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Thunderhead
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Thunderhead

4.3 162
by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child
 

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Nora Kelly, a young archaeologist in Santa Fe, receives a letter written sixteen years ago, yet mysteriously mailed only recently. In it her father, long believed dead, hints at a fantastic discovery that will make him famous and rich—-the lost city of an ancient civilization that suddenly vanished a thousand years ago. Now Nora is leading an expedition into a

Overview

Nora Kelly, a young archaeologist in Santa Fe, receives a letter written sixteen years ago, yet mysteriously mailed only recently. In it her father, long believed dead, hints at a fantastic discovery that will make him famous and rich—-the lost city of an ancient civilization that suddenly vanished a thousand years ago. Now Nora is leading an expedition into a harsh, remote corner of Utah's canyon country. Searching for her father and his glory, Nora begins t unravel the greatest riddle of American archeology. but what she unearths will be the newest of horrors...

Editorial Reviews

The Barnes & Noble Review
Have you read Relic by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child? I did, and it scared the hell out of me. Then came the writing team's follow-up, Reliquary; one of the best sequels I've ever read — and I don't really like horror fiction. So, when a friend told me about Riptide, a rousing adventure story about the search for a lost pirate treasure, I bought it that day and finished it that night. Now, continuing with pure adventure, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child bring us Thunderhead, a romp that's as thrilling as anything I've read this year.

Thunderhead is the story of a scientific expedition in the deserts of the American Southwest. A team of scientists is looking for the ancient city of Quivira, the mythical capital of the Anasazi Indians, one of the most secretive and least understood of all Native American tribes. Legend has it that Quivira was the repository for all of the tribe's treasures — gold that countless Spanish conquistadors lost their lives searching for. What the legends don't mention is why the Anasazi vanished. Unknown to the expedition's leader, Nora Kelly — an archaeologist whose father vanished 15 years earlier looking for Quivira — the evil that befell the tribe is still around.

A couple of coincidences kickstart Thunderhead, but once the tale gets going, once Nora, along with a group of scientists, adventurers, and the daughter of the director of the Santa Fe Archaeological Institute, starts to follow a tenuous map left by her missing father, the early conveniences are quickly forgotten. Duringtheperilous journey, the team is dogged by two horrifying creatures that will do anything to make certain the band doesn't find the city. By ferryboat, by raft, and finally, by horse, the team wanders deeper and deeper into southern Utah's deadly maze of canyons, each step taking them closer to a place where nature's fury and an ancient curse wait to destroy anyone who comes too close.

On the verge of the greatest discovery since King Tut's tomb, Nora finds her group falling apart — derailed by the hardships of their quest and conflicting personal agendas. It's not long before their horses begin to die mysteriously, and then some of the scientists. Cut off from the outside world, with friends and coworkers dropping around her, Nora must race to save her own life. She may have figured out what killed the Anasazi just in time to find it's killing her too.

In the tradition of H. Rider Haggard and with the stylistic power of Wilbur Smith, the cutting-edge science of Michael Crichton, and the tension that has made their previous books bestsellers, Preston and Child's Thunderhead is the perfect summer read.

