The Longest Night
Page 1
The Longest Night
A Savage North Prequel
Lindsey Pogue
An Ending World Novella
The Longest Night
A Savage North Prequel Novella
By Lindsey Pogue
Copyright © 2019 Lindsey Pogue
All Rights Reserved
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author, except as used in book review.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, events or incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to places or incidents is purely coincidental.
Editing by Lauren McNerney
Proofreading by Letter-Eye Editing and Fresh as a Daisy Editing
Cover Design by We Got You Covered Book Design
Written and Published by Lindsey Pogue
101 W. American Canyon Road, Ste. 508-262
American Canyon, CA 94503
Printed in the USA
Also by Lindsey Pogue
THE ENDING WORLD
Savage North Chronicles
The Darkest Winter
The Longest Night Prequel Novella
Midnight Sun
The Ending Series
After The Ending
Into The Fire
Out Of The Ashes
Before The Dawn
Beginnings: Ending Series Origin Stories
The Ending Series: World Before
OTHER SERIES INCLUDE:
Forgotten Lands
Dust and Shadow
Borne of Sand and Scorn - Prequel Novella
Saratoga Falls Love Stories
Whatever It Takes
Nothing But Trouble
Told You So
For more information visit: www.lindseypogue.com
Contents
DECEMBER 7
1. Sophie
2. Alex
3. Sophie
4. Sophie
5. Alex
6. Sophie
DECEMBER 8
7. Alex
8. Sophie
9. Sophie
10. Alex
11. Sophie
DECEMBER 9
12. Sophie
TWO DAYS LATER
13. Alex
14. Alex
15. Alex
16. Sophie
17. Alex
Also by Lindsey Pogue
About the Author
DECEMBER 7
1
Sophie
December 7
I’d just wanted to feel something for once. Was that really too much to ask for? Intense passion—an unbridled sense of all-consuming desire that fed my soul and made me feel alive. I wasn’t dumb, I knew romance novels were meant to paint steamy portraits of ecstasy and lust, but I figured at least a fraction of that was possible. It’s all I’d wanted—a tiny morsel of fiction—and my first time hadn’t even come close. I wasn’t sure I could even use the word arousing, or exciting, for that matter. The second time was the same. It was uncomfortable and awkward, and thinking back, I regretted every cringeworthy second of it.
I stared down at my journal, white pages open on my peach paisley-covered lap. Worst decision EVER was traced over and over across the top, beneath my poorly rendered sketch of a deformed Fabio look-alike, with shorter hair but an equally thick jaw.
Scribbling out his face, I flung myself back against my pillows. I’d never claimed to be a Michelangelo. I liked science and formulas, and tackling questions that held answers about the natural world, even if I had to wrack my brain to find them. Sex was my current problematic equation, one with two possible outcomes.
With a groan, I shut my journal, certain it was a bad idea to write down any of these particular woes and shoved it under my pillow as I turned onto my side. I gripped the edge of the mattress in my hand and exhaled the passing nausea, like I’d done throughout the night. I wasn’t sure if it was a more permanent symptom of my boredom and stupidity or just my stressing out about the unknown at this point.
My room was dim and gray in the early morning light, which felt adequate given my mood. My body craved sleep, but my anxiety was calling the shots. I was too sick to my stomach to even close my eyes, let alone escape the impending possibilities of my future.
My mom slammed a cupboard door shut and the blender belched to life in the kitchen, making my skin crawl as I sank deeper into the mattress. The thought of eating or drinking anything made my insides lurch, and I groaned again.
I reached for my phone, charging on my side table. It was 7:00 a.m. and I still hadn’t heard back from Jesse. For the hundredth time in eight hours, I checked my text messages to make sure they’d gone through. Everything about Whitely was unpredictable, especially cell phone service in the apartment complex during the winter. Whitely was one of many tiny Alaskan towns that didn’t fare well during storm season.
Me: I need to talk to you. Call me ASAP.
Me: It’s important Jesse. Call me!
Me: If you’re playing your stupid video games, I swear to God…
Me: I’m late. Do you know what that means, idiot!!?? Like I-might-be-pregnant sort of late…
Me: Jesse, please call me. I’m seriously freaking out!
I met Jesse in middle school when I’d moved to town. He was one of those boys that was smart and quiet, sometimes even sweet. But like most guys my age, his priorities were a bit skewed, and I often wondered if I wasn’t more of an afterthought. Our graduation from friends to something more just sort of happened because we were hanging out so much; our parents and friends started to assume we were more together than we let on. In all honesty, Jesse was the best option I had in a town with only a dozen other people my age—most of them girls. My mom and his mom were friends, which meant he was “suitable” for me.
