Invasion | Box Set | Books 1-7

by Platt, Sean

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Epilogue

  Day One

  Day Two

  Day Three

  Day Four

  Day Five

  Day Four Hundred and Thirteen

  Authors’ Note

  What to read next

  Want More?

  A Quick Favor…

  About the Authors

  To YOU, the reader.

  Thank you for taking a chance on us.

  Thank you for your support.

  Thank you for the emails.

  Thank you for the reviews.

  Thank you for reading and joining us on this road.

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  Invasion

  DAY ONE

  Chapter One

  Day One, Morning

  The Dempsey Penthouse, New York

  On the morning the ships came, Meyer Dempsey found himself preoccupied with drugs, sex, and business. It would have been hard to believe that just six days later, only one of the three would seem to matter.

  “You’re not listening to me, Heather,” he said into the phone. “I’m going to be in LA from Friday to Tuesday. I’ve already booked time with the studio on Monday. The whole reason I’m coming early is—”

  Heather cut him off, probably to feed her need for a zinger more than a reply that couldn’t wait. Heather was always “on,” never really able to take a break and just be a person for once. It was one of the reasons they hadn’t been able to stay married. It was like living with a jester.

  “Because you want to do the Walk of Fame?” she said. “Because you love weekends on Sunset?”

  “Heather …”

  “What do you want me to do, Meyer? Telly makes my schedule. I do what he tells me. I’ve got a gig.”

  “Where?”

  “Boston.”

  “Boston?” Meyer said the word as if he and Boston had an ongoing argument and everyone knew Boston was being an asshole about it. “Cancel it.”

  “Cancel it? This is my living we’re talking about.”

  “Then postpone it.”

  “You want to see me so bad, why don’t you postpone?”

  “I can’t postpone. Lila has a thing. Trevor has … I don’t know … another thing.”

  “Now I know why you got custody of the kids. You’re so on top of things.”

  Meyer rolled his eyes at the empty penthouse. Heather’s dry, biting wit had made her career, and it’s what had attracted him to her in the first place. He still loved Heather plenty, but too often she seemed incapable of having an adult conversation.

  “Do you want me to get the school calendar? I know what the ‘things’ are. Lila’s is a dance. Not prom. The other one.”

  “Oh, ‘the other one.’ I remember my Other One. I wore pink chiffon. My date was Jimmy Breslin, and he could only get this powder-blue tux that smelled like cats had peed on it. Or were still peeing on it, like it had hidden compartments in the tux for urinating cats to do their thing. He was a total dork, but I gave him head afterward anyway, because, you know, everyone does that at their senior Other One. Because you only get one chance. Well … except for the other Other One.”

  “Are you finished?”

  “I wouldn’t ask Lila or Trevor to miss anything,” Heather said, slightly more serious. “But Telly booked this months in—”

  “Telly works for you, Heather.”

  “You’re right. That’s why I hired a manager and give him, like, half my income. Because I want to not do what he says and make my own schedule. What’s the big deal, Meyer? You’ll be back.”

  Meyer had walked to the window and was looking out across Central Park. The weather was pleasant, and he considered going out onto the porch, but the wind looked rough. The roof terrace would be better, but not by much. That was the problem with tall buildings. You got a great view for an exorbitant price, but it’s like architects forgot how quickly the weather changed as you climbed higher in the air.

  He took a beat before replying. He didn’t want to admit how much he’d been looking forward to seeing her. Besides, telling Heather about the ayahuasca ceremony he’d already booked with the shaman (and paid for in full) seemed like a jinx. You weren’t supposed to plan surprises for your ex-wife — even drug-related surprises. They both understood that, but the way Meyer sneaked around behind Piper’s back made both him and Heather feel guilty. Heather wanted badly to dislike Piper, and if she’d been able, it might have made things easier for them both. Unfortunately, Piper was impossible not to love.

  “Fine,” Meyer said.

  “Just come out, and do your business with the studios, then go home. You don’t need to see me. You’re not flying commercial, are you?”

  “What am I, homeless?”

  “So it’s not like you need to go those specific dates anyway, if you’re taking the Gulfstream. Just go out for Monday instead of the whole weekend. If you’d cleared this with me in advance, it’d be different, but I’m booked, sweetie. When we were getting started working together, would you have liked it if I’d just bailed on something to run off and screw my ex?”

  “You didn’t have an ex back then.”

  But now he was just being juvenile. Meyer sighed. He’d get over it. He’d lose the money he’d already paid to Juha, and he’d have to wait for the burst of mental expansion that always followed a ceremony … and yeah, that sucked. But what the hell — ayahuasca wasn’t the kind of thing you got addicted to. And he could certainly afford it. Not seeing Heather felt like the bigger hit. He hated to admit how much he missed her. Of course he loved Piper, but if there were such things as soul mates, Heather was his. Too bad she was so goddamned annoying.

  “I can also meet you in Vail,” she said. “I have a thing in Denver in, like, two months. We can check on the construction of your new place and hang out.”

