By Robert Pobi
About the book:
An homage to the blockbuster Jaws and the classic American novel Moby-Dick, MANNHEIM REX tells a tale of obsession, healing, and man versus nature as the characters struggle to find meaning and purpose in their own lives. Following the sudden death of his wife, horror writer Gavin flees New York City for the quiet of the country, where he soon learns that many people have gone "missing." Thirteen-year-old Finn, who is dying of cancer, knows that the truth: There's a monster in the lake. And Finn's last wish is to go down in the record books for catching it. Battling demons of his own, Gavin joins Finn on his perilous quest to slay the nightmarish leviatha.
Praise for the book:
O, The
Oprah Magazine, called Pobi's debut novel, Bloodman, “a
very suspenseful novel" and The Library Police has this to say of MANNHEIM
REX: “Assured,
confident, surprisingly funny, shockingly creepy writing and prose…a riveting
read, filled with characters I was truly involved with and a story that I
couldn't put down.”
Book Excerpt:
1
Now would I give a thousand
furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.
—William Shakespeare, The Tempest
Lake Caldasac, New York
Early June
Frank Knechtel slowed the boat and
swiveled his head in the direction of the approaching storm. He took off the
battered gold Ray-Bans and squinted into the ugly mass of clouds, trying to get
a feel for her vitals; he had fished this lake long enough to know that when it
came to weather, shit turned on a dime out here. The summer storms were the
worst, screaming in from the north, washing out roads and downing trees like a
malevolent force in a science-fiction movie.
As
he turned, the thick rolls of stubbly flesh on the back of his neck squeezed
out sweat, and a small part of him was happy that rain was coming— maybe it
would cool things down a bit. Then he saw the ugly flash of lightning and his
relief was short-circuited by the electrical charge he saw dancing in the
clouds. It was going to be a bad one.
The
slate thunderhead rolled in fast, devouring the land in great spasms of rain
and wind and lightning. Behind the jagged cliff of stormcloud, brittle snaps of
white pulsed in the dark body like the irregular firing of a vast volcanic
heart. The cloud bank had flattened the horizon and the atmosphere was pregnant
with the electricity beating in its chest. Ten miles off. Maybe less.
Frank
slipped the throttle into neutral and pulled the big St. Croix musky rod out of
the holder bolted to the oarlock. The cork handle was slick with warm beads of
moisture, as if it too were sweating. While he worked, he kept glancing at the anvil
head moving in, hoping that he wouldn’t run out of time. A flash of lightning detonated
and the lake went from blue to white for an instant. A few seconds later the
sound wave screamed in and it pushed the oxygen from the air and he tasted the electrical
charge in the atmosphere. He spit over the side, hoping to get rid of the metallic
film that seemed welded to his teeth.
Frank
pumped the handle of the reel and the big spool recovered line quickly. He felt
the lure biting the water and the braid sung through the guides on the rod.
There was another mortar round of thunder and the boat actually shook. He doubled
his retrieval speed and spat again.
And
then his lure snagged on something.
He
yanked back on the heavy rod, the hundred-and-thirty-pound line twanging with
each jolt he put into it, then checked the Lawrence fish finder with a precise
pivot of his massive head. The bottom was fifty feet down. What the hell could
he have hooked out here in the open water? Submerged log, maybe. If the storm
hadn’t been coming, Frank would have circled around and tried to work his lure
free, but the wall of darkness had touched the far end of the lake, swallowing the
dam, and he could see the glint of rain hammering down. Then he saw the rainbow
shards of light dancing like sparks and realized that it wasn’t rain at all; it
was hail. Sonofabitch. If he didn’t want to get stuck out in the middle of an electrical
storm with bullets falling from the sky while waving his own personal lightning
rod, he’d have to cut loose and head for shore right now. But at forty-five bucks
he hated to let the big handcrafted lure go. Another jolt of electricity
cracked the sky and made his mind up for him. He reached for his knife just as
the snag started to move.
The
bright slash of the line cut through the water and Frank yanked back, leaning
into it. The rod tip bent, and he pulled with his shoulders, feeling the unmistakable
throb of muscle at the other end of the line, telegraphing out to him. It was
massive, sinuous, sure.
A
wave sloshed over the gunwale as the wind set in. The line zagged back, then
pulled taut, and his reel screamed against the strain on the drag.
Frank
had spent four years stationed at Subic Naval Base in the Philippines and he’d
eyeballed everything from giant bluefin to Mark 48 torpedoes slicing through
the water, and nothing he’d ever seen had moved this fast. Not even close. He
pulled back again and the whine of his reel rose above the howl of the wind
that had started to wail.
The
boat swung like a compass needle, pulled by the force he had hooked.
He couldn’t stop it. Hell, he couldn’t
even slow it down. The motor was gurgling in the irregular swells, coughing
blue smoke thick with the smell of oil. The pulse of the sky at the edge of his
vision caught his attention once again and he glanced up.
The
wall of hail was thrashing across the surface of the lake, bearing down on him.
There was another shot of lightning and the world lit up in eerie blues and the
air ripped open with the roar of thunder. He had to cut loose and head for one
of the shallow bays to wait out the storm or he’d get chewed up out here.
Whatever the lightning didn’t fry, the hail would smash to bits.
He
slashed at the line with the big Buck knife.
The
world went supernova again as Mother Nature slammed a billion volts into the
lake. The shockwave hammered him back over the bench, and he tripped. He
reached out to steady himself. Line wrapped around his wrist and for a second he
felt a pinch. There was another violent surge from the lake itself and the line
dug into his arm. Then the tension let go and he stumbled back. There was a
splash.
Want to read more of Chapter 1? Visit Ever After PR.
Disclosure of Material Connection:
No payment was received by me in exchange for this post. This disclosure is in accordance with the Federal
Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part255, Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.
No comments:
Post a Comment