During our junior year we’d kissed, and now in the final stretch of senior year we were officially “an item”—according to my dad. But our relationship primarily consisted of us hanging out at the touristy ice cream shop on the pier, on the nights he didn’t have earth saving missions to complete with his online gaming buddies. Most of the time, I was okay with that. I’d never thought Jesse was the one or anything, but I thought he was at least decent enough to text me back, especially if his life was potentially in danger. I wasn’t sure who he’d need to be more afraid of if it turned out I was pregnant—my dad . . . or my mom.
I shoved my phone under my pillow with my journal, praying my cell would ding with a message notification, even if I got the sickening suspicion Jesse was ignoring me on purpose.
Of course he wasn’t ready to be a dad, especially since his mom still made his sandwiches every day for his lunch. I wasn’t ready to be a mom though, either, and not only might I be pregnant, but my boyfriend was blowing me off, and my best friend, Bailey, was on the East Coast, visiting her dying grandmother who’d caught a bad case of pneumonia and had yet to fully recover.
Unless I told my mom, which was the last thing on earth I wanted to do, I was alone in this. Freaking out and utterly alone. I nervously weighed my options. Option one: walk into the only market, located in the only residential building in Whitely where everyone knew who I was—if only because of my mom—to have them witness what I was buying. Option two: accompany my mom during her next trip into the city and try to sneak away long enough to make a quick purchase without her knowing. I was hoping for a more appealing option three, but I could think of nothing.
“Sophie!” My mom’s voice ricocheted through the apartment. I wondered if my neighbor, JJ, ever got tired of living next to the resident bullhorn.
Heaving out a breath, I stared up at the stark white
ceiling, painted in inky shadows that filtered in through the cracked, blush-colored curtains that had been there since I was eleven. I could tell by the muffled silence outside that the snowfall had been heavy throughout the night. There were no gulls calling in the breeze, and the buoys dinging in the harbor were only audible if I held my breath to listen.
“Sophie!” she called again. Sometimes it was difficult to tell if she was using her mom voice or her mayor voice, like maybe she forgot she was talking to her daughter and not some city official she often came to verbal blows with. “You better be up . . .”
I had a dozen reasons to miss school, none of which I could tell my mom about. Exhaustion. Anxiety. Morning sickness. So I just lay there on the cusp of vomiting, my mind racing and dread settling deep into my bones as I prayed my mom was running late and would rush out the door without popping her head in to check on me.
“Your protein smoothie is on the counter!”
“Yum,” I grumbled and pulled the covers up over my face. My stomach churned at the thought of the purple, overripe banana concoction waiting for consumption.
“Soph—why haven’t I heard the shower yet?” My bedroom door opened, and I could almost feel the air in the room being sucked out as my mom inhaled an angry breath. “Sophie,” she groused. Could other teenagers hear the frustration every time their parents simply said their name?
Her high heels clomped into my room as she tore the comforter off me. “What is this?” she chided, looming over me.
“I’m sick today.”
She patted my hip. “Come on, get up.” Her long, deep red-and-mocha hair was perfectly curled at the ends, looking almost black in the morning shadows. “A shower will make you feel better. School starts in thirty minutes, and you should be dressed already.” Her favorite taupe pantsuit was perfectly pressed and her blue eyes were thinly etched with black liner. Nothing was out of place, everything was flawless and it was enough to make me finally puke, but I refrained.
“You were fine last night, Sophie.”
“No, actually, I wasn’t fine last night,” I growled and pulled the covers back up around me. “I felt like crap, and since I couldn’t sleep, I feel even worse.”
She rested her hands on her hips, eyeing me closely. I was waiting for her to ask me if I was okay, allowing me the opportunity to give her a real answer, but instead she asked, “Are you and Jesse fighting again?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Answer the question, Sophie.”
“No, we’re not. And most moms would ask if their kid is okay, especially with a crazy flu spreading throughout the lower forty-eight, and let them stay home from school if they’re feeling sick.” I glared up at her.
“Are we on the East Coast? Do you have a fever? How about any abdominal pain or vomiting?” She pursed her lips, awaiting my answer. When I said nothing, she lifted her brow triumphantly. “Sophie, you’re always mopey when you guys fight,” she said in rebuttal, and glanced at my phone cord, disappearing under my pillow. “And you sleep with your phone beside you, hoping he’ll apologize first.” She lifted an expectant eyebrow, then leaned down and rested the back of her hand against my forehead. Barely a breath passed before she shook her head. “No fever.” Satisfied, she pinned her gaze on me. “Get up.” She picked up my dirty clothes off the floor and tossed them into my hamper as she hurried back toward the door. “I’m serious,” she warned. “And make sure you tell Katie you’ll be out of school Friday.”
