Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Even her workspace has plants all over it. I only recognize the aloe, but there are several different ones, one trailing across a stack of books on her desk.
I read the notes Dr. McClain left me.
Nice work, Marcus. Let’s get the next round going immediately. I’ve ranked the remaining variables.
I read it again, the rush of warmth reminding me of being complimented by my college football coach. Sure, I played to win, and I played for my team, but mostly I played for him. Growing up without a dad, coaches and teachers were my role models.
Even now, at twenty-three years old, that feeling is still there. I know my mom is proud of me, but when McClain tells me I’ve done well, it’s like a glass of ice water after a long desert walk.
“Marcus,” Dr. P calls from the other side of the lab. “Check on your rats, something’s up.”
I go over to the individually ventilated cages where the rats are kept. After a few steps, I hear a high-pitched shriek that makes my shoulders sink with disappointment.
One of the rats is having a seizure. It’s happened before—many times, and the seizures are usually fatal.
When I reach the cage, I can tell the creature is in agony. Terror swims in its eyes. A stab of guilt slices through me over being a rat murderer.
“Dr. P,” I call over my shoulder. “Can you come take a look at this?”
He walks up behind me, making a humming noise as he looks into the cage.
“Euthanize it,” he says. “That’s the humane thing to do. You know how?”
“Yeah. I haven’t done it before because they’re usually already dead when I find them, but I know how.”
He takes off his rubber gloves. “I’ll watch you do it. Get your supplies.”
I go over to a cabinet and open the door, taking out the things I’ll need.
I guess that makes ten rats that didn’t survive the latest strain.
6
“Dissent in the southeast quadrant has been quelled. I should have realized sooner that a moral code is the best way to unite people. It may, in fact, be the only way. External communications will now focus on biblical values as our foundation. We need to grow the population while maintaining control, and that messaging is the way.” - Excerpt from a message from New America President Soren Whitman to his top advisers
Briar
When Mae and I were kids, we shared a bedroom. I’m only eighteen months older than her, and when we were young, our mom helped us push our twin beds together. We kept them that way for years, and every night we talked and giggled in bed until one of us fell asleep.
I moved from Marcus’s room into Amira’s after the night I killed Virginia. I could have gotten my own room, but I like sharing with her. Our late-night conversations from our respective cots remind me of Mae.
I have to find my sister on the mainland. It means more to me than anything. But I don’t have a way to get off the island. Yet.
I also have unfinished business with Lochlan Murphy, the commander I was forced into a sham marriage with, and with Soren Whitman himself. My dad taught me how to fight, but it was those two men who unknowingly shaped me into a weapon. Over the years since the virus came, my raging, fiery river of fury has poured itself into a mold with one purpose: hardening me into the warrior I’ve needed to become. Hell hath no fury like a woman forged.
“Remember shaving cream?” Amira asks as we’re getting our things together for our morning bathroom run. “That silky soft feeling it left behind?”
I hum longingly. “The best. And good moisturizer.”
She groans dramatically. “Bubble baths.”
“Pedicures.”
“Ice cream.”
Our game is cut off by a camp-wide alarm. It’s a long, repeating beep. Different from the one that signals an incoming ship.
“Fuck.” I sit down on the floor to pull my boots on. “What does that one mean? Are we being attacked?”
Amira’s putting on her thick, army-green pants. “No, that one’s more of a whoop-whoop sound. I think this one means lockdown. Shelter in place if you can, or get to the Sub.”
The radio on the other side of the room crackles to life. “This is Ares. Command Team One to Rendezvous Point One.”
My stomach drops. I can tell from the clip in his voice that whatever’s going on, it’s serious.
“We need to stay together,” I tell Amira.
I don’t have a gun. We keep them locked up in the Sub and only get them out in emergencies. Amira is the best archer on this island, but a bow and arrow won’t save her from every situation. I’ve already lost what I had with Marcus. I can’t lose my best friend.
The only weapon I have with me now is a hunting knife. Instead of putting it in a sheath and wearing it around my waist, I carry it, keeping it pointed at the ground. Amira has her bow and a quiver full of arrows.