Two hundred miles north of the Arctic Circle lies Alaska’s Federal Wildlife Zone, one of the most remote and inhospitable places on Earth. But for paleoecologist Evan Marshall and a small group of fellow scientists, an expedition to the Zone represents a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to study the effects of global warming.

Everything about the expedition changes, however, with an astonishing find. On a routine exploration of a glacial ice cave, the group discovers an enormous ancient animal, encased in solid ice. The media conglomerate sponsoring their research immediately intervenes and arranges the ultimate spectacle--the creature will be cut from the ice, thawed, and revealed live on television. Despite dire warnings from the local Native American village, and the scientific concerns of Marshall and his team, the “docudrama” plows ahead... until the scientists make one more horrifying discovery. The beast is no regular specimen--it may be an ancient killing machine. And they may be premature in believing it dead.

In this riveting new thriller, Lincoln Child weaves together a stunning Arctic landscape, a terrifying mythic creature, and a pervasive mood of chaos--and fear. With Terminal Freeze, Child demonstrates why he has become a major bestselling author, and why his novels electrify and enthrall so many.

That’s basically what I’ve been trying to do ever since: write a story so scary, even I wouldn’t dare read it.

Whether I’ve accomplished that in Terminal Freeze is your call to make. But while putting the novel together, I was careful to choose elements that increased my personal uneasiness factor. A forbidding and dangerous landscape, far from the safety and comfort of civilization. A deserted army base, unused for half a century, full of dead-ends and dark forgotten corners. And that most atavistic of terrors: a vicious enemy, as deadly as it is mysterious, that stalks and kills with impunity--and an apparently limitless appetite for death.

So I hope you’ll consider Terminal Freeze my contribution to that time-honored literary genre, the Campfire Tale From Hell. We’ve all heard them: the Thing hiding in the bedroom closet; the hook-wielding lover’s lane murderer. They tend to stay with you into the cold light of day, and they can be damnably hard to forget. If I’ve managed to even approach the level of fear that kind of story evokes, then I’ve done my job as a storyteller.

That childhood notebook of mine is now long gone. And yet I often think of it still, and wonder if--even today--I might have a little difficulty turning over that final page.

(Photo © Kramer Images)