Swan Song

Swan Song

Robert R. McCammon

Language: English

Pages: 866

ISBN: B005T54IAY

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


McCammon’s epic bestselling novel about a girl psychic struggling to survive in the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust
 
Something flashes in nine-year-old Swan’s brain, telling her that trouble is coming. Maybe it’s her mother, fed up with her current boyfriend and ready to abandon their dismal trailer park and seek a new home. But something far worse is on the horizon. Death falls from the sky—nuclear bombs which annihilate American civilization. Though Swan survives the blast, this young psychic’s war is just beginning.
 
As the survivors try to make new lives in the wasteland, an evil army forms, intent on murdering all those tainted with the diseases brought by fallout. When Swan finds a mysterious amulet that could hold the key to humankind’s salvation, she draws the attention of a man more dangerous than any nuclear bomb. To rescue mankind, this little girl will have to grow up fast.

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enough for Josh to touch and sat back on its haunches, its muzzle scarlet with Lord Alvin’s blood. For the first time, Josh saw that the dog was wearing a flea collar, and on it was a little metal name tag that said “Killer.” Josh knelt over Leona and shook her. The woman’s eyelids fluttered, her face slack, a terrible purple swelling around the gash over her left eye. Concussion, Josh realized. Or worse. She lifted a hand to touch the smeared greasepaint on Josh’s face, and then her eyes

He shoved the weapon back under the seat. “I was just having some fun! You two take everything too seriously!” There was a sudden jolt as Phil Croninger planted his foot on the brake pedal. Two men in green helmets and camouflage uniforms were standing in the middle of the road; both of them were holding Ingram submachine guns and had .45s in holsters at their waists. The Ingram guns were pointed right at the RV’s windshield. “Jesus,” Phil whispered. One of the soldiers motioned for him to roll

room.” “Oh, you’d be surprised what a one-legged old man can squeeze himself into.” “More weight means using more gasoline, not to mention food and water. No. Sorry.” “I weigh about as much as a wet feather,” Hugh persisted. “And I can carry along my own food and water. If you want payment for taking me with you, perhaps I can interest you in two jugs of moonshine I’ve kept hidden for an emergency.” Paul was about to say no again, but his lips locked. The moonshine was about the nastiest

was content to wear these bandages for the rest of his life. He waited until he’d stopped shaking. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see him that way. He was an officer. Then he began walking briskly across the camp toward Colonel Macklin’s trailer. Macklin was seated behind his desk, going over reports from Captain Satterlee about how much fuel and ammunition remained. The supplies were rapidly dwindling. “Come in,” he said when Roland knocked at the door. Roland entered, and Macklin said, “Close

man’s hand, and there was a grunt followed by a shrill cry of pain. Someone whimpered and scrabbled away across the floor. Roland fired into the dark, the red trajectories of tracer bullets ricocheting off the walls. There was another scream that broke into gurgling fragments and grew distant, and Roland thought that one of the men must’ve stepped into a hole in the floor and fallen through. He sprayed the cafeteria with bullets, and then he stopped firing because he knew he was alone again. He

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