Title: Shattered Worlds Boxed Set
Publication: February 26th 2014
Genres: Dystopia, Young Adult
Genres: Dystopia, Young Adult
Synopsis:
Read these bestselling tales of survival against the odds, dark worlds, dystopian regimes and heroic rebels.
Shattered Worlds features six full-length novels from bestselling authors. Immerse yourself in post-apocalyptic civilizations and bleak near-futures where hope still lives.
Featured authors and books are:
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New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Elle Casey – Apocalypsis Book 1: Kahayatle
My name's Bryn Mathis. I'm seventeen years old, and I live in a neighborhood outside of Orlando, Florida. I live alone because my dad died almost a year ago, along with all the other adults in the world. I'm almost out of food and the gangs of kids that roam around my town are getting more vicious by the day.
It's time for me to leave and find another place to live ... a place where I can find food and shelter ... a place where they won't be able to find me.
Alone, it might have been possible; but now I've got company. I'm worried that I don't have what it takes to get from here to my final destination.
And I have no idea what might be waiting for me when I get there.
**May not be suitable for younger, middle grade readers.**
I stuffed the
sleeping bag down into my backpack with angry, punching motions, sick and tired
of having to be here and having to do the same thing over and over again. I
hated camping, I hated being organized, and more than anything, I hated what
this exercise stood for.
“Don’t do it
like that. I told you - you have to conserve the room as best you can. You have
to travel as efficiently as possible. Take it out and start over.”
“I don’t see
what difference it makes.”
“Trust me, it’s
going to be a really big deal to you in the not so distant future.” His voice
sounded hollow.
“Says who?” I
was being ornery. I knew the answer to the question already.
“Says me, Bryn.
And the news. Look around, would you?” He sounded like he was pleading now.
“Stop defaulting back to the rebellious young teen act, and get serious. We
don’t have enough time to play those games anymore.”
“They’re not
games, Dad. I am a teenager. I don’t
care what the news jerks and the government say.” I threw my backpack down on
the ground. “And it’s not rebellious to not want to play friggin’ survivor in
the backyard every day.”
My dad looked at
me with a sad expression and sighed, reaching over to pull me into a tight hug.
He dropped his nose to my head and inhaled deeply.
My face was
pressed up against his shirt, and I could smell his sweat mixed with the sweet
scent of his aftershave. My dad always said he was the last of a dying breed,
using that stuff. He couldn’t have been more right.
“Maybe it’s not
going to happen here … to us.” I said it just to hear the words, but I knew it
was only wishful thinking.
I could tell he
was getting choked up again when he started talking, his voice now hoarse.
“I wish, more
than anything else in this world, that you didn’t have to be standing here with
me in this backyard playing survivor.” His whole body started to shake with
silent sobs. “Oh, God, Bryn. If I could do anything
to change this, anything at all, I would. I swear to God I would. But it’s
happening. No one can stop it.”
I put my arms
around his waist, letting go of my earlier stubborn anger, now choking back my
own tears. “I know, Dad. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
“Yes, you did,”
he said, sniffing hard and clearing his throat, shifting to hold me at arm’s
length. He was staring at me while he smiled through his tears, giving me that look. The one that always made me
confess.
“Okay, so maybe
I did mean it. But I’ll shut up about it for a little while.”
“Not for too
long, though. You wouldn’t be my daughter if you weren’t complaining about
something.”
I tried to slap
him playfully but he moved too fast for me. My dad is light on his feet, an
expert level-one practitioner of krav maga - a certified badass. He’d only
recently taken up camping.
“Pick it up,” he
ordered, now back in control of his emotions. “Do it again. Only this time, get
the air out of that bag first, condense it down …”
I cut him off.
“I know, I know … ‘down into the smallest footprint possible.’ Geez, Dad, I’m
not an idiot.”
I shook the
sleeping bag out and started rolling it up quickly, using the moves I’d been
practicing for four months straight to squeeze it down into a lump the size of
a small loaf of bread. I folded the whole thing in half, pushed it to the
bottom of the backpack, and then let it unfold itself one time, before putting
the other items in on top of it: unbreakable water bottle, half-liter of
bleach, square of plastic, cup, hunting knife, and various other tools my
father was quite certain I would need … once all the adults in the world had
died off, leaving us kids alone to fend for ourselves.