{"product_id":"uprising-isbn-9780451413062","title":"Uprising","description":"A gruesome ritual murder has stained the Oxfordshire countryside. It's just the first incident in a chain of events awakening Detective Inspector Joel Solomon to his worst nightmare-and a dreadful omen of things to come. Because Joel has a secret: he believes in vampires. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Alex Bishop is an agent of the Vampire Intelligence Agency. She's tasked with enforcing the laws of the global Vampire Federation, and hunting rogue members of her race. A tough job made tougher when the Federation comes under attack by traditionalist vampires. They have a stake in old-school terror-and in an uprising as violent as it is widespread. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Now it's plunging Alex and Joel into a deadly war between the living and the unloving-and against a horrifying tradition given new life by the blood of the innocent.Sean McCabe was born and raised on the east coast of Scotland before moving to Oxford, England, to take degrees in modern languages and film studies. Having pursued a diversity of careers ranging from language teaching to music, he settled in a remote corner of rural Wales to become a full-time novelist. Writing under another name, Sean is also the author of an acclaimed bestselling series of thrillers that has been translated into over twenty languages worldwide. \u003ci\u003eUprising\u003c\/i\u003e is his first Vampire Federation novel. Outside of writing, Sean is a keen photographer, swordsman, archer and classical pianist.\u003cb\u003e Prologue\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Scottish Highlands\u003cbr\u003eNovember 1992\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cp\u003eOutside the cottage. The storm had reached its peak. Rain was lashing out of the starless sky. The wind was screaming. The branches of the forest whipped and scraped violently at the windows.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe lights had gone out, and the old place was filled with shadows from flickering candles. The twelve-year-old boy had been cowering at the top of the creaky stairs, listening to the argument between his parents and his grandfather and wishing they'd stop. Wanting to run downstairs and yell at them to quit fighting. Especially as he knew they were fighting about him—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e…When the thing had come. A creature that looked like a man—but could not have been a man.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe boy had seen it all take place. Watched in speechless horror, peering through the banister rails as the intruder crashed in the door and strode through the hallway. The argument had stopped suddenly. His parents and his grandfather turned and stared. Then the sound of his mother's scream had torn through the roar of the storm.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe creature never even slowed down. It caught his father and his mother by the arms, whipping them off their feet as though they weighed nothing. Like dead leaves. It dashed their heads together with a sound the boy would never forget. Candles hissed, snuffed out by the blood spray.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen the thing had dropped the bodies and stepped over them where they lay. Smiling now. Taking its time. And approached his grandfather.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe old man backed away, quaking in fear. Spoke words that the boy could not understand.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe thing laughed. Then it bit. Its teeth closed on the old man's throat and the boy could hear the terrible gurgle as it gorged on his blood.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was just like the stories. The stories his parents hadn't wanted his grandfather to tell him. The boy shrank away and closed his eyes and wept silently and trembled and prayed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd then it was over. When he opened his eyes, the killer had gone. The boy ran down the stairs. He gaped at the twisted bodies of his mother and father, then heard the groan from across the room.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe old man was lying on his back, his arms outflung. The boy ran to him, kneeled by his side. Saw the wound in his grandfather's neck. There was no blood. All gone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eClaimed by the creature.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I'm dying,\" his grandfather gasped.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"No!\" the boy shouted.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I'll turn.\" The old man's face was deathly pale and he gripped the boy's arms so tightly it hurt. \"You know what to do.\" \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"No—\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"It has to be done,\" the old man whispered. He pointed weakly at the saber that hung over the fireplace. \"Do it. Do it now, before it's too late.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe boy was convulsed with tears as he staggered over to the fireplace. His fingers closed on the scabbard of the saber, and he unhooked the weapon from its mounting. The blade gave a soft \u003ci\u003ezing\u003c\/i\u003e as he drew it out.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Hurry,\" his grandfather croaked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe boy pushed the sword back into the scabbard. \"I can't,\" he sobbed. \"Please, Granddad. I don't want to.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis grandfather looked up at him. \"You must, Joel. And when it's done, you have to remember the things I told you.