Jack Du Brul

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
The adventure is marginally higher than the suspense in Preston and Child's sturdy new tale of scientific derring-do, concerning a search for Quivira, the legendary Anasazi Indian City of Gold. With four high-concept thrillers behind them, from 1995's Relic to last year's Riptide, the authors know what buttons to push and levers to yank — perhaps too well. The novel has a clockwork feel, from its first tick — the spooky stalking of archeologist Nora Kelly on an isolated New Mexican ranch — to its last tock. Playing it safe, Preston and Child take no missteps as Nora finds an old letter from her long-missing father with clues to Quivira's location; leads an expedition of central-casting types (a leathery old cowboy, a beautiful female photographer, the jokey journalist who figured in Relic and Reliquary, etc.); after much difficulty, discovers Quivira, which is revealed as a repository of ancient evil; and encounters death by way of the Native American witches who threatened her at the novel's start. It's all predictable but rarely dull. The authors display deep affection for the pulp they're recycling, talent for exciting set pieces — a hazardous ascent along a ridge toward Quivira and the flash-flooding of the canyon harboring the city are showcases of action writing — and, always their ace, the ability to infuse every aspect of their story with authentic techno-scientific lore. This is a novel in which the archeological niceties of ancient black-on-yellow micaceous pottery are as important to plot as the caliber of the gun the heroine wields. Fans of the authors' similarly inspired, and similarly metronomic, scientific textbooks-cum-thrillers should find this one much to their taste. Simultaneous audio.
Copyright 1999 Cahners Business Information.
Library Journal
Nora Kelly's pursuit of the legendary Anasazi city of Quivivra, which she believes was discovered by her father, results in monumental obstacles. A story filled with excitement, a sense of place, and personable characters, delivered as a quick-paced race against evil and the forces of nature. (Oct.) Copyright 1999 Cahners Business Information.
Jack Du Brul
Jack Du Brul Reviews Thunderhead by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child

Have you read Relic by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child? I did, and it scared the hell out of me. Then came the writing team's follow-up, Reliquary; one of the best sequels I've ever read -- and I don't really like horror fiction. So, when a friend told me about Riptide, a rousing adventure story about the search for a lost pirate treasure, I bought it that day and finished it that night. Now, continuing with pure adventure, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child bring us Thunderhead, a romp that's as thrilling as anything I've read this year.

Thunderhead is the story of a scientific expedition in the deserts of the American Southwest. A team of scientists is looking for the ancient city of Quivira, the mythical capital of the Anasazi Indians, one of the most secretive and least understood of all Native American tribes. Legend has it that Quivira was the repository for all of the tribe's treasures -- gold that countless Spanish conquistadors lost their lives searching for. What the legends don't mention is why the Anasazi vanished. Unknown to the expedition's leader, Nora Kelly -- an archaeologist whose father vanished 15 years earlier looking for Quivira -- the evil that befell the tribe is still around.

A couple of coincidences kickstart Thunderhead, but once the tale gets going, once Nora, along with a group of scientists, adventurers, and the daughter of the director of the Santa Fe Archaeological Institute, starts to follow a tenuous map left by her missing father, the early conveniences are quickly forgotten. During the perilous journey, the team is dogged by two horrifying creatures that will do anything to make certain the band doesn't find the city. By ferryboat, by raft, and finally, by horse, the team wanders deeper and deeper into southern Utah's deadly maze of canyons, each step taking them closer to a place where nature's fury and an ancient curse wait to destroy anyone who comes too close.

On the verge of the greatest discovery since King Tut's tomb, Nora finds her group falling apart -- derailed by the hardships of their quest and conflicting personal agendas. It's not long before their horses begin to die mysteriously, and then some of the scientists. Cut off from the outside world, with friends and coworkers dropping around her, Nora must race to save her own life. She may have figured out what killed the Anasazi just in time to find it's killing her too.

In the tradition of H. Rider Haggard and with the stylistic power of Wilbur Smith, the cutting-edge science of Michael Crichton, and the tension that has made their previous books bestsellers, Preston and Child's Thunderhead is the perfect summer read.

--Jack Du Brul

Called "a helluva writer" by Clive Cussler, Jack Du Brul is a hot young writer destined to reach the forefront of the thriller scene. His first novel, Vulcan's Forge, which features the hard-drinking, charismatic geologist Philip Mercer, is now available in paperback. Du Brul's new Philip Mercer page-turner, Charon's Landing, has just hit stores in hardcover.

