The Long Night Box Set
The Complete Long Night Series Books 1-6
Kevin Partner
Mike Kraus
Muonic Press Inc
Contents
The Long Night
Prologue
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Scattered
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
States of War
Untitled
Prologue
Untitled
Special Thanks
Untitled
Available Here!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Untitled
Reapers
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Betrayed
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Showdown
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
The Long Night
Book 1
Prologue
Friday, November 13th.
Raising his glass, Solly Masters saluted the worst week of his life.
"Cheers and good riddance," he said as he drained the bourbon and set the tumbler back onto the sticky mirrored surface of the bar.
He glanced up at the clock that sat above the row of liquor bottles. 11:51. Less than ten minutes to go and he could start afresh, a free man with a world of possibilities before him.
The barkeep—a wide man with dark skin and the patience of Job—offered the bottle and, receiving the slightest of nods, poured another shot.
"Thanks, Gabe," Solly said, raising the glass to his lips.
The barkeep shrugged lazily. "It's my job, Sol. Don't take it too fast, though, d'you hear?"
Solly's only response was to give a false smile and watch as Gabriel shuffled off to serve the next loser.
What a week, he thought. Seven days ago, he'd been married—technically at least, though the relationship with his wife had, in practice, been dead for six months or so. Maybe longer. He now knew why Bella had been so keen for him to move to New York. Out of sight, out of mind. His childhood sweetheart had become his ex-wife and now another man had moved into the family home. He thought of his kids, Jake and Maddie. Were they missing him? When would he see them again? He'd barely been home over the past year, since he'd taken the Manhattan job.
The job he'd just lost. The chance of a lifetime to work for one of New York's top publishing companies. He'd moved across country and taken up his position as a software engineer only to find that he'd spent most of his time wiping the butts of the juvenile coders on his team. And then, less than a year later, his company merged with another and, guess what? His team was surplus to requirements.
The bottle appeared in his peripheral vision again. Nod. Pour. Sip.
And then, to cap it all, his girlfriend had dumped him. Rivka had worked in the same department as him but had somehow managed to get herself transferred just ahead of the layoffs. They'd met over late night pizza in the office, just after the divorce paperwork had come through. A shared interest in coding and sci-fi had brought them together. She looked a bit like Annie Lennox, but his guilt got in the way and no one likes a guilty lover.
Plenty more fish in the sea for a catch like you, Solly, he thought, sarcastically. Though he'd believed he was happy with the one he already had. Just goes to show. Divorced, unemployed, alone. What a week.
He glanced up at the clock again. 11:55—five minutes to go and Friday the thirteenth would be behind him.
He didn't recognize any of the other drinkers. Some were sitting, heads bowed, along the bar, and others nursed their drinks in the booths by the windows. The TV, which hung from a pillar in the ceiling, was showing the weather forecast, but Solly didn't need any bearded geek to tell him it was snowing. Then, as he was watching, the scene changed to a stern-faced young woman. A scrolling caption beneath her proclaimed "breaking news..."
"Gabe," Solly called. "Gabe!" He waved his hand at the TV and the barman turned the volume up.
"... died," the solemn voice said. "I repeat. Shock news: we can confirm that the entrepreneur and global philanthropist Annabel Lee has died."
Utter silence fell in the bar. It was as if the world was holding its breath. Solly only realized his mouth was wide open when he felt the dribble running down his chin. She was dead? How could that be? How could the woman credited with saving the lives of millions around the world have possibly lost her own?
He noticed that the news presenter was still speaking, and she was obviously as shocked as her viewers. Her eyes glistened and the fake-serious expression typical of her breed had been replaced by genuine human emotion.
"... Korolev's Malady, a rare form of degenerative nerve disease. Many are asking how it could be that this illness was not detected early enough for it to be cured
."
Twisting his wrist, Solly glanced at the readout from his BonesWare monitor. He'd been ignoring its persistent buzz because he knew well enough that his blood pressure was high and had often wondered whether being constantly monitored like this was being truly helpful or whether it was merely feeding his hypochondria.
The scene on the TV had shifted to show the entrance to a black-glass building. A podium stood there, drenched in artificial light and the caption that scrolled along the bottom of the screen explained that a statement from Lee's husband was expected at any moment.
"Gabe," Solly said. "Pour me another, will you?"
Without turning, the barman slid the bottle along the bar. "Knock yourself out."
Solly gave himself a generous measure and then looked up again as the newscaster's voice announced, "Scott Lee, husband of Annabel, will now make a statement."
A thin man in a black suit was standing behind the lectern, holding a slate and composing himself. Lee had jealously guarded the privacy of her close family, while being an entirely public figure herself. Solly wondered how she'd kept her illness secret.
11:59. Solly watched the clock as he watched the man on the screen. He felt ashamed that this tragedy hadn't given him some perspective on his own problems, but the trouble was that whatever happened to anyone else, he was stuck in his own life, in a perfect storm of his own making. But tomorrow would be different.
"... and this is the message she wished me to read to you," the man continued. "'My friends and fellow human beings. I have devoted my life to your service and now that it has come to an end, I wish only to say... goodbye.'"
He put down the slate, stared into the camera…
… and dropped like a stone.
"What the hell?" Gabe yelled as the bar erupted with noise. Everyone was talking at once and the scene on the TV shifted to the viewpoint of a shaky camera as its operator tried to get close enough to see what had happened. Big men in black coats formed a protective barrier. One drew his sidearm and pointed it at the camera. He appeared to be yelling to stay back.