\" His life energy was fading fast, and he was struggling to talk. \"You have to find it. Find the cross. It's the only thing they truly fear.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe cross of Ardaich. The boy remembered. Tears flooded down his face. He closed his eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen opened them. And saw that his grandfather was dead.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe storm was still raging outside. The boy stood over his grandfather's body and wept.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd then his grandfather's eyes snapped open and looked deep into his. He sat upright. Slowly, his lips rolled back and he snarled.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor a second the boy stood as if mesmerized. Then he started back in alarm as his grandfather began to climb to his feet. Except it wasn't his grandfather anymore. The boy knew what he'd become.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCandlelight flashed on the blade as he drew the saber. He raised it high and sliced with all his strength—the way the old man had taught him. Felt the horrible impact all the way to the hilt as it chopped through his grandfather's neck and took the head clean off.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen it was done, the boy staggered out into the storm. He began to walk through the hammering rain. He walked for miles, numb with shock.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd when the villagers found him the next morning, he couldn't even speak. \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eChapter 1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eEighteen years later\u003cbr\u003eOctober 27\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePockets of thick autumnal mist drifted over the waters of the Thames as the big cargo ship cut upriver from the estuary, heading for the wharfs of the Port of London. Smaller vessels seemed to shy out of its way. With its lights poking beams through the gloom, the ship carved its way westward into the heart of the city.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn the approach to the docks, the beat of a helicopter thudded through the chill evening air.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEight sailors of mixed Romanian and Czech origin were assembled around the helipad on the forward deck, craning their necks skyward at the approaching aircraft. At their feet lay a row of five steel-reinforced crates, seven feet long, all identical, unmarked, that had been wheeled up from the hold. Most of the crew preferred to keep their distance from them. The strong downdraft from the chopper's rotors tore at the men's clothing and hair as its pilot brought it down to land on the pad.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Okay, boys, let's get these bastard things off our ship,\" the senior crewman yelled over the noise as the chopper's cargo hatch slid open.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I'd love to know what the hell's inside them,\" said one of the Romanians.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I don't fucking want to know,\" someone else replied. \"All I can say is I'm glad to be shot of them.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere wasn't a man aboard who hadn't felt the sense of unease that had been hanging like a pall over the vessel since they'd left the Romanian port of Constantza. It hadn't been a happy voyage. Five of the hands were sick belowdecks, suffering from some kind of fever that the ship's medic couldn't identify. The radio kept talking about the major flu pandemic that had much of Europe in its grip—maybe that was it. But some of the guys were skeptical. Flu didn't wake you up in the middle of the night screaming in terror.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe crewmen heaved each crate onto the chopper and then stepped back from the blast as the cargo was strapped into place. The hatch slammed shut, the rotors accelerated to a deafening roar, and the chopper took off.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA handful of the ship's crew remained on deck and watched the aircraft's twinkling lights disappear into the mist that overhung the city skyline. One quickly made the sign of the cross over his chest and muttered a prayer under his breath. He was a devout Catholic, and his faith was normally the butt of many jokes on board.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eToday, though, nobody laughed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eCrowmoor Hall\u003cbr\u003eNear Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eForty miles away, the gnarled figure of Seymour Finch stepped out of the grand entrance of the manor house. He raised his bald head and peered up at the sky. The stars were out, seeming dead and flat through the ragged holes in the mist that curled around the mansion's gables and clung to the lawns.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFinch couldn't stop grinning to himself, though his big hands were quaking in fear as he nervously, impatiently awaited the arrival of the helicopter. He glanced at his watch.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSoon. Soon\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEventually he heard the distant beat of approaching rotor blades. He rubbed his hands together. Took out a small radio handset and spoke into it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"He's coming. He's here.\" \u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304163922149,"sku":"NP9780451413062","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780451413062.jpg?v=1767743322","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/uprising-isbn-9780451413062","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}