Kirkus Reviews
Since joining forces, Preston and Child have hit pay dirt, especially with 1995's wild and woolly Relic (subsequently filmed as an Alien clone, with a monster loose in the basement of Chicago's Field Museum); its follow-ups, Mount Dragon (1996) and Reliquary (1997); and the unstoppably thrilling Riptide (1998). Their latest focuses on the Anasazi Indians' Quivira, the legendary Lost City of Gold in Utah. Sixteen years ago, archaeologist Nora Kelly's father vanished among southeastern Utah's red-rock canyons. Now, when a 16-year-old letter from her father to her mother weirdly lands at her feet, Nora is led to believe that her father actually found Quivira, and she mounts an expedition into the canyons hoping to discover some meaning behind his disappearance somewhere west of the Kaiparowits Plateau. An orbiting Jet Propulsion Lab shuttle imager, which maps the earth and can see through 30 feet of sand to locate lost roads, reveals the hand-and-toe trail used by her father. Her group follows a horrifyingly dangerous trail and eventually finds the perfectly preserved lost city, one of the great archaeological discoveries, described here fascinatingly. But bad news strikes. Horses are gutted. Then come the monstrous skinwalkers, masked beasts that rip and tear. Spellbinding as ever.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780446608374
Publisher:
Warner Books (NY)
Publication date:
06/28/2000
Edition description:
Reissue
Pages:
560
Sales rank:
136,168
Product dimensions:
4.25(w) x 6.87(h) x 1.32(d)
Age Range:
14 - 18 Years

Read an Excerpt

1

The freshly paved road left Santa Fe and arrowed west through piñon trees. An amber-colored sun was sinking into a scrim of dirty clouds behind the snowcapped Jemez Mountains, drawing a counterpane of shade across the landscape. Nora Kelly guided the rattletrap Ford pickup along the road, down chamisa-covered hills and across the beds of dry washes. It was the third time she had been out here in as many months.

As she came up from Buckman's Wash into Jackrabbit Flats-what had once been Jackrabbit Flats-she saw a shining arc of light beyond the piñons. A moment later, her truck was speeding past manicured greens. A nearby sprinkler head winked and nodded in the sun, jetting water in a regular, palsied cadence. Beyond, on a rise, stood the new Fox Run clubhouse, a massive structure of fake adobe. Nora looked away.

The truck rattled over a cattle guard at the far end of Fox Run and suddenly, the road was washboard dirt. She bounced past a cluster of ancient mailboxes and the crude, weatherbeaten sign that read RANCHO DE LAS CABRILLAS. For a moment, the memory of a summer day twenty years before passed through her mind: once again she was standing in the heat, holding a bucket, helping her father paint the sign. Cabrillas, he'd said, was the Spanish word for waterbugs. But it was also their name for the constellation Pleiades, which he said looked like water skaters on the shining surface of a pond. "To hell with the cattle," she remembered him saying, swabbing thick letters with the paintbrush. "I bought this place for its stars."

The road turned to ascend a rise, and she slowed. The sun had now disappeared, and the light was draining fast out of the high desert sky. There in a grassy valley stood the old ranch house, windows boarded up. And beside it, the frowsy outlines of the barn and corrals that were once the Kelly family ranch. No one had lived here in five years. It was no great loss, Nora told herself: the house was a mid-fifties prefab, already falling apart when she was growing up. Her father had spent all his money on the land.

Pulling off the road just below the brow of the hill, she glanced toward the nearby arroyo. Somebody had surreptitiously dumped a load of broken cinderblocks. Maybe her brother was right and she should sell the place. Taxes were going up, and the house had long ago passed the point of no return. Why was she holding on to it? She couldn't afford to build her own place there-not on an assistant professor's salary, anyway.

She could see the lights coming on in the Gonzales ranch house, a quarter mile away. It was a real working ranch, not like her father's hobby ranchito. Teresa Gonzales, a girl she'd grown up with, now ran the place by herself. A big, smart, fearless woman. In recent years, she'd taken it upon herself to look after the Kelly ranch, too. Every time kids came out to party, or drunken hunters decided to take potshots at the place, Teresa rousted them and left a message on the answering machine at Nora's townhouse. This time, for the past three or four nights, Teresa had seen dim lights in and around the house just after sunset, and-she thought-large animals slinking about.

