conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled Coldbrook about Earth, Lebbon, among with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Lebbon, whos won some prestigious awards for his horror and fantasy fiction, packs a lot into this new novel: multiple universes, a plague that threatens to wipe out human life, heroes and villains from an alternate Earth, a group of cutting-edge scientists desperate to find a cure for the plagueoh, and zombies, too. This is a zombie-apocalypse story quite unlike any other, one based in science and technology (the walking dead in this book are the product of a deliberate infection by an unknown entity). Its characters are richly detailed, its story imaginative and filled with surprises. The plot shifts back and forth from a top-secret underground lab to the alternate Earth, following several characters (among them, the labs chief, battling zombies all by himself and fearing hes going insane; a scientist who was instrumental in creating the breach between this universe and another; and a morally conflicted man who escaped from the lab and unleashed the zombie plague upon the world). An exciting, thought-provoking novel that will definitely appeal to zombie fans but should also do well with fans of hard sf and technothrillers, too. --David Pitt
  						  	
  						    	--This text refers to an alternate <a href="/dp/1781168806/ref=dp_bookdescription?_encoding=UTF8&amp;n=283155">Paperback</a> edition.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first three paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Coldbrook
  Please email us at readerfeedback@titanemail.com or write to us at Reader Feedback at the above address.
  To receive advance information, news, competitions, and exclusive offers online, please sign up for the Titan newsletter on our website: 
  Six hours after forging a pathway from his own reality to another, Jonah Jones closed his eyes to dream. His mind, Bill had once told him, was far too busy dancing. The moment he laid down his head he always knew whether the night would usher in a few blessed hours of rest or a long wakeful period of silence, as he stared at the patterns that darkness painted on the ceiling and thought about what might be.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about doubted.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Coldbrook
  Please email us at readerfeedback@titanemail. com or write to us at Reader Feedback at the above address. 
  To receive advance information, news, competitions, and exclusive offers online, please sign up for the Titan newsletter on our website: 
  Six hours after forging a pathway from his own reality to another, Jonah Jones closed his eyes to dream. But he doubted that sleep would come. His mind, Bill had once told him, was far too busy dancing. The moment he laid down his head he always knew whether the night would usher in a few blessed hours of rest or a long wakeful period of silence, as he stared at the patterns that darkness painted on the ceiling and thought about what might be.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: If Wendy had come back to him as one of those things, Jonah would have understood. It would hardly have been a surprise—he'd seen them kill, he had shot some himself, and the images of their grinding teeth and rupturing skulls were imprinted for ever on his mind. His waking nightmares made him terrified to sleep. And if she had returned as the Inquisitor, he would have understood that as well. The Inquisitor was in his mind now, and sometimes Jonah believed that thing was steering his every action, subconsciously or not.
  How could he? After all this, after what they had done, how could he ever consider taking the easy way out?
  What the Inquisitor was, why he was here, what he wanted of him... these were questions whose importance were secondary to Jonah's survival. He could remain here and accept what this thing was doing to him, or he could leave. The choice was stark—and simple.
  Jonah left his small room, carrying the heavy flashlight that illuminated the whole corridor ahead of him. He headed away from Control to begin with, slipping into the canteen area where the smell of food starting to rot was already evident. He could hear movement—scratching, shuffling, the gentle caress of material against metal—and he wondered how those creatures he'd locked in the walk-in refrigerator could know that he was here. Entering the huge pantry, he selected some dried food. Tins would be too heavy, and he'd be able to add water to the sachets.
  There were canvas bags beneath the canteen counter, used to collect plastic and tins for recycling on the surface. One would be enough. He dropped the sachets inside, added a few small bottles of water, then returned to the common room and lifted the small bar's flap. He'd all but finished the Penderyn whisky and the next best thing was a bottle of Jameson's. Sighing, unscrewing the top, taking a long swig. As it burned its way down he remembered that thing's image.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He thought of Wendy, his beautiful wife, and wondered what she would think of him now. And though Jonah was not a spiritual man, he felt closer to her at this moment than he ever had since her death. He had no expectation of seeing her again when he died, no belief that she existed now anywhere other than in his heart. But he held on to the idea that they were still together in memory. Death would make memories of them both.
  The queue moved on, and he drew closer to the Holy Fathers. Members of the Swiss Guard stood in greater numbers here. Each line passed in front of one of the old men, and the people only paused for a few moments before being urged on. He could make out some of what the bishops were saying now, could hear their utter conviction, the strain of repetition, and their weariness.
  As the naked woman ahead of him was guided in front of the old man by her Inquisitor, Jonah manoeuvred the small sphere between his teeth and crunched it.
  Jonah closed his eyes, but there was no pain. Whatever Drake had given him had been designed to mask reaction, and even then he wondered at the science of this thing. He felt warmth spreading through his chest, followed by an icy coolness, a numbness, and a distancing from his body.
  Jonah's mouth flooded with foul heat. He flitted away to blissful nothingness, fell forward, and bit.