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By Brian Freemantle

A mysterious ailment emerges from the Antarctic, threatening the survival of mankind

As the polar ice caps soften, scientists arrange for slowly emerging sea degrees. yet there's a way more pressing risk, hitherto incredible, which in an issue of months?not decades?may wreck civilization as we all know it.

A polar study station has long gone quiet, and the workforce that investigates reveals 4 corpses?their bones arthritic, their dermis withered, their hair lowered to tattered wisps. they're the our bodies of the 4 scientists manning the station?none of them over forty-five years outdated. A terrifying virus, which factors adults to race to outdated age, has emerged from the ice the place it's been locked seeing that prehistoric occasions. opposed to such an historical disease guy has no immunity, and until a person can cease it, the Earth is ready to be swept fresh by way of history’s deadliest plague.

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Sobald er zurückkehrte, lachte er laut und klatschte in die Hände wie ein übermütiges Kind. Er hörte nicht mehr auf zu lachen. Die Bedienung winkte ihren Chef herbei, der nach draußen eilte und den Kopf schüttelte. Auf dem Hohenzollernplatz blieben die Leute, die von der U-Bahn oder aus dem Supermarkt kamen, verblüfft stehen und hörten zu. Laut und heiser donnerte das Lachen über den Platz. Und endete schlagartig. Ohne sich um sein Publikum zu kümmern, zog Süden seine Lederjacke an und ging zur Bedienung, um zu bezahlen.

Der Typ machte auf sie einen reichlich wirren Eindruck. Er hatte dunkelblonde schulterlange Haare, grüne Augen, wie Lucy noch selten welche gesehen hatte, und ein Gesicht, das, wie ihr sofort auffiel, nicht so aussah, als würde es viel Schlaf und Pflegecremes abkriegen. Dennoch machte er einen gesunden und coolen Eindruck auf sie, wie einer, den nicht so schnell was umhaute, auch wenn er jetzt auf dem Asphalt hockte und leicht daneben wirkte. Dann fiel ihr die Kette auf, die er um den Hals trug, ein blauer Stein mit einem Tier.

Manchmal mochte sie ihn, dann wieder nicht. Einmal hielt sie ihn für einen Trottel und einmal für einen Psychopathen. Und wenn sie an ihre Begegnungen in letzter Zeit dachte, dann war die Wahrscheinlichkeit, dass er einer von der besonders abgedrehten Sorte war, ziemlich hoch. In den Kneipen und auf den Plätzen, wo sie sich gewöhnlich herumtrieb, zählte diese Kategorie von Männern zu den Normalos. Sie hatte sich an sie gewöhnt und wusste, was sie wollten und wie sie mit ihnen umspringen musste, damit sie nicht ausrasteten.

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