Nora waited a few minutes, looking for signs of life, but the ranch was quiet and empty. Perhaps Teresa had imagined the lights. In any case, whoever or whatever it was seemed to have left.

She eased the truck through the inner gate and down the last two hundred yards of road, parked around back, and killed the engine. Pulling a flashlight out of the glove compartment, she stepped lightly onto the dirt. The door of the house hung open, held precariously by a single hinge screw, its lock cut off long ago with bolt cutters. A gust swept through the yard, picking up skeins of dust and moving the door with a restless whisper.

She flicked on the flashlight and stepped onto the portal. The door moved aside at her push, then swung back stubbornly. She gave it an annoyed kick and it fell to the porch with a clatter, loud in the listening silence. She stepped inside.

The boarded windows made the interior difficult to make out, yet even so it was clearly a sad echo of her memory of the house she grew up in. Beer bottles and broken glass lay strewn across the floor, and some gang member had spraypainted a tagline on the wall. Some of the boards covering the windows had been pried away. The carpet had been ripped up, and sofa cushions sliced in half and tossed about the room. Holes had been kicked in the drywall, along with liberal pepperings from a .22.

Perhaps it wasn't that much worse than the last time. The rips on the cushions were new, along with the ragged holes in the wall, but the rest she remembered from her previous visit. Her lawyer had warned her that in its present condition the place was a liability. If a city inspector ever managed to get out here, he would immediately condemn it. The only problem was, tearing the thing down would cost more than she had-unless, of course, she sold it.

She turned from the living room into the kitchen. Her flashlight beam swept over the old Frigidaire, still lying where it had been overturned. Drawers had recently been removed and strewn about the room. The linoleum was coming up in big curls, and someone had hastened the process, peeling off strips and even ripping up floorboards to expose the crawlspace underneath. Vandalism is hard work, she thought. As her eyes roved over the room again, something began to nag at the back of her mind. Something was different this time.

She left the kitchen and began to climb the stairs, kicking aside wads of mattress ticking, trying to bring the thought into focus. Sofa cushions sliced, holes punched in walls, carpeting and linoleum ripped up. Somehow, this fresh violence didn't seem quite as random as it had in the past. It was almost as if someone was looking for something. Halfway up the darkness of the stairwell, she stopped.

Was that the crunch of glass underfoot?

She waited, motionless in the dim light. There was no sound but the faint susurrus of wind. If a car had driven up, she'd have heard it. She continued up the stairs.

It was even darker up here, all the windowboards still in place. She turned right on the landing and shone the flashlight into her old bedroom. Again she felt the familiar pang as her eyes moved over the pink wallpaper, now hanging in strips and stained like an old map. The mattress was one giant packrat's nest, the music stand for her oboe broken and rusted, the floorboards sprung. A bat squeaked overhead, and Nora remembered the time she'd been caught trying to make a pet out of one of them. Her mother had never understood her childish fascination for the creatures.

She moved across the hall to her brother's room, also a wreck. Not so different from his current place. But over the smell of ruin, she thought she detected the faintest scent of crushed flowers in the night air. Strange-the windows are all shuttered up here. She moved down the hall toward her parents' bedroom.

This time, there was no mistaking it: the faint tinkle of broken glass from below. She stopped again. Was it a rat, scuttling across the living room floor?

She moved silently back to the top of the landing, then paused. There was another sound from below: a faint thud. As she waited in the darkness, she heard another crunch, sharper this time, as something heavy stepped on broken glass.

Nora exhaled slowly, a tight knot of muscle squeezing her chest. What had begun as an irritating errand now felt like something else entirely.

"Who is it?" she called out.

Only the wind answered.

She swung the flashlight beam into the empty stairwell. Usually, kids would run at the first sight of her truck. Not this time.

"This is private property!" she yelled in her steadiest voice. "And you're trespassing. The police are on their way."

In the ensuing silence, there came another footpad, closer to the stairwell.

