footsteps on the porch, she opened the door.

“Andy,” she said, “I was so worried.”

Shucking off his boots to leave them on the porch, Andrew smiled and shook his head. “You worry too much, Mom. I’m not late.”

“No, you’re not, but terrible things have been happening in town tonight.”

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