  “If it’s not finished in two months, I’m going to hang myself.”

  He rolled his eyes for no one to see. The project was already three months overdue, and if the crew dragged its feet much longer, they’d end up building his Axis Mundi in the snow. That would be annoying for the construction crew, he imagined, but it would be far more annoying for Meyer. He didn’t particularly want to navigate the backwoods roads on his two hundred acres of Colorado property in the snow. It was private land and wouldn’t be plowed unless he hired someone to do it.

  But hey, if that happened, he supposed he’d make it work. It would be a pain in the ass, but he’d do it. Any way to ensure the project got finished. Something under his skin — something he couldn’t quite articulate, but that he always glimpsed in those ceremonies with the shaman — had begun to feel very pressing in recent months. He needed that place finished, and then he needed to hightail his family out there to make it their new primary residence. Because something was on the horizon. He felt surer as weeks became months. Every day without his Colorado house and the bunker beneath it was another day Meyer felt at loose ends, as if he’d misplaced his keys with no way to find them.

  “Then I’ll meet you in Vail in two months, and we’ll hang out,” said Heather.

  “I’ll want to take Piper and the kids when it’s finished.” Meyer hadn’t told any of them — Heather, Piper, or the kids — that he meant to take them permanently. But Heather could feel free to interpret him any way she wanted.
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  “Then I’ll join you.”

  Meyer almost laughed, but she wasn’t kidding. The women had spent plenty of time together before, and he’d played the dutiful, faithful husband every time.

  “Fine,” he said. But his tone must have betrayed his irritation at having to wait, because in a moment Heather was all over him, mocking mercilessly.

  “Oh, baby,” she crowed, her always somewhat squeaky voice now exaggerated. “Are you disappointed?”

  “It’s fine, Heather. I’ll just meet with the studio on Monday and save the extra days. I’ll—”

  “You’re disappointed,” she repeated, laying it on thicker. The thing she was doing with her voice was a babyish effect — something she and her comedy audiences found hilarious but that had always made Meyer want to punch something. “You miss me, don’t you?”

  “Maybe you’re doing me a favor,” he said, trying to put a positive spin on the situation and realizing he could easily find one. “I’ll save three days this way.”

  And he really would. Ayahuasca wasn’t one-and-gone; if he expected to be in his right mind by Monday’s meeting, he and Heather would have had to meet the shaman on Friday (as booked) in order to have the weekend to ponder the universe and be generally obnoxious by the outside world’s standards. Heather would spend most of that time staring at the ceiling and talking about colors, and she’d humor Meyer when he got his great new ideas and made a few more connections in the cosmic puzzle he felt like he’d been assembling.

  He didn’t want to skip a swim in the eternal sea, but it was true that he could save a ton of time if he did.

  Or — and this was an intriguing option — Meyer could take the trip as planned, but hit Colorado first to check on construction. Given the bunker beneath the main house (already finished and mostly stocked, thanks to his last visit), it was a complicated project and vital to get right. The crews were good, but they were just construction guys. They’d follow the plans, but they didn’t share Meyer’s conviction that the concrete walls and sealing lead doors would one day be needed to stay alive. Even Heather didn’t share that conviction … or Piper, for that matter. Both women loved him and humored what they saw as his eccentricities.

  So yes, maybe he should go after all. If he didn’t make sure things were right, nobody would — and getting it right felt more essential with every passing day. He hadn’t told Piper that he planned to move the family to the ranch once the school year ended, and he definitely hadn’t told the kids. Trevor was already growing moody and would probably turn into a drama queen. Delilah would probably profess her undying love to her boyfriend and dig in her heels. Piper would go along with it all as long as the ranch had a yoga studio, which it did. No one would truly like the idea of moving, but Meyer made the money and that meant he’d earned the right to make the family’s decisions. They’d keep the Manhattan penthouse, sure — but after the move it would become like the London place: somewhere to visit rather than live.

  “No, you’re bummed out,” said Heather, drawing the final words out into her babyish little girl squeal. “You want to play, and mean old Heather won’t let you.”

  “It’s totally fine,” he said, annoyed.

  “But if I don’t play with Sweet Little Meyer, who …” She stopped.

  “Heather,” he said, taking the break as an opening, “I’ve gotta go. I’ll let you know about sending the kids out. But I’m looking at the 17th through the 19th. Just for the weekend. That still good?”

  Heather said nothing.

  “Heather? The 17th through 19th?”

  For a moment, Meyer thought the connection had broken. He shook his phone and was moments from tapping its surface to end the call and try again when he heard her voice: small, distant, and chillingly cold.

  “Meyer,” she said.

  “Are those dates still clear for you? Into LAX. I can get flights that arrive most of the day, but afternoon arrivals work best for me unless I have someone take them to the airport. I’d rather do it myself, though.”

  Heather said nothing. In the distance, Meyer could hear her television. That was another thing about living with Heather that had annoyed him to no end: the woman couldn’t abide silence. She always had noise on, and fell asleep with the TV blazing.

