J. F. Gonzalez - Survivor

It pushes your eyes off the page and then pulls them back, forcing the kind of visceral relationship between writer and reader that the best horror writing can produce.

The New York Times Book Review

Fans of Jack Ketchum are definitely going to enjoy Survivor. You need to buy this book.

Cemetery Dance

Quite possibly the most disturbing book Ive ever read in my life.

Brian Keene, Author of City of the Dead

J. F. Gonzalez is a writer to watch.

Bentley Little, Author of The Policy

[T]his is extreme horror, unflinching and uncompromising.

Chiaroscuro

Lisa tried not to watch, tried to drown out the sounds of what was going on, but she felt drawn to the scene as it was being filmed.

As the assault continued, Lisa had feigned unconsciousness for what felt like hours. Lisa had never heard anybody scream in pain the way Debbie screamed. The screaming went on for a while and was punctuated by wet slapping sounds.

Somehow, Lisa managed to suffer through the ordeal of listening to Debbie Martinez being brutalized while she cowered in the corner, trying to drown out what was happening. For the first time since her ordeal the thought of the fetus in her womb didnt come up. Its never going to be, she had thought, her heart heavy with sadness. Brad and I arent going to have our baby, well never get the chance to make a baby again because when theyre finished with Debbie theyre going to do the same to me.

Lisa didnt know if Debbie was dead or alive until the three men left. She heard them packing the camera and lighting gear up, and she heard the blond guy ask, Is it okay if we leave that one here until tomorrow or the next day?

J. F. GONZALEZ

Dorchester

Publishing

For William Relling, Jr.
RIP Brother
I miss you

DORCHESTER PUBLISHING

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016

Copyright 2004 by J. F. Gonzalez

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the authors rights is appreciated.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Trade ISBN: 978-1-4285-1779-0
E-book ISBN: 978-1-4285-0438-7

First Dorchester Publishing, Co., Inc. edition: December 2010

The DP logo is the property of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

Visit us online at www.dorchesterpub.com .

Thank you: Dave Nordhaus for taking the bait the first time with Maternal Instinct, and Shane Ryan Staley for pulling it off; to Bill Relling and Bob Strauss for the editorial support when I needed it. The biggest thanks go to Gilbert Schloss for coming to the rescue when nobody would step up to the plate.

The following people also need to be thanked for various reasons, primarily for their friendship and support during the writing of this novel; in some cases for sending me money when I needed it or for providing technical support; in others, for their sheer wonderfulness: Cathy and Hannah, Joe and Lucy Becker, Jesus and Glenda Gonzalez; Gary Zimmerman and Bonesaw; Sean Wallace, Mary Wolf, Brian Hopkins; Matt Schwartz, Del and Sue Howison; Ramona Pearce and Salpy Manjikian; Trish Chervenak, Wrath James White, and Khaled Hosseini, MD, for providing me with answers to my questions as they pertained to their individual fields (and I hope I didnt mess up too badly); the California Highway Patrol and LAPD; Andrew Vachss and the Zero; Monster.com; the city of Las Vegas and the Luxor Hotel; John Graff; Kevin Johnson, Gord Rollo, Garrett Peck, and Brian Keene for their support and friendship; to Coop for helping stage the first anti-reading; and for my readers who believe in me.

A tip of the hat to G. Hof, Zack Venable, and Buddy Martinez for inspiration they never could have imagined. And to Zack, Richard Long, Angel Garcia, Justin Grave, and William Smithmy longtime buddies and partners in crime. Your secrets safe with me.

SURVIVOR

October 5, 1955

Lititz, Pennsylvania

Their neighborhood was deserted. Nobody had seen her get off the school bus at the corner of Lincoln and Elm on the outskirts of town, heading toward Rothsville Road. Bonnie Febray clutched her books to her chest, her skirt flapping against her shapely legs as she commenced her walk home. The autumn wind blew brittle leaves along the sidewalk, and she could sense the approach of fall as the skin along her arms rose to goose pimples at the sudden cold. She hugged herself. Football season was already well under way, and it was going to be a good year. She was head cheerleader this year at Warwick High School, she was dating Richard Swiegert, star quarterback of the team, and this was her senior year.

Im on top of the world!

Traffic along Rothsville Road was light. There was a small development about a half a mile from the White Swan restaurant, where Rothsville Road curved into Newport Road, and that is where she had gotten off. She lived just four blocks down Elm Street, the direction in which she was headed now. She glanced at her wrist-watch. It was three-thirty P.M. Mom was supposed to be at Kennys game this afternoon; they were playing Cocalico in the Middle-School Division. They would get home about the same time Dad arrived home from work at Armstrong, and by then Bonnie would be home, clothes changed, showered and fresh, the smell of sweat and sex scrubbed off her. She felt her skin flush with excitement and a rising sense of shame as she drew closer to her destination. She cast furtive glances around the neighborhood. Bobby Martin and his snot-nosed friends from up the street werent playing on their front porchthat was a good thing. She paused as she approached her home, looking around to see if anybody was around. She was fairly confident no one was paying attention to her, so she quickly walked past her house and darted up the sidewalk, heading to the Smith house, a cute brick home with a porch swing on the covered porch.

She darted up the steps to the porch and knocked on the wooden screen door. Her heart was pounding. Her stomach fluttered. Nerves. She didnt dare risk glancing back over her shoulder. There was really no reason to be ashamed. If anybody asked, she would simply explain that Mabel wanted her to stop by and help her with the bake sale that the First Methodist church was having next Sunday. It was true; Mabel had asked her to help her prepare a batch of chocolate-chip cookies and a cake two weeks ago. Bonnie had run to the store for ingredients while Mabel took her kids, a son and a daughter, to the Lititz Recreation Center. Thats how it had started.