Alight: Book Two of the Generations Trilogy - Softcover

Sigler, Scott

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0553393170 ISBN 13: 9780553393170

Verlag: Random House Worlds, 2016

Inhaltsangabe

In Alive, Scott Sigler introduced readers to an unforgettable young heroine and a mysterious new world reminiscent of those of The Hunger Games, Divergent, and Red Rising. Now he expands his singular vision in the next thrilling novel of this powerful sci-fi adventure series.

“If it’s war they want, they messed with the wrong girl.”
 
M. Savage—or Em, as she is called—has made a bewildering and ominous discovery. She and the other young people she was chosen to lead awoke in strange coffins with no memory of their names or their pasts. They faced an empty, unknown place of twisting tunnels and human bones. With only one another to depend on, they searched for answers and found the truth about their terrifying fate. Confronted by a monstrous enemy, they vowed never to surrender—and, by any means, to survive.
 
The planet Omeyocan may be the sanctuary Em and her comrades seek. But the planet for which they were created turns out not to be a pristine, virgin world. Vestiges of a lost civilization testify to a horrifying past that may yet repeat itself. And when a new enemy creeps from the jungle shadows, Em and her young refugees learn there’s nowhere left to run. They face a simple choice: fight or die.
 
In the midst of this desperate struggle, their unity is compromised from within—and a dangerous zealot devoted to a bloodthirsty god moves to usurp Em’s command, threatening to lead them all down a path to violent doom.
 
Praise for Scott Sigler’s Alive
 
“Suspenseful . . . [Alive] lives up to its hype, packing plenty of thrills. . . . A page-turner that whets the appetite for volume 2.”—Entertainment Weekly
 
“Fascinating and intriguing . . . a cross between Lord of the Flies and The Maze Runner and yet . . . so much more.”—Fresh Fiction
 
“A ripping, claustrophobic thunderbolt of a novel.”—Pierce Brown, New York Times bestselling author of Red Rising
 
“Unstoppable and real, M. Savage is one hell of a heroine. Get ready to be left breathless.”—Kristin Cast, New York Times bestselling author of the House of Night series
 
“Sigler has created a wonderful and engrossing character in M. Savage. Strong and smart, but with the naïveté and misgivings of any teenage girl, she’s someone you’ll definitely want on your side when s**t hits the fan, which it most certainly does.”—Veronica Belmont, host of Sword & Laser
 
“The puzzle unfolds masterfully, right down to the last page.”—Phil Plait, PhD, author of Bad Astronomy

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Scott Sigler is the New York Times bestselling author of sixteen novels—including Alive and Alight—six novellas, and dozens of short stories. He is also the co-founder of Empty Set Entertainment, which publishes his YA Galactic Football League series. He lives in San Diego.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

One

A stabbing pain jolts me awake.

I open my eyes to darkness. Total darkness.

My head feels thick, my thoughts clogged.

The pain is where my neck meets my shoulder, but it’s already fading. I remember a sting just like it, but much worse. That day . . . was it my birthday? Yes, I think so. My twelfth birthday.

A chill floods me—this has happened before.

I am in a coffin.

A monster is coming for me, a rot-black thing with one ravaged eye.

Matilda.

No . . . that’s not quite right. It’s different this time. I can move my hands . . . last time they were held down. My fingers rise up through the darkness. I feel a lid, so close it’s almost touching my face and chest. I need to escape before the monster destroys me.

I need a weapon.

The spear . . . where is my spear?

I punch at the lid, I scream and I hammer at it with fists and knees.

A noise, a whir of machinery; I feel the coffin lid start to slide down toward my feet. Light hits me, burning my eyes even through tightly scrunched lids—I can’t see.

I lash out wildly, blindly, punching and clawing.

Hands grab my wrists.

“Em, it’s okay!”

A girl’s voice. I recognize it: Spingate.

“Calm down,” she says. “Everything is fine.”

Her hand takes mine. Our fingers clasp tightly. Her skin is warm and soft, her grip strong and confident.

“We’ve landed,” she says. “You’re safe.”

Safe. That word is an illusion. And yet, I feel my body relax a little. I recall something big and silver, something that gave me hope, but the image evades me.

“Landed? What are you talking about?”

Her other hand strokes my hair. It comforts me, takes away some of my fear.

“You’re still groggy from the gas in your coffin,” she says. “The effects should wear off pretty fast.”

Even as she says this, I feel my head clearing. The fog drifts away. Memories rush back.

Horrible memories.

Waking up in a coffin. The needle driving into my neck. Fighting my way out. Not knowing who or where I was, my entire past gone save for a few wisps of someone else’s life.

Saving Spingate. Then O’Malley. Then Bello, Aramovsky and Yong.

