Chapter One

Seven-thirty A.M. maybe closer to eight. Tiny electrical pulses traveling through braids of copper as thin as a human hair, bouncing from the ground to the sky to the ground, finally surging like an infection through a dormant patchwork of circuits, diodes, and minuscule mechanical gears.

    Then the shrill, metallic cry of a portable phone.

    Jack Collier's eyes came open on the third ring, sleep a swirling fog across his vision. He was still wearing his clothes from yesterday, a white T-shirt and light blue scrubs. His sneakers were on the edge of the bed by his feet, and his lab coat was curled into a ball a few inches from his shoulders, a makeshift pillow that smelled vaguely of formaldehyde, sweat, and stale junk food.

    Slowly, resentfully, achingly, he turned toward the table by his bed. Twists of his unkempt, dirty blond hair fell in front of his eyes as he fumbled for the phone that peeked out from beneath a pair of dog-eared oncology textbooks. Usually, he kept the damn thing unplugged. But last night he had returned early enough from the lab to make an attempt at a delivery dinner. The unopened pizza box was still sitting on top of his dresse ... read full excerpt from The Carrier ebook