It was at that moment that Solly realized he'd had too much to drink. What he wanted, above all else, was to sober up instantly. His mind was treading water as the drama threatened to overwhelm it. He dropped off his bar stool and steadied himself. He could watch this unfold from the comfort of his own bed and without all the noise and hysteria of the bar.
They all knew the man was dead—no one drops like that and gets up again. Blue lights flashed, and the view switched back to the news anchor who looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. "We're getting unconfirmed reports that Scott Lee has died. I stress again, these are unconfirmed."
Solly had no doubt they would be confirmed soon enough.
"Died of a broken heart," Gabe said as Solly pulled his coat over his shoulders and struggled with the arms. "Kinda poetic."
The bar was quiet again as everyone watched to see what would happen next. Solly, however, wanted nothing more than to get home. He looked up at the clock. 12:01. It was now tomorrow and the first day of the rest of his life.
He turned to go and gave a drunken salute as he made his way to the exit. He didn't notice Gabe suddenly falling to the floor, the noise of the street drowning out the sound of the bottle smashing as he dropped.
It had been snowing and the sidewalks were covered in a wet mush that seeped through his shoes and froze his toes. He felt more alive as soon as he stepped out into the cold night air and he walked steadily and purposefully toward his apartment. At least his layoff money would mean he could make rent until he found something else to do—Jackson Heights was getting expensive.
Was it his imagination or were the streets quieter than usual? Word spread instantaneously in the modern world, he guessed, and he was forced to push past pedestrians standing in the street gazing down at their phones as they watched the feed.
"Hey, buddy!" one man said as Solly tried to make his way through. "Man down here."
Solly snapped out of his commuter mode. A young man lay on the ground and he was as dead as Annabel Lee's husband.
"Just fell over," the bystander was saying. "I nearly tripped on him."
"Anyone called 911?"
"What d'you think?" the man replied. "Something's wrong with the network—no one can get through."
Solly looked down at the victim. Even under the sterile glare of the street lights he was obviously Hispanic. He had a goatee and one arm had fallen over his head, ruining his carefully gelled hair. It would have been funny if it weren't so shocking. He'd barely lived and there, in a moment, it was all over. His smartphone lay where it had been tossed as he fell, and his Bones display was flashing red on his wrist.
There was nothing he could do and Solly could feel the warning signs of a funk descending on him, so he left them to it. Well, he was getting his wish—he felt as sober as a judge. Adrenaline'll do that for you. His Bones vibrated madly, but he ignored it. His medication was at home, and that was where he was heading.
Oh, to hell with it, he thought, and raised an arm to flag down a cab. He could afford it, for now. "79th Street, Jackson Heights," he said as he got in.
"You listening to this?" the cab driver said. His accent was Eastern European and he pointed at the car's display which was showing the live feed. "First she die. Then husband. Now others."
The scrolling caption proclaimed an epidemic of seizures across the country. God in heaven. What was going on?
Solly tried to ignore the newsfeed as the car picked its way through the streets. The reds and whites of the car lights popped out of focus as he leaned his head against the glass. It was warm and safe in here and he felt a yearning for his own bed—unmade though it was. Sleep beckoned and, he hoped, he'd awaken to a new world.
It was slow going, but then, as they entered Queens, the traffic eased up a little, and the driver put his foot down. "I want to go home, too," he said as the cab weaved around a corner.
Solly snapped fully awake at the squeal of tires only feet away. The cab driver let out a yell and the taxi skidded sideways as, with a massive heave, another much larger car plunged into it. With a deafening rush, glass exploded into the passenger compartment, Solly was thrown across the back seat before the door automatically swung open and he fell into the wet street. He smelled gasoline and slipped twice as he tried to get up, throwing the slush from his hands. He ran around to the driver's side, but the front end of the big black SUV had compressed it like a compactor and he could see, without needing to look closely, that the cab driver was dead. Poor devil. All he'd wanted to do was go home.
The passenger door of the SUV opened, and a woman got out. "My husband!" she called out. Solly realized that the smell of gasoline was becoming stronger and he looked down to see a pool forming beneath the car, the snow melting around it.
"Get away from the cars!" he yelled at the woman as he pulled her away. "There's nothing you can do for him—run before it blows!"
To his dismay, other cars had stopped, and their drivers were jumping out to see what had happened. "Get out of here!" he yelled.
"But my husband," the woman shouted. "We have to help him."
Solly groaned in frustration and yanked on the driver's door. It had crumpled a little on impact and it took three attempts before, with a final effort, he could pull it open far enough to look inside.
"Victor!" She was at his shoulder, trying to get past him. The driver was dead, there was no doubt about it. He sat behind the wheel with his head thrown back, his mouth wide open and his eyes staring into the night but seeing nothing.
Solly backed out and grabbed her by the arms. "Lady, he's dead. I'm sorry, but we have to go now!"
"My children, in the back seat!"
"Seriously?"
He pulled open the back door. A young child, two or three years old, sat in a safety chair. The instant she saw Solly, she began to bawl, and tears began flowing down her cheeks. Next to her was a boy of around five, staring at hi
m in silence. "Can you get yourself out, son?"
The boy nodded, his face betraying the onset of shock. "Will you help me with your sister?" he asked, fighting to bring a calmness to his voice he didn't feel. The mother was trying to shake her dead husband back to life, oblivious to the fate of her children.
The Long Night Box Set Page 1