Gargoylesby Alan Nayes
Brilliant pre-med student Amoreena Daniels needs money. Desperately. Her mother is dying of cancer and her medical insurance has run out. When a seemingly perfect women’s clinic offers Amoreena a generous payment for service as a surrogate mother, Amoreena thinks her prayers have been answered. But then—much too early—her baby begins to move.… See more details below
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Brilliant pre-med student Amoreena Daniels needs money. Desperately. Her mother is dying of cancer and her medical insurance has run out. When a seemingly perfect women’s clinic offers Amoreena a generous payment for service as a surrogate mother, Amoreena thinks her prayers have been answered. But then—much too early—her baby begins to move.
The strange dreams, another surrogate’s mysterious death and a drug-addicted former medical intern confirm Amoreena’s worst suspicions: there is something terribly wrong with the pregnancy. Amoreena embarks on a dangerous journey to uncover the truth behind the endless battery of genetic tests, sonograms and frightened patients, only to discover that she has unwittingly become a pawn in a high-stakes game of biomedical experimentation.
Gargoyles is the first book in the Resurrection Trilogy series. Book two is Plague and Book three is Resurrection.
"A splendid debut. A timely tale, steadily accelerating suspense . . . and a warning."Charles Wilson, USA Today best-selling author of Deep Sleep and Extinct on Gargoyles
"The idea behind this story is first rate. Dr. Nayes shows the dark side of genetic engineering run amok, in a nightmarish biotech scenario. . . . Gargoyles is an audacious beginning for a bold new writer of medical thrillers."David M. Shobin, New York Times bestselling author of The Provider
"Slickly suspenseful . . . The mix of breezy science and lab-smock sadism makes for breathless page-turning."Kirkus Reviews on Gargoyles
"[A] gripping, thought-provoking tale of mounting distrust, betrayal, brutality, and greed."Booklist on Gargoyles
Read an Excerpt
Somewhere near Itzimte Ruins, Guatemala, rainy season
She turned her first trick four months shy of her thirteenth birthday. Patricio had been a small man, only a boy really, being just two years older than she. His father had been a teniente in the security police that patrolled Mexico City, and he'd paid sixty pesos for Gabriella's services. Gabriella wasn't her real name then, but it was the name she'd used while plying her trade, and it was how she was currently registered at Las Canas.
Now, three years later, the teenage girl with the truculent almond eyes sat huddled under a gnarled tree limb, seeking refuge from the tropical shower. Her skin glistened moist from sweat and precipitation, and she could smell her own fear above the pungent odor of the earth.
Gabriella stroked one have across her gravid abdomen, then quickly climbed from the security and cover of the lush vegetation to resume her flight alone the muddy carretera that would eventually lead her to San Andres. Nightfall was fast approaching. She pressed onward, prodding herself another half kilometer, though her feet and thighs cried out for rest. Surrounded by miles of unfettered jungle that comprised the Guatemalan lowland rain forests, she longed for a shortcut. There was none. And carved out of this most intimidating habitat in all of Central America had been Las Canas.
Wump. Wump. Wump. Wump. Los helicoperos. The choppers.
"Mi bebé!" My baby. Gabriella dashed back under the gloomy cover of the rain-forest canopy. She would rather risk an encounter with el tigre or even Desmodus rotundus, the loathsome bloodsucking vampire bat.
Wump. Wump. Wump. Anything but the choppers. She could never return to Las Canas. Never.
Gabriella clutched desperately at her stomach. It heaved with each laborious breath. She couldn't maintain this frenetic pace, it was impossible. She forced herself to think through the tears, through the pain. She might still stand a chance if she could thwart their initial assault.
Wump. Wump. Wump. Wump.
"Que mierda,"Gabriella cried out.
Her hands protected her eyes as she stumbled farther through the thick underbrush. Thorns ripped at her skin, and vines threatened to ensnare her ankles as if they possessed wills of their own.
She tripped, stumbling forward. Terror gripped her like a giant anaconda. Her breaths catapulted from her convulsing chest in short gasps.
Oh Dios, por favor, she prayed. Please, God. If she could just make it to the Itzimté Ruins before dark.
High above her head, the canopy of epiphytes, vines, and towering ferns gyrated into a living tempest. The powerful downdraft from the Sikorsky's blades created a whirlwind of flying debris.
Gabriella threw herself on the forest floor, cowering under the onslaught of tangled vegetation.
Wump. Wump. Wump. Wump.
"No!" she cried. "No!"
With nothing to cling to but remnants of past dreams, Gabriella began to pray. She prayed for herself. She prayed for Las Canas. But mostly she prayed for the bebés.
The men from the platación de azúcan were coming.
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