  “Heather?”

  “Meyer. Turn on the news.”

  Meyer’s phone vibrated in his hand: an incoming text or a call. A second later it vibrated again.

  “Someone’s calling me, Heather. Just tell me yes or no on those dates. I need to have Piper buy tickets soon if you don’t want first class to fill up.”

  “Turn on the TV, Meyer.”

  “When we’re done.” Heather’s tone sent a chill creeping up the back of Meyer’s neck.

  “Turn it on!”

  Meyer’s phone buzzed again.

  “Look, I’ve got another call. Just … I’ll call you back.”

  “Don’t you dare hang up on me!”

  A third buzz. The phone was a hunk of metal and plastic and indestructible emerald glass, but Meyer thought he could almost hear its urgency, as if the caller was yelling at him just like Heather was right now.

  “Okay, okay,” he said, flustered. “Just let me get this other …”

  The phone buzzed again. Meyer found himself wanting to throw it across the room.

  “Meyer, I’m …” Heather began, but he’d already pulled the phone away from his ear and was jabbing at its screen to switch calls. He pushed the wrong button, saw a message that he’d just ended the call with Heather, and felt a sudden urge to call her back before taking the new call. But the incoming ring was from his assistant, Laura, so he raised the phone to his face and said hello. The line was dead. He’d missed Laura too, gone to voicemail.

  He looked at the phone, still considering throwing it. Heather had rattled him. She had a way of doing that, but usually in a totally different way. Whatever had just happened was red hot and ice cold at once. Meyer, for the first time in God knew how long, felt his heart thumping in fear.

  The penthouse was quiet.

  He reached for the phone’s surface to call one of the women back, but didn’t know who to phone first. He slipped the cell into his pocket and crossed to the coffee table. Then he picked up the remote, tapped the glass to bring up the TV menu, and turned on the screen. He clicked to CNN from the selection screen and caught an attractive female anchor midsentence.

  “ … from the Astral telescope on the moon’s far side,” she was saying. The screen changed to show a black square dusted with specks that looked like stars. “These images are streaming from the Astral app now. We’re told there are only about four seconds of delay as the signal bounces around the moon satellites, travels through space, and is processed by Astral here on Earth. So what you’re seeing is close to live.”

  Meyer squinted. The screen looked like nothing.

  “You can’t see much on the light telescope yet,” said a piped-in male voice — seemingly an expert on whatever was happening. “But if you go to the radio array, you’ll clearly see the objects, like a collection of small pebbles.”

  Whatever “radio array” meant, the station switched to it. The black screen with light specks was replaced by a much clearer image showing a cluster of small round objects.

  “NASA is saying they’re meteors,” said the woman’s voice.

  “Not unless meteors can decelerate,” said the man.

  “And they’re on a collision course?”

  “An approach vector,” the man corrected. “And whatever they are, based on current estimates, they’ll be here in five days.”

  Chapter Two

  Day One, Morning

  Yoga Bear, New York

  Piper picked up her rolled blue mat and her small duffel, tossing a wave to Deb and Paulette as they left the Yoga Bear studio. She pulled her phone out to check the time (and maybe Facebook), and saw seven missed calls, all from Meyer.

  Piper’s heart immediately pounded —
faster than it had during the final few seconds of the unusually long Warrior One Greg had forced them to hold, when her tight hip flexors were screaming for mercy. She didn’t generally get calls from her husband. Most things earned her a text — maybe a call if he had something more complicated in mind, like deciding where to go to dinner on an indecisive night. But seven calls? Meyer was the opposite of insistent. He wanted his way and wanted it now, but blind insistence was, to Meyer, a form of weakness. The worst thing you could do in any negotiation was to admit need, and insistence was exactly that. And for Meyer, life was a negotiation.

  She held her thumb above Meyer’s icon (a dignified photo from a Times piece last year; he’d rolled his eyes when she’d shown him, and she’d thought his reaction was as funny as the photo), then paused. She felt lightheaded — too much yoga, perhaps, followed by urgency one wasn’t supposed to feel after Savasana’s integrating peace.

  Piper was bubbly and almost naively optimistic by nature, but in times of crisis she always felt betrayed by her serene mind, going to the worst possible scenarios — so laughably dire and unlikely.

  Was something wrong with Lila? Had she fallen and cracked her skull?

  Was it something with Trevor? He’d been so moody and distant. Had Meyer found him dead, a victim of teen suicide? These things happened, and the old PBS specials Piper had grown up with always said you never really saw it coming.

  Relax. Jesus Christ, relax, Piper.

  She touched the icon. Her eyes took in Meyer’s serious, borderline pompous (but deliciously handsome) expression before the screen changed from the photo to show a connection in progress. It seemed unfair to see a man so ruggedly handsome and powerful and on top of the world, but still fearing she’d find him crippled, panicked, somehow distraught enough to call seven times during one hour-long yoga class with the ringer off, blissfully ignorant of the world where terrible things might be happening to strong and confident husbands, while …