I sat up, my head throbbing at the sudden movement. “What? Why am I missing school Friday?”
She spared me a glance—severe enough to be considered a glare—then disappeared down the hall. “Dr. Revis.”
“Mom, I’m fine. I don’t need to see the stupid bone doctor anymore. He said I was fine last time, I’ll be fine this time.”
“You just got done telling me you’re sick!” she called, and her heels clacked against the kitchen tile floor as she rushed around.
“This is different, Mom. God—you’re always so worried.”
“Yes, I am.” She poked her head in, knotting a scarf loosely around her neck. “I worry because you never do the hip and knee exercises you’re supposed to in order to keep you strong. And don’t even get me started on the insoles I paid a fortune for that you never wear.”
“Mom—”
“You thought elementary school kids were mean? Well, Soph, teenagers are cruel. Don’t forget how miserable you were in Florida before we left. Do you want to go back to feeling singled out, the way you used to?” I hated the way she dipped her chin, lifted an eyebrow, and stared at me skeptically all at the same time.
“Like the way you’re making me feel right now?” I bit out. “Mom, no one is going to give me a hard time—”
“Get up, Sophie,” she said with exasperation. “I won’t say it again.” She disappeared from the doorway and headed back down the hall.
“Fine, but I’m not going to see Dr. Revis!” I told her. “It’s pointless.” And I didn’t need any more reminders of how different I was. I just wanted her to let me be a normal teenager for once.
Rolling my eyes, I flung my legs off the edge of the bed and studied my feet. I might’ve been slender and weak compared to some people, but I wasn’t deformed—at least not anymore, even if it had taken a few rounds of special shoes and braces to make my bones grow that way. And while I wanted to appreciate my mom’s concern, I wasn’t sure she cared about how it affected me as much as how it affected her picture-perfect facade, even when the entire building knew it was all a sham—weak-ankled, club-footed daughter and all. What a shock she would get when she found out my weak bones were the least of my problems.
“I don’t hear the shower!” she called.
“Gah!” I grabbed my phone and marched into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. If she knew why I felt sick to my stomach, she’d forget all about Dr. Revis and stupid protein shakes.
My stomach rumbled and tears burned the backs of my eyes. It had been almost six weeks since I’d been with Jesse, and Google was plenty helpful when it came to ironing out the details about the rest.
My mom was so worried about what it would look like to have a broken daughter, she’d never forgive me for staining her reputation this way.
Shame swelled in my chest and fear tightened my throat as I turned the shower on.
My mom’s knuckles rapped on the bathroom door, and I jumped, wiping the moisture from my eyes. “What?”
“Excuse you,” she said coldly through the door. “I was just going to tell you to come home right after school. Your dad wants to video chat.”
“Fine.”
She muttered something inaudible as her heels clacked away, but all I could do was imagine my dad’s already reserved expression pinching with shock and then hardening with rage as I told him that I’d done the one thing he made me promise never to do—mirror the mistake that had plagued my parents’ relationship since I was born.
Pulling my hair from my ponytail, I let the long, heavy strands fall around my shoulders, veiling me as I covered my face and cried.
2
Alex
December 7
I traced a crooked square over and over with my pencil. Lead powder dusted the page of my spiral notebook, creased from being shoved in Jimmy’s junk drawer since the beginning of time. Change was inevitable and something I was used to, even if it wasn’t something I was all that comfortable with. Change meant uncertainty, and with it being my first day of school in a new town, today was anything but certain. I’d manage, though. I’d get by. I’d do what was needed.
My mind drifted as I waited for my new classmates to show. Whitely was as bizarre as a town could get—a once abandoned military base turned seaside harbor, overlooking the Prince William Sound. Save for the ships coming in and out of port through the Alaska Marine Highway, there were barely enough residents and tourists combined for Whitely to be considered a true city.
I stared out at the snow-covered village, at the shipyard and tourist outposts. There wasn’t much else to look at, except for the boats in the harbor. To me, Whitely was less like the touristy trading port it was known for, and more reminiscent of a Fallout nuclear-winter world. Especially when it seemed like half of the lower forty-eight was infected with the flu.
My gaze settled on the monstrous Heston Building less than a mile away, situated at the foot of the mountains that enclosed the town. The cracked and ruined military barracks were menacing to say the least, with broken, dark windows and a weather-ravaged stone face. It was built to be a stronghold, but instead was near collapse, and bred ghost stories known throughout Alaska. Offset and forgotten from the rest of the town, it was a building I wouldn’t be exploring anytime soon. I half expected to see a putrid, flesh-eating zombie step into one of the dark voids and stare straight at me, warningly.