In the near future after a global crisis causes crops to fail and species to disappear . . . something even more deadly happens. Groups of humans around the world suddenly become predators, feeding off their own kind. These "Can Heads" grow to such a threat that fences, gated compounds, and SWAT-style police protection become absolutely necessary in order to live.After one Can Head attack leaves NYPD cop Jack Murphy wounded, Jack takes his wife and kids on a much-needed vacation. Far up north, to a camp where families can still swim and take boats out on a lake, and pretend that the world isn't going to hell. But the Can Heads are never far away, and nothing is quite what it seems in Paterville. . .
six weeks before
1
76th Precinct, Union Street, Brooklyn
“They gotta be fuckin’ kidding,” Rodriguez said.
Jack Murphy looked at his partner. Rodriguez was holding the latest in protection offered to the cops who did the precinct’s dirty work: a rigid Kevlar body shield that also covered the back and sides of the neck.
“As if I’d
The night desk sergeant, Miller, walked into the locker room.
“Rodriguez, you
Jack turned to the sergeant. “Did I say I wouldn’t? I’m for all the protection I can get.”
“Even if it makes you look like a fuckin’ turtle?” Rodriguez asked. “Once a stupid mick, always a stupid mick.”
Jack waited until Miller left the room. “Wear it, don’t wear it. But Rodriguez—do you have to advertise to the world, to the damn desk sergeant, what you’re going to do?”
Jack liked David Rodriguez as a partner. Plenty of experience, but with enough of a rebellious streak that he hadn’t been able to get transferred from this precinct to someplace better.
Though these days, where exactly was better? Did “better” even exist?
“So fire me. I’m an honest cop.” Rodriguez slammed his locker shut and twirled the combination lock.
Billy Thompson walked in. A rookie, barely weeks on the job, and looking as if he didn’t know what the hell to do with his eyeballs.
“Hey,” Jack said.
Thompson nodded, then as if remembering to respond: “Oh, hey.”
Rodriguez took a few steps closer as if smelling fresh meat. “Bad night last night, Billy boy?”
The rookie started working his locker. “Yeah. Pretty bad.”
“Where’s your fucking partner?”
Rodriguez looked over at Jack, probably loving that he had an audience for this.
“He’ll be here,” Thompson said. “Just running late.”
“Could be, amigo. Could be. But sometimes, you know, one bad night out there on the streets, rolling and strolling with the Can Heads, is enough.” Rodriguez slapped the shaken rookie on his shoulder. “Not to worry, hm? There’s always some other young fool who wants to be part of what’s left of New York’s Finest.”
Jack gave Rodriguez a head tilt in the direction of the door out of the locker room. Hopefully giving his partner the message:
Rodriguez hesitated, then followed Jack out. Just past the door, he laughed.
“I mean,
Jack shook his head. “I got it, Rodriguez. Okay? I’ve been doing this as long as you have.”
“Fair enough, compadre. Fair enough. Let’s hope for a nice quiet night and some leftover spaghetti, hm?”
“Right.”
* * *
Some nights it could be quiet.
Some nights, Jack could sit at a desk, shuffle overdue reports, act busy, and there would be no calls. Of course, his partner remembered the days when two cops like them would take the patrol car out just to see what was happening. Catch a few petty dirtbags, get your arrest numbers up.
It wasn’t all that long ago, but by the time Jack joined, those days had ended.
Nobody went out if they didn’t have to.
Video had some of the precinct covered—at least the part deemed the Safe Zone, the area protected by twelve-foot-high fences and electrified razor ribbon. Thing was, those safe parts were growing smaller and smaller.
In parts of the five boroughs they had disappeared completely, all the zones turned red. The number of fully-staffed precincts had been whittled down to a handful.
Manhattan still maintained most of its precincts, though even there, Red Zones dotted lower Manhattan, and giant areas north of Central Park had been totally written off.
And the Bronx? The Yankees and everyone else human were long gone.
It was work keeping the Can Heads out.
And Jack told himself—tried to convince himself—that this was important work.
As every politician never lost a chance to say, this is war.
Us versus them.
Those who tried to live normal human lives.
And then the others, the Can Heads.
When the Great Drought hit, when water became like gold … when the food riots touched every continent … when sheer hunger made whole governments collapse, something else happened.
Some switch got thrown. There were so many explanations, so many theories, and no agreement.
No one knew what had happened.
