VIRULENT TERROR
Attacked by a horde of feral, rampaging villagers infected by a synthetic virus, Mack Bolan barely escapes the isolated mountain town in time to witness a mysterious black ops team as they raze the place and kill all its inhabitants.
Determined to find the source of this powerful bioweapon, Bolan tracks the virus to a secret facility, where scientists are working to make the infected victims stronger, swifter and more deadly. But the wealthy industrialist who turns out to be funding this research has his sights set on all-out toxic warfare. Now that it’s ready, the germ will be unleashed on a mass scale across the European Union, targeting specific ethnic groups for destruction. With millions of lives at stake, Bolan has no choice but to embark on a seek-and-destroy mission.
Tentatively he sniffed the air.
It was redolent of decaying plants, fresh bark, a hint of blood—and sweat, coming from the corner to his right.
Bolan took his hand away from his face to find it clenched into a fist, just like the one at his side. What the hell is happening to me? he thought. Every sense was preternaturally aware. Every inch of his body overflowed with energy, as if he could run a dozen marathons back-to-back.
But above all, his mind was filled with the overwhelming basic instinct of fight-or-flight. But it was difficult to consider flight as a viable option anymore. Instead, there was only the burning need for combat, to dominate his opponent—any opponent—and leave the person bleeding and defeated in the dirt.
Almost unaware that his lips had peeled back from his teeth in a feral grin, Bolan stepped farther into the room, his eyes wide and searching.
Hunting for his prey.
Nightmare Army
Don Pendleton
It is a man’s own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways.
—Buddha
The evil ways of evil men will eventually bring them down. And if it takes too long, I’ll step forward to hurry things up.
—Mack Bolan
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