Strain
Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan
The Strain
Book I
of
The Strain Trilogy
To Lorenza, Mariana, and Marisa…
and
to all the monsters in my nursery:
May you never leave me alone
—GDT
For Lila
—CH
Contents
The Legend of Jusef Sardu
The Beginning
N323RG Cockpit Voice Recorder
The Landing
JFK International Control Tower
Now Boarding
Worth Street, Chinatown
Interlude I
ABRAHAM SETRAKIAN
Arrival
Regis Air Maintenance Hangar
Occultation
Approaching Totality
Awakening
Regis Air Maintenance Hangar
Interlude II
THE BURNING HOLE
Movement
Coach
The First Night
Interlude III
REVOLT, 1943
Dawn
17th Precinct Headquarters, East Fifty-first Street, Manhattan
The Old Professor
Knickerbocker Loans and Curios, East 118th Street, Spanish Harlem
The Second Night
Exposure
Canary Headquarters, Eleventh Avenue and Twenty-seventh Street
Final Interlude
THE RUINS
Replication
Jamaica Hospital Medical Center
Daylight
Bushwick, Brooklyn
Lair
Worth Street, Chinatown
The Clan
Nazareth, Pennsylvania
Epilogue
Kelton Street, Woodside, Queens
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Other Books by Chuck Hogan
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
The Legend of Jusef Sardu
Once upon a time,” said Abraham Setrakian’s grandmother, “there was a giant.”
Young Abraham’s eyes brightened, and immediately the cabbage borscht in the wooden bowl got tastier, or at least less garlicky. He was a pale boy, underweight and sickly. His grandmother, intent on fattening him, sat across from him while he ate his soup, entertaining him by spinning a yarn.
A bubbeh meiseh, a “grandmother’s story.” A fairy tale. A legend.
“He was the son of a Polish nobleman. And his name was Jusef Sardu. Master Sardu stood taller than any other man. Taller than any roof in the village. He had to bow deeply to enter any door. But his great height, it was a burden. A disease of birth, not a blessing. The young man suffered. His muscles lacked the strength to support his long, heavy bones. At times it was a struggle for him just to walk. He used a cane, a tall stick—taller than you—with a silver handle carved into the shape of a wolf’s head, which was the family crest.”
“Yes, Bubbeh?” said Abraham, between spoonfuls.
“This was his lot in life, and it taught him humility, which is a rare thing indeed for a nobleman to possess. He had so much compassion—for the poor, for the hardworking, for the sick. He was especially dear to the children of the village, and his great, deep pockets—the size of turnip sacks—bulged with trinkets and sweets. He had not much of a childhood himself, matching his father’s height at the age of eight, and surpassing him by a head at age nine. His frailty and his great size were a secret source of shame to his father. But Master Sardu truly was a gentle giant, and much beloved by his people. It was said of him that Master Sardu looked down on everyone, yet looked down on no one.”
She nodded at him, reminding him to take another spoonful. He chewed a boiled red beet, known as a “baby heart” because of its color, its shape, its capillary-like strings. “Yes, Bubbeh?”