Ferb Fletcher

“His name was Gerry Adamson. He stood half a foot taller than stocky Travis. “The highways are jammed. I was able to get a text to my cousin and he’s been stuck for two hours on the Turnpike. But now I can’t get anything else, the Internet connection keeps going out. We were about to get the car and take the Tappan Zee.” “The West side piers,” Travis said. “I ran into someone coming up here, he told me the only option left is by sea. They’re evacuating from the West side.” “By sea?” Corrina said. “How can we escape a tsunami by sea?”
― David Sachs, The Flood

“Travis wondered if this could be real. Had he finally taken too many pills to sleep? Was this a dream? Had he died, and this was something else? It was as though the drugs had returned to his blood. He felt as though he was stumbling through a liquid.”
― David Sachs, The Flood

“All the organs went into separate bowls, leaving me panting and sweating. My physique was not ideal for a dissection, or, rather, I did not have the figure of a butcher. By now, my apron had taken on the function of a hothouse, and my hands inside my gloves felt like slippery fish.”
― Annelie Wendeberg, The Devil's Grin

“Harvey finished his walk and reached the door of his little house, but instead of using the front door, he opened the garage and looked at his own motorcycle, remembering what Julios had told him about his Royal Enfield. Harvey smiled as he ran his hands across the seat; he knew the strength of feelings a man has for his motorcycle. Harvey pulled his helmet from the hook and removed it from the black cotton bag. Within two minutes he was cruising along the narrow country lanes that led into Chigwell. His plain white shirt flapped in the wind and the cold air stung the skin on his arms like a burn. He was alive.”
― J.D. Weston, Stone Cold