Five years after the destruction of the so-called rehabilitation camps that imprisoned her and countless other Psi kids, seventeen-year-old Suzume “Zu” Kimura has assumed the role of spokesperson for the interim government, fighting for the rights of Psi kids against a growing tide of misinformation and prejudice. But when she is accused of committing a horrifying act, she is forced to go on the run once more in order to stay alive.
Determined to clear her name, Zu finds herself in an uncomfortable alliance with Roman and Priyanka, two mysterious Psi who could either help her prove her innocence or betray her before she gets the chance. But as they travel in search of safety and answers, and Zu grows closer to the people she knows she shouldn’t trust, they uncover even darker things roiling beneath the veneer of the country’s recovery. With her future-and the future of all Psi-on the line, Zu must use her powerful voice to fight back against forces that seek to drive the Psi into the shadows and save the friends who were once her protectors.
From #1 New York Times best-selling author Alexandra Bracken comes a harrowing story of resilience, resistance, and reckoning that will thrill loyal fans and new readers alike.Books in Series:The Darkest Minds Series by Alexandra BrackenBooks by Author:Alexandra Bracken Books
A LITTLE TEXT MISSING DUE TO MEMORY LIMITATION :(
Three Days Ago
THE WHEELS DIDN"T STOP TURNING on the road. Not for gas, not at signs or signals.
A glare of sunlight burst through the window beside me, washing out the words I was pretending to read on my cell phone"s screen. A deep grumble from the engine and the renewed stench of gasoline signaled we were slowly picking up speed. The grind of the highway beneath us still wasn"t loud enough to drown out the police escorts" sirens or the chanting from the sign-wavers lined up along the highway.
I refused to turn and look at them. The tinted windows cast them all in shadow, one dark blur of hatred in my peripheral vision: the older men with their guns, the women clutching hateful messages between their hands, the clusters of families with bullhorns, and their cleverly awful slogans.
The police cars" lights flashed in time with their chants.
"Well," Mel said. "No one could ever accuse them of being original."
"Sorry, ladies," Agent Cooper called back from the driver"s seat. "It"ll just be another ten minutes. I can turn up the music if you want""
"That"s okay," I said, setting my phone down on my lap and folding my hands on top of it. "Really. It"s fine."
The machine-gun-fire typing coming from the seat beside me suddenly stopped. Mel looked up from the laptop balanced on her knees, a deep frown on her face. "Don"t these people have anything better to do with their lives" Actually, on second thought, maybe I should send a job recruiter down here and see if we can"t get them on our side"that would be quite the narrative, wouldn"t it" From hater to"humbled. No, that"s not right. It"ll come to me eventually." She reached for where she had left her phone on the seat between us and spoke into it. "Make a note: protestor reform program."
As I"d learned"and apparently Agents Cooper and Martinez had, too"it was best just to let Mel talk herself through to a solution rather than try to offer suggestions.
The car snarled and shuddered as it hit a bad patch of highway. The chanting grew louder, and I fought its tug at my attention.
Don"t be a coward, I told myself. There was nothing any of them could do to me now, not while I was surrounded on all sides by bulletproof glass, FBI agents, and police. If we kept looking away, they would never think we were strong enough to meet them head-on.
With a hard swallow, I turned to gaze out my window again. The day"s breeze tugged at the construction flags across the divide between the northbound and southbound lanes. They were the same shade of orange as the barriers protecting the workers as they went about the business of pouring new asphalt.
A few of the men and women stopped mid-task and leaned against the concrete median to watch our motorcade pass; some gave big, cheerful waves. Instinctively, my hand rose to return the gesture, a small smile on my lips. A heartbeat later, just long enough to be embarrassed by it, I remembered they couldn"t see me.
Behind the thin barrier of dark glass, I was invisible.
The window was warm as I pressed the tips of my fingers to it, hoping the workers could see them through the tint like five small stars. Eventually, though, just like everyone else, the workers disappeared with distance.
Setting America Back on the Right Route! had been one of Mel"s first publicity projects for the interim government established and monitored by the United Nations, back when she was still fairly junior in the White House communications office. It was a way to advertise new infrastructure jobs while also promising that roads would stop buckling under people"s wheels, that the gas ration would, eventually, be coming to an end, and that deadly bridge collapses like the one in Wisconsin wouldn"t happen anymore"not with reinforcements from new American steel. The proof of its success ran on newscasts every night: the unemployment rate was falling as steadily as the birth rate was beginning to rise.
Numbers were simple, real symbols that people could latch onto, holding them up like trophies. But there was no way they could capture the feeling of the last few years, that all-encompassing sensation that life was rolling out in front of us again, swelling to fill those empty spaces the lost children had left behind.
The same populations that had shifted to the big cities in desperate search of work were now slowly making their way back to the small towns and suburbs they had abandoned. Restaurants opened. Cars pulled in and out of gas stations on their assigned days. Trucks cruised down the highways that had been patched and knitted together again. People walked through newly landscaped parks. Movie theaters began to shift away from showing old films to showing new ones.