TheHollowCity - (EPUB全文下载)

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
 
Dan Wells lives in Orem, Utah, with his wife, Dawn, and their five young children. Visit Dan at www.fearfulsymmetry.net.
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As with all novels, this one owes a great deal to a great many people. First are my professional accomplices: my agent, Sara Crowe; my editor, Moshe Feder; my in-house advocate, Paul Stevens; and my publicist, Alexis Saarela. Without their work on this and all of my previous novels, The Hollow City would still be a poorly written file on my hard drive.
Great thanks also go to my writing group and various other readers, who helped shepherd the early versions of this book from “Dan’s weird imagination” to “something people actually want to read.” In no particular order: Brandon and Emily Sanderson, Peter and Karen Ahlstrom, Ben and Danielle Olsen, Alan Layton, Ethan Skarstedt, Kaylynn Zobell, Janci Patterson, Steve Diamond, Nick Dianatkhah, Will Groberg, and Rob Wells.
Special thanks go to Dawn Wells, my wonderful wife and the best support I could ever ask for, and to Philip K. Dick, who I gave up trying to emulate but who continues to inspire me. When the world makes sense it’s because of her, and when it doesn’t I think of him.
 
TOR BOOKS BY DAN WELLS
I Am Not a Serial Killer
Mr. Monster
I Don’t Want to Kill You
 
The Hollow City
 
ONE
“WHO ARE YOU?”
I’m in a hospital bed; I can tell by the rails on the sides, and by the white coats on the people gathered around me. Their heads are haloed by bright fluorescent lights, still indistinct as I struggle to wake up. There’s a needle in my elbow, an IV tube reaching out behind me. I feel nauseous and slow, and the light burns my eyes. How did I get here? Where’s Lucy?
“You’re awake,” says one of the men, “good, good. You gave us quite a scare, Mr. Shipman.”
He knows my name. I stare at the man, forcing my eyes to focus. He’s older, sixties maybe, in a long, white hospital coat. Two other men and one woman stand by him, probably also doctors, pressed around my bed. There’s a guard by the door—a guard? Or just an orderly? I don’t know what’s going on.
My throat is dry and I struggle to talk. “Why don’t I remember coming here?”
“My name is Dr. Murray,” he says. “You had a fall—do you remember falling?”
Do I remember anything? I remember hiding out, and then … a chase? Someone found me. Yes, I’m sure of it; I remember running. And there was an empty city, full of empty houses, and a deep, dark hole, like a well or a mine shaft.
The people I was running from wer ............

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