The hideous, cracked skull of a little boy, skin dried tight to his bones, clothes too big for his small body.

The skeletons. The dust. The endless dungeon hallways. Our long walk.

My knife sliding into Yong’s belly.

Finding Bishop, Gaston, Latu and the rest. The vote, where I became leader—two tribes merging into one.

The pigs. Latu’s death. The Garden. That’s where I last felt safe, when I still believed that childish concept existed.

Bello’s terror-wide eyes when the monster’s wrinkled black hands dragged her into the Garden’s underbrush. Those monsters—the Grownups—with their red eyes and spindly limbs, their gnarled skin, fleshy folds hanging where their mouths should have been.

Bello.

The shame of that moment hammers me. I left her. For the greater good, my head tells me, but my heart calls me a coward.

Meeting Brewer. Discovering that we weren’t underground, that we were on an ancient spaceship called the Xolotl. The Grownups were creatures that should have died centuries ago. They wanted to wipe our minds clean and take over our young bodies as easily as someone might change their clothes.

Learning about Omeyocan, the planet we were made for.

Then, my decision to attack. Harris, dying somewhere in the Garden. Capturing Matilda. Finding the big silver shuttle. And when we were almost away, El-Saffani—the boy and girl twins who finished each other’s sentences—charged an army of withered, walking corpses and were blown to pieces.

We escaped the Xolotl, but at such a price.

“Let’s stand you up,” Spingate says.

She helps me rise and step out. My legs immediately buckle—Spingate holds me, keeps me from falling. I think of an almost identical moment when I was the one comforting her, telling her to be calm, helping her out of a coffin.

My eyes don’t sting as much. I blink them open, and see the face of my friend. Spingate’s curly red hair is a tangled mess. Her green eyes are sunken, ringed by skin so dark it looks bruised. I’ve never seen her this pale; the black, circular gear symbol on her forehead stands out in stark contrast.

“I think I can stand on my own now.”

Spingate kisses me on the cheek, lets me go.

We’re in a long, narrow room. Red walls and ceiling, gleaming black floor. Two rows of thin white coffins lined up side by side run the length of the room. Wide aisles run along each wall, as well as one down the middle that leads through a curved opening. Just past that opening and to the right is the door we used to enter the shuttle. Past that door, the strange room of light where Gaston and Spingate glowed like angels.

These coffins are simple and plain. Designed just to let people sleep, I think. They aren’t like the big, carved coffins that tended to us while we grew from babies into the bodies we have now.

My coffin is open—the lid rolled down somewhere into the foot of the thing. The other coffins remain sealed tight. The one to the right of mine holds O’Malley; the one to the left, Bishop. I held their hands until the lids closed.

A boy walks through the curved opening, shuffles down the middle aisle toward us. It’s Gaston—he’s holding my spear.

He’s still wearing his red tie, which is embroidered with a yellow and black circle of tiny images, the word mictlan in white letters at its center. His white shirt is mostly clean, mostly untorn. I glance at my own too-small shirt, ripped in a dozen places and splattered with blood. My shredded plaid skirt barely covers me.

Gaston offers me the spear. I take it, then he clutches me in a hard hug.

“Em! We did it!”

I return the hug. It feels so good to hold him.

“You did it,” I say. “You flew us to Omeyocan.”

He steps back. His smile—part charm, part arrogance—is as wide as ever: Gaston is impressed with himself.

Despite his joy, it’s clear he also has had no rest. His black hair hangs down his face, partially hiding his eyes.

“It was amazing,” he says. “Once the pilothouse lights hit me, I remembered my creator’s training from when I—I mean he—was little. Some of my blanked-out areas seemed to clear.”

I don’t know how that’s possible. I have “blanked-out areas,” too. We all do. When our brains search for memories we know should be there, they usually return only whispers and echoes. We were never meant to know anything for ourselves. We are receptacles, shells, created to house another person.

If he can “remember” how to fly, maybe our blank areas aren’t permanently blank, like Matilda told me they were.

Gaston and Spingate look exhausted. I’m sore and scratched, bruised and beaten, but I don’t feel tired at all.

“How long did I sleep?”

“Only the two hours it took us to land,” Spingate says. “The shuttle told us the coffin gas does something to our brains, lets you sleep far deeper than you could on your own. We can take it in the pilothouse, too. You’d still be sleeping if I hadn’t told the shuttle to give you the wake-up injection.”

That sting in my neck. Not a knife, not a snake, not a...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Random House Worlds
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2016
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0553393170
• ISBN 13: 9780553393170
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 448
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Buchbär; info@buchbaer.de; ; Weberstr. 67; Osnabrück; 49084; Deutschland