Countdown City: The Last Policeman Book II (The Last Policeman Trilogy)

By Ben H. Winters

"[The] bizarre, attractive, unapologetically apocalyptic final Policeman trilogy is one among my favourite secret series."—John eco-friendly, writer of The Fault in Our Stars and Paper Towns

Winner of the 2014 Philip ok. Dick Award

The final Policeman received the 2013 Edgar Award for top Paperback Original--along with lots of sparkling reviews.  
Now Detective Hank Palace returns in Countdown City, the second one quantity of the Last Policeman trilogy. There are only seventy seven days earlier than a dangerous asteroid collides with Earth, and Detective Palace is out of a role. With the harmony police strength working lower than the auspices of the U.S. Justice division, Hank's days of fixing crimes are over...until a girl from his earlier begs for support discovering her lacking husband.
Brett Cavatone disappeared with out a trace—an effortless feat in a global with out telephones, no automobiles, and no strategy to inform even if someone’s long past “bucket checklist” or just gone. With society falling to shambles, Hank items jointly what few clues he can, on a seek that leads him from a college-campus-turned-anarchist-encampment to a crumbling coastal panorama the place anti-immigrant military fend off “impact sector” refugees.
Countdown City presents one other attention-grabbing secret set on breaking point of an apocalypse--and once more, Hank Palace confronts questions means past "whodunit." What can we as humans owe to each other? And what does it suggest to be civilized whilst civilization is collapsing throughout you?

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And now it’s just like the wasteland is crowding in alongside the line, turning the area right into a thicket, a maze, a tangle. I squeeze up and down alongside the perimeters of my arm and consider not anything and in the meantime my breath is ragged and asymmetric. At a definite element i'm going to go a threshold the place it won’t topic both means; “loss of limb and/or death,” the double-conjunction pivot element resolving decisively on “and. ” the children are going to be ok. Alyssa and Micah Rose at Quincy common. I gave that over to Culverson, and Detective Culverson will remain on best of it. I smile on the considered Culverson—at the Somerset without delay, eating on my own, asking Ruth-Ann in a well mannered way what he owes her. The sunlight is wasting its luster. It’s past due afternoon. subsequent might be night. the single factor is that it’s too undesirable approximately Nico. simply because I did, I promised her i might shield her till one or either one of us have been useless. She used to be inebriated and that i was once fifteen, yet I promised her and that i intended what I stated. I inform her I’m sorry, in my brain someplace. If there's someone that i will be able to ship a telepathic message to, it’s my sister, and that i permit my brain cross clean and release it into the air, Nico, my pricey, i'm sorry. * * * I open my eyes and notice my watch with out aspiring to. It’s 5:13. nearly six and a part hours because effect, because the bullet tore the outlet into my biceps. I haven’t heard from Houdini in decades. probably he made up our minds to abrogate our agreement, escaped into the woods, developed right into a sea puppy or a wolf. stable for him. I achieve as much as my face as though to ensure it’s nonetheless there. It’s soiled. Cragged. coated in a manner I don’t bear in mind. the sides of my mustache are becoming in bizarre, all fuzzy and asymmetric like a disintegrating sea coast. I hate that. I learn Martha’s magazine web page back. HE’S useless N. IS lifeless HE’S rather useless. * * * while the capturing starts it starts without notice, now not one or yet 100 weapons firing all whilst, and naturally I can’t circulate, can’t move down there to the water’s side; all i will do is glance from the slim home windows of the blockhouse and watch the horror spread. at some point soon in this lengthy scorching strenuous expanse of an afternoon, a kind of tiny dots I observed out at the horizon this morning has made its approach into the harbor and dropped anchor out via the lighthouse; a shipment send with lengthy iron aspects, anchored and big, perhaps 880 yards offshore, with dozens of tiny crafts bobbling at its aspects like suckling kids. Six or seven of those little boats were enable down and are on their manner in, maneuvering for shore, crowded with passengers, their small cars puttering. And now—as I’m watching—those boats are coming lower than withering hearth. “No,” I whisper. yet it’s simply as Brett stated, it’s a Coast protect cutter, the graceful strains and the iron prow, the bristling masts and antennae, the noble form of it parked within the water perpendicular to shore, delivering no longer a lifeline to the incoming boats yet a cannonade. The small boats practice lifeless evasive maneuvers, rowboats and rafts wheeling inconsistently this fashion and that whereas the cutter strafes the water, kicking up mountains of churning foam.

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