By Seth Grahame-Smith
From the writer of the New York instances bestselling Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, comes UNHOLY evening, the following evolution in darkish ancient revisionism.
They're an iconic a part of history's so much celebrated start. yet what can we particularly learn about the 3 Kings of the Nativity, notwithstanding they a celebrity to Bethlehem bearing unusual presents? The Bible has little to claim approximately this enigmatic trio. yet depart it to Seth Grahame-Smith, the intense and twisted brain at the back of Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and Pride and Prejudice and Zombies to take a bit secret, bend a bit background, and weave an epic story.
In Grahame-Smith's telling, the so-called "Three clever Men" are notorious thieves, led via the darkish, murderous Balthazar. After a bold get away from Herod's felony, they bump into the recognized manger and its child king. the very last thing Balthazar wishes is to be bogged down by means of younger Joseph, Mary and their boy or girl. but if Herod's males start to slaughter the 1st born in Judea, he has no selection yet to aid them break out to Egypt.
It's the start of an event that would see them struggle the final magical creatures of the outdated testomony; move paths with biblical figures like Pontius Pilate and John the Baptist; and eventually carry them to Egypt. it can simply be the best tale by no means advised.
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Additional resources for Unholy Night
Sample text
Life, he decided, was all about trade-offs. They’d been in the hills for two days, all of it on the move, sleeping two to three hours a night. He was part of the special operations team of the 75th Ranger Regiment, based permanently at Fort Benning, Georgia, where there was a nice NCO club with good beer on tap. By closing his eyes and concentrating, he imagined he could still taste the cold beer, but that moment passed quickly. He had to focus here, every second. They were fifteen thousand feet above sea level, in the Hindu Kush mountains, in that gray zone that was both Afghanistan and Pakistan, and neither—at least to the locals.
Hadn’t moved at all. Driscoll brought his M4 up, settled the sights on the nape of the man’s neck, and then tightened his finger on the trigger. Easy, easy … squeeze … Pop. Not much of a sound. Hard to hear at all at a range of more than fifty meters, but the bullet flew true and transited the target’s head, leaving a puff of green vapor behind, and he went off to see Allah, or whatever god he acknowledged; at twenty-odd years old, growing and eating and learning, and probably fighting, came to an abrupt and unwarned end.
Wrong gomer was his immediate thought, followed by Shit. The face was the embodiment of confusion and shock. He was shaking his head, trying to get his brain initialized, but young and tough as he was, he wasn’t fast enough for the necessities of the moment. Near the back wall of the chamber Driscoll saw movement, a shadow hunched over, sliding along the rock wall. Not moving toward them but somewhere else. Driscoll holstered his pistol, turned to Tait, then pointed at the gomer on the ground—Cuff ’em—then flipped on his NV and dropped the M4’s sights over the moving shadow.