"Teresa?" Nora called again, in a desperate hope.

And then she heard something else: a throaty, menacing sound that was almost a growl.

Dogs, she thought with a sudden flood of relief. There were feral dogs out there, and they'd been using the house as a shelter. She chose not to think about why this was somehow a comforting thought.

"Yah!" she cried, waving the light. "Get on out of here! Go home!"

Again, silence was the only reply.

Nora knew how to handle stray dogs. She stomped down the stairs, speaking loudly and firmly. Reaching the bottom, she swept the beam across the living room.

It was empty. The dogs must have run at the sound of her approach.

Nora took a deep breath. Even though she hadn't inspected her parent's bedroom, she decided it was time to go.

As she headed for the door, she heard another careful footstep, then another, excruciatingly slow and deliberate.

She flashed her light toward the sounds as something else registered: a faint, breathy wheeze, a low, monotonous purring mutter. That same scent of flowers wafted through the heavy air, this time stronger.

She stood motionless, paralyzed by the unfamiliar feeling of menace, wondering if she should switch off the flashlight and hide herself or simply make a run for it.

And then out of the corner of her eye she saw a huge, pelted form racing along the wall. She turned to confront it as a stunning blow landed across her back.

She fell sprawling, feeling coarse fur at the nape of her neck. There was a maniacal wet growling, like the slavered fighting of rabid hounds. She lashed into the figure with a vicious kick. The figure snarled but relaxed its grip slightly, giving Nora a moment to wrench free. Just as she jumped up, a second figure slammed into her and threw her to the ground, landing atop her. Nora twisted, feeling broken glass digging into her skin as the dark form pinned her to the ground. She glimpsed a naked belly, covered with glowing spots; jaguar stripes; claws of horn and hair; a midriff, dank and matted-wearing a belt of silver conchos. Narrow eyes, terrifyingly red and bright, stared at her from grimy slits in a buckskin mask.

"Where is it?" a voice rasped in her face, washing her in the cloyingly sweet stench of rotten meat.

She could not find the voice to reply.

"Where is it?" the voice repeated, crude, imperfect, like a beast aping human speech. Vicelike claws grasped her roughly around the neck and right arm.

"What-" she croaked.

"The letter," it said, claws tightening. "Or we rip your head off."

She jerked in sudden fevered struggle, but the grip on her neck grew stronger. She began to choke in pain and terror.

Suddenly, a flash of light and a deafening blast cut through the darkness. She felt the grip slacken, and in a frenzy she twisted free of the claws. She rolled over as a second blast ripped a hole in the ceiling overhead, showering her with bits of lathe and plaster. She scrambled desperately to her feet, shards of glass skittering across the floor. Her flashlight had rolled away, and she spun around, disoriented.

"Nora?" she heard. "That you, Nora?" Framed in the dim light of the front door, a plump figure was standing, shotgun hanging forward.

"Teresa!" Nora sobbed. She stumbled toward the light.

"You okay?" Teresa asked, grabbing Nora's arm, steadying her.

"I don't know."

"Let's get the hell out of here."

Outside, Nora sank to the ground, gulping the cool twilight air and fighting down her pounding heart. "What happened?" she heard Teresa ask. "I heard noises, some kind of scuffle, saw your light."

Nora simply shook her head, gasping.

"Those were some hellacious-looking wild dogs. Big as wolves, almost."

Nora shook her head again. "No. Not dogs. One of them spoke to me."

Teresa peered at her more closely. "Hey, your arm looks bitten. Maybe you'd better let me drive you to the hospital."

"Absolutely not."

But Teresa was scanning the dim outlines of the house, eyebrows knitted. "They sure did leave in a hurry. First kids, now wild dogs. But what kind of dogs could vanish so-"

"Teresa, one of them spoke to me."

Teresa looked at her, more searchingly this time, a skeptical look creeping into her eyes. "Must've been pretty terrifying," she said at last. "You should've told me you were coming out. I'd have met you down here with Señor Winchester." She patted the gun fondly.

