Josin L McQuein - Arclight

First published in the USA 2013 by Greenwillow Books,

a division of HarperCollins Publishers

First published in Great Britain 2013 by Electric Monkey,

an imprint of Egmont UK Limited, The Yellow Building,

1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2013 Josin L. McQuein

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

First e-book edition 2013

ISBN 978 1 4052 6394 8

e-book ISBN 978 1 7803 1182 1

www.egmont.co.uk

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties.

Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

EGMONT

Our story began over a century ago, when seventeen-year-old Egmont Harald Petersen found a coin in the street. He was on his way to buy a flyswatter, a small hand-operated printing machine that he then set up in his tiny apartment.

The coin brought him such good luck that today Egmont has offices in over 30 countries around the world. And that lucky coin is still kept at the company’s head offices in Denmark.

Dedicated to Ms. Rob and Mrs. Soriano: teachers who took a kid who liked to write and taught her how to be an author, and who knew that dreaming isn’t a waste of time.

Consider this a promise kept.

A fearful hope was all the world contain’d;

Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour

They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks

Extinguish’d with a crash—and all was black.

Cover

Title page

Copyright First published in the USA 2013 by Greenwillow Books, a division of HarperCollins Publishers First published in Great Britain 2013 by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited, The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN Text copyright © 2013 Josin L. McQuein The moral rights of the author have been asserted First e-book edition 2013 ISBN 978 1 4052 6394 8 e-book ISBN 978 1 7803 1182 1 www.egmont.co.uk All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet. EGMONT Our story began over a century ago, when seventeen-year-old Egmont Harald Petersen found a coin in the street. He was on his way to buy a flyswatter, a small hand-operated printing machine that he then set up in his tiny apartment. The coin brought him such good luck that today Egmont has offices in over 30 countries around the world. And that lucky coin is still kept at the company’s head offices in Denmark.

Dedication Dedicated to Ms. Rob and Mrs. Soriano: teachers who took a kid who liked to write and taught her how to be an author, and who knew that dreaming isn’t a waste of time. Consider this a promise kept.

Epigraph A fearful hope was all the world contain’d; Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks Extinguish’d with a crash—and all was black.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Coming Soon

About the Publisher

Someone’s attention shouldn’t have physical weight, but it does. Hate’s a heavy burden; hope is worse. It’s a mix of the two that beats against my skin as my classmates condemn me, and I do what I always do—pretend not to notice the burn gathering at the base of my neck that says I’m being watched.

I focus on the front of the room, where Dr. Wolff’s wrapping up his presentation. Like the nine who spoke before him, he extols the virtues of his occupation in hope that someone listening will choose to follow his path.

“There’s no rush,” he says. “But please consider how few take up the caduceus. I fear that one day we’ll see a generation without healers, and regardless of what else comes, that will be our true end.”

I know he’s speaking to me, but I don’t want to hear him, or indulge his belief that I show promise. I don’t want to be a doctor.

By my less-than-scientific calculations, sixty percent of my memory is framed by white hospital walls and backed by an antiseptic sting so strong it lingers for days. Pain and injury are my past; they can’t be my future, too.

Besides, it’s hard to heal someone when everyone who comes near you cringes if you touch them.

Dr. Wolff steps aside to allow Mr. Pace his spot at the front, and an uncomfortable shift ripples through the room. Instead of his regular clothes, Mr. Pace wears fatigues and a dark green field vest with stitched stars on the pocket marking him as our acting security chief. Tonight, he’s speaking not as our teacher but as one of the Arclight’s protectors, standing in the place of the man I killed. This presentation should belong to Tobin’s father.

Somewhere behind me, I know Tobin’s there, being forced to bear another reminder of what he’s lost, but I don’t turn. This time, I leave him the peace of not having to see my face, and give myself respite from the rancor I’ve come to expect on his.

I keep staring straight ahead, past Mr. Pace to the patched crack in the writing board bolted to the front wall. Mr. Pace speaks of guard details and patrols, honor and responsibility, but none of those are for me either. Even if I wanted to join our security team, no one would allow it, so I let his words break around me and continue on to those more suited for them.

When he’s finished, the other presenters go back to their assignments, leaving me with a quandary. No offered trade or task feels right. Is it my destiny to always be the burden I became when Mr. Pace and the others dragged me, bleeding and unconscious, through the front gate? When I became proof that the Arclight isn’t the only human enclave left in the world?