By Sophie Littlefield
Awakening in a bleak panorama as scarred as her physique, Cass buck vaguely recollects surviving whatever negative. Having no inspiration what number weeks have handed, she slowly realizes the scary fact: Ruthie has vanished.And along with her, the majority of civilization.Where once-lush hills carried autos and trade, the roads this day see simply cannibalistic Beaters—people became hungry for human flesh through a central authority test long gone wrong.In a damaged, barren California, Cass will endure a harrowing quest to get Ruthie again. Few humans belief an interloper, not to mention a lady who turned a zombie and in some way grew to become again, yet she unearths aid from an enigmatic outlaw, Smoke. Smoke is her savior, and her safety.For the Beaters are out there.And the people grip at survival with their set off palms. specially after they research that she and Ruthie became the main feared, and wanted, of guns in a courageous new world….
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Smoke looked at the table, wouldn’t meet her eyes. “There’s been a few kids—” “Not just kids,” Nora interrupted. ” Cass asked, horrified. “To look like Beaters,” Nora said. “To look like you. To mock the world. Or to come into settlements and everyone takes off screaming and then they help themselves to whatever they want—water, food, drugs, anything. ” Cass’d been trying to hold on to her patience, but this—Nora’s implication that she had done this to herself on purpose—it was too much. “So where’s all my stuff, then?
Hey,” she said to him. He was standing in front of a shelf that held the few personal products left in the store—bottles of shampoo and mouthwash, boxes of Band-Aids. “Would you like…” Her voice trailed off as he turned and stared at her with wide unblinking blue eyes. “Dome going,” he said softly, then raised his wounded forearm to his face and, eyes still fixed on her, licked his lips and took a delicate nip at his red, glistening skin. His teeth closed on the damaged flesh and pulled, the raw layers of dermis pulling away from his arm, stretching and then splitting, a shred of flesh about the size of a match tearing away, leaving a bright, tiny spot of blood that glistened and pooled into a larger drop.
Cass had seen one trying to ride a bicycle, and falling off when its jerky motions caused the wheel to spin and flip. It tried again and again and then suddenly lost interest and wandered away. Another time she had seen one at a clothesline, taking the pins off one by one and holding them in its ruined hand, then reattaching them. Cass had known a woman who had been a social worker Before. Her name was Miranda. They had not been friends, exactly, but they had sheltered together in the library before a half-dozen Beaters came through a back door that had been left open one day and dragged her off.