Nora looked at her solid figure, her rattled but capable face. She knew the woman didn't believe her, but she didn't have the energy to argue. "Next time I will," she said.

"I hope there won't be a next time," said Teresa gently. "You need to either tear this place down, or sell it and let someone else tear it down for you. It's becoming a problem, and not just for you."

"I know it's an eyesore. But I just hate to think of letting it go. I'm sorry it's caused trouble for you."

"I would've thought this might change your mind. Want to come in for a bite of something?"

"No thanks, Teresa," Nora said as firmly as she could. "I'm all right."

"Maybe," came the reply. "But you better get a rabies shot anyway."

Nora watched as her neighbor turned onto the narrow trail that headed back up the hill. Then she eased into the driver's seat of her truck and locked all the doors with a shaking hand. She sat quietly, feeling the air move in and out of her lungs, watching Teresa's dim form merge slowly with the dark bulk of the hillside. When at last she felt in full control of her limbs, she reached for the ignition, wincing at a sudden stab of pain in her neck.

She turned over the engine, unsuccessfully, and cursed. She needed a new vehicle, along with a new everything else in her life.

She tried it again, and after a sputtering protest the engine coughed into life. She punched off the headlights to conserve the battery and, slouching back against the seat, gently pumped the accelerator, waiting for the engine to clear.

To one side, a flash of silver winked briefly. She turned to see a huge shape, black and furred, bounding toward her against the last twilight in the western sky.

Nora slammed the old truck into gear, punched on the headlights, and gunned the engine. It roared in response and she went fishtailing out of the yard. As she careened through the inside gate, she saw with consummate horror that the thing was racing alongside her.

She jammed the accelerator to the floor as the truck slewed across the ranch road, spraying mad patterns of dirt, whacking a cholla. And then, the thing was gone. But she continued to accelerate down the road to the outer gate, wheels pounding the washboard. After an unbearably long moment, her headlights finally picked up the outer cattle guard looming from the darkness ahead, the row of old mailboxes nailed to a long horizontal board beside it. Too late, Nora jammed on the brakes; the truck struck the cattle guard and was airborne. She landed heavily and skidded in the sand, striking the old board. There was the crunch of splintering wood and the boxes were flung to the ground.

She sat in the truck, breathing hard, dust smoking up around her lights. She dropped into reverse and gunned the engine, feeling panic as the wheels dug into the deep sand. She rocked twice before the truck stalled.

In the glow of the headlights, she could see the damage. The row of ranch mailboxes had been a rickety affair to begin with, and they had recently been supplanted by a shiny new set of post office boxes that stood nearby. But she could not back up: there was no choice but to go forward.

She jumped out and, glancing around for any sign of the figure, moved around to the front of the truck, picked up the rotten, abandoned mailboxes, and dragged them aside into the brush. An envelope lay in the dirt, and she grabbed it. As she turned to step back into the truck, the headlights caught the front of the envelope. Nora froze for a moment, gasping in surprise.

Then she shoved it in her shirt pocket, jumped into the truck, and peeled back onto the road, careening toward the distant, welcoming lights of town.

(c) 1999 by Dougas Preston and Lincoln Child"

Meet the Author

The thrillers of Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child "stand head and shoulders above their rivals" (Publishers Weekly). Preston and Child's Relic and The Cabinet of Curiosities were chosen by readers in a National Public Radio poll as being among the one hundred greatest thrillers ever written, and Relic was made into a number-one box office hit movie. They are coauthors of the famed Pendergast series and their recent novels include Fever Dream, Cold Vengeance, Two Graves, and Gideon's Corpse. In addition to his novels, Preston writes about archaeology for the New Yorker and Smithsonian magazines. Lincoln Child is a former book editor who has published five novels of his own, including the huge bestseller Deep Storm.
Readers can sign up for The Pendergast File, a monthly "strangely entertaining note" from the authors, at their website, www.PrestonChild.com. The authors welcome visitors to their alarmingly active Facebook page, where they post regularly.

