Revenge of the Nerd, a guest post by Chris Holm

 The winner of DEATH IN A BLACKOUT is Kathy Reel! Kathy, you can contact Jessica Ellicott with your information at Jessica at Jessica Ellicott dot com.

 

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I first heard about the book that became CHILD ZERO in the late fall of '19. I was having cocktails at some cool Portland bar with Chris Holm and his wife, critic Katrina Niidas Holm (they know where all the cool bars are.) I asked Chris the question most writers don't want to hear, "What are you working on?" 

"Have you ever heard of human microbiomes?" he replied. Then he sketched out a story that had my eyes popping out of my head. I told him I had to read it as soon as possible. When he sent me the ARC of CHILD ZERO this winter, I sat down and read the whole thing cover to cover in a single evening. Then I went back and read it again to get all the things I had missed in the first blaze-through. 

Readers, I knew Chris was good, but I didn't know he was that good. How did he write what's going to be THE thriller of 2022? By tapping into his (not so deeply buried) inner nerd.

 

 

Many thanks, Jungle Reds, for having me by! I promise I’ll use coasters and tidy up before I leave.

 

Now, a confession that’ll surprise no one who’s ever met me: I’ve been a nerd for as long as I can remember.

 

In grade school, I lived for the science fair: refracting light through various media, constructing a functional radio from household items, attaching a handmade balsa wing to a scale and sticking it inside a makeshift wind tunnel to demonstrate lift.

 

In middle school, I placed into an accelerated science track, and—with the help of an exceptional teacher by the name of Mr. LaPre—discovered an infatuation with all things biological.

 

I was also a voracious reader, tearing through mass market paperbacks by the armload. Because I grew up in the sticks, my morning bus route took nearly an hour, and I’d spend every moment of it with my nose in a book. Ditto lunch, and my ride home, and the wee hours of the morning, when I probably should’ve been asleep.

The other kids in school thought I was weird, which… fair. Still, come 1993, my nerdiness afforded me the inside track on the biggest freakin’ movie since Star Wars.

 

If I were to create a Mount Rushmore of my youth, it’d likely feature George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, Stephen King, and Michael Crichton. Lucas and Spielberg were beloved by everyone my age. King, I shared with my cousin Joey, who was as obsessed with him as I was. But, funny as it is to say about one of the bestselling novelists of all time, Crichton felt like he was writing just for me.

 

As mainstream as Crichton was, his work was just so nerdy. THE ANDROMEDA STRAIN featured a deadly alien microbe. CONGO was about a species of violent, apelike hybrids bred to protect an ancient diamond mine. SPHERE hinged on the discovery of a mysterious spacecraft from humanity’s future, which contained a dangerous alien artifact.

 

Then, in 1990, came JURASSIC PARK—although I’m pretty sure I didn’t read it until the paperback came out the following year, because hardcovers were a luxury my family couldn’t afford.

 

It’s difficult to overstate the profound effect that JURASSIC PARK had on thirteen-year-old me. Unlike much of the science fiction I’d been exposed to at that point, Crichton’s story didn’t rely upon fanciful future technologies, it was rooted in the science of the day. He took the very topics I was learning about in school—topics I was teased for loving—and used them to bring back dinosaurs.

 

Oh, and the heroes of the novel? Scientists, all: a paleontologist, a paleobotany grad student, and a chaos theorist.

 

A couple years later, when the first trailer for Spielberg’s adaptation dropped, the entire world went dinosaur crazy. Then the movie debuted, and record-breaking audiences got a crash course in genetics, masquerading as an adventure unlike any other.

 

“The book,” I’d insist with a bibliophile’s superiority, “is so much better than the movie.” If I’m being honest, though, I adore both equally. Thanks to them, everybody liked what I liked, for a little while at least.

 

 

Is it any wonder I grew up to become a molecular biologist, or that I’d eventually try my hand at writing novels? Is it any wonder that my latest, CHILD ZERO, is a scientific thriller in the vein of Michael Crichton?

 

I’m not gonna lie to you—it’d be cool if, like JURASSIC PARK, CHILD ZERO captured the imagination of a generation. That said, I’d gladly settle for convincing one awkward little nerd that they’re a little less alone.

 

JULIA: Did you have an inner nerd, dear readers? And were you a Michael Crichton fan? (It was ANDROMEDA STRAIN that snared me.) One lucky commenter will win a copy of CHILD ZERO!

 

Chris Holm is the author of the cross-genre Collector trilogy, which recasts the battle between heaven and hell as old-fashioned crime pulp; the Michael Hendricks thrillers, which feature a hitman who only kills other hitmen; thirty-odd short stories that run the gamut from crime to horror to science fiction; and the scientific thriller CHILD ZERO. He's also a former molecular biologist with a US patent to his name. Chris’ work has been selected for THE BEST AMERICAN MYSTERY STORIES, named a New York Times Editors’ Choice, and won a number of awards, including the 2016 Anthony Award for Best Novel. He lives in Portland, Maine.

 

It began four years ago with a worldwide uptick of bacterial infections: meningitis in Frankfurt, cholera in Johannesburg, tuberculosis in New Delhi. Although the outbreaks spread aggressively and proved impervious to our drugs of last resort, public health officials initially dismissed them as unrelated.

 

They were wrong. Antibiotic resistance soon roiled across the globe. Diseases long thought beaten came surging back. The death toll skyrocketed. Then New York City was ravaged by the most heinous act of bioterror the world had ever seen, perpetrated by a new brand of extremist bent on pushing humanity to extinction.

 

Detective Jacob Gibson, who lost his wife in the 8/17 attack, is home caring for his sick daughter when his partner, Amy, summons him to a sprawling shantytown in Central Park, the apparent site of a mass murder. Jake is startled to discover that, despite a life of abject squalor, the victims died in perfect health—and his only hope of finding answers is a twelve-year-old boy on the run from some very dangerous men.