Brief Biography

Place of Birth:
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Education:
B.A., Pomona College, 1978
Website:
http://www.prestonchild.com

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Thunderhead 4.3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 162 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is my favorite book by Doug Preston and Lincoln Child. I stayed up until 2:00 a.m. to finish it!!!! It has all the elements I love in a great story: adventure, romance, hidden cities, treasure hunting, evil villains, a strong willed woman character, anicent Indians, canyons, and horses. It was a whirl wind of a thrill ride for me. The main character, Nora, is one of my favorite characters. She can ride a horse as well as any man, is stubborn, and intelligent, yet she has a soft side to her too. The plot is all the things I mentioned above. It starts out fast, keep the pace going quickly, and the ending is awesome. Well, done Mr. Preston and Mr. Child. This book sure would make an great movie!!!!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is one of the better Preston and Child books. After the Pendergast series went south with the Diogenes storyline, I decided to give the non-Pendergast books a try and I wasn't disappointed. The best part of this book was the fictionalized yet entirely plausible mystery of the Anasazi - and it helped that I love archaeology because this book has plenty of it. All of it was wrapped in a fun, suspenseful story. It was fun to read Smithback in a crossover, it was good to see the origin of Nora Kelly, and there were other interesting characters as well. I'm definitely going to checl out the other non-Pendergast books.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I read Tyrannosaur Canyon, then Relic, then Thunderhead, then Mount Dragon. All have great story ideas but Thunderhead is a clunker in terms of narrative skill. TC, MD and Relic are much more highly recommendable.
Guest More than 1 year ago
...that's where the excitement is. Nora Kelly is as boring a protagonist as there ever was. And so is her family, and her job, and her work. But once she makes her journey out to 'the site', the book gets great and picks up and you are in a page-turner all of the sudden. Highly recommended, but not as good as others of P&C I've read.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Although this book started out slowly, once the hunt for the lost city started it was hard to put the book down. I loved the descriptions of the Anasazi city and the many artifacts found there. I am interested in Indian culture and although this was a fictional account of what could have happened to the Anasazi, it was enthralling nonetheless. Very exciting and kept me on the edge of my seat.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
couldnt put this book down
Guest More than 1 year ago
This story did not hook me until their little expedition got off into the desert, and then I couldn't put it down. The images of what they found in that abandoned village stay with me even now a year later. I would like to read the book again.
Karen0 More than 1 year ago
Kept you on the edge of your seat from beginning to end. Love how the authors incorporate and expand their main characters. This unique story explores the idea of an ancient city of gold. The twists and turns will keep the reader engrossed.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Hard to put down at times
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Characters are annoying and full of egos for 2/3 of the book but it all comes together in the end and makes the read worth it!
Anonymous 12 months ago
A bit long at times but a very good read
Brainiac2112 More than 1 year ago
What an epic adventure! I have been a fan of this writing duo since the publication of "Relic". Their Pendergast series is always a pleasure to read. As a stand alone book, "Thunderhead" is awesome! It is my favorite book by these authors and is one of my favorite stories of all time! It has all the elements I love - great characters, plot, thrills, chills, suspense, etc. It captured my imagination and interest all the way through. I highly recommend this book!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Couldn't put it down.
rshRH More than 1 year ago
I have read many books with the same old Indian tales and superstitions. This just adds to the reading and makes it one more that make a person really wonder is there some truth in all this?? A good read in any case, so enjoy...
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This is saddening. You could feel his emotions too.
birdieman More than 1 year ago
A great weave of characters and story lines. Anyone who has had contact with horses or traveled in the western deserts , will thoroughly enjoy.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The best book i have ever read about digs archeology could not put it down t
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I am a fan of all of their books, but enjoyed this more than the others.
PiratePrez More than 1 year ago
This story had me from page 1..... it takes you directly into the journey as if you are with the crew!
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