The Prey
In the Republic of the True America, it's always hunting season. Riveting action, intense romance, and gripping emotion make this fast-paced adventure a standout debut.After a radiation blast burned most of the Earth to a crisp, the new government established settlement camps for the survivors. At one such camp, Book and the other ‘LTs’ are eager to graduate as part of the Rite.Until they learn the dark truth: ‘LTs’ doesn't stand for lieutenant but for ‘Less Thans’, feared by society and raised to be hunted for sport. Together with the sisters, Hope and Faith, twin girls who've suffered their own haunting fate, they join forces to seek the safety of the fabled New Territory.As Book and Hope lead their quest for freedom, these teens must find the best in themselves to fight the worst in their enemies. But as they are pursued by sadistic hunters, secrets are revealed, allegiances are made, and lives are threatened.
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HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2015
Copyright © Tom Isbell 2015
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover photographs © Johnnyhetfield/Getty Images (people); Shutterstock.com (trees).
Tom Isbell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007528189
Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780007528172
Version: 2015-01-20
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Part One: Liberty
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part Two: Escape
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Part Three: Prey
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Acknowledgments
About the Author
About the Publisher
Wild animals never kill for sport. Man is the only one to whom the torture and death of his fellow creatures is amusing in itself.
âJAMES ANTHONY FROUDE
from Oceana, or, England and Her Colonies
Blood drips from fingertips, splashing the floor. A mosaic of white hexagons, outlined in black, now splotched with red. Droplets, then a puddle, a pond, a lake.
Blood. Purpling. Coagulating before his eyes.
Darkness presses against the outer reaches of his periphery, narrowing his vision. The world grows dim.
He reaches out a hand against the blood-smeared wall. Fingers squealing on tiles. Tries to call for help but the words get strangled in his throat. He collapses to the floor.
Eyes land on a knife, its razor edge trimmed in red. Blood. His blood.
Darkness closing in. The world reduced to a pinprick. Fatigue washes over him like a summer storm.
My final moments, he realizes. All come down to this.
He does not hear the door swing open, the swift stomping of feet. The ripping of fabric. The improvised tourniquet. Being lifted and carried, swept out the door, leaving behind a world of black and white and red.
WE FOUND HIS BODY on a Sunday morning. Three circling buzzards, their black silhouettes etched against a blazing blue sky, clued us in that something might be down there. Down in the gullies where the foothills gave over to desert.
At the very edge of the No Water.
We thought a possum. Perhaps even a wolf. Certainly not a kid fried like an egg, stretched out in the meager shade of a mesquite bush.
He wasnât dead, but if we hadnât found him when we did, he wouldâve been. Maybe within the hour. Then this story never wouldâve happened. Thereâd be nothing to write about because it all changed that late-spring morning, the day we found him dying of dehydration at the edge of the desert.
He was sandy-haired, about our age, lying spread-eagled on the ground like a giant X. Red ran back to camp to tell the officers, while Flush and I turned him over. The sun had burned his face to a crisp, cracked his lips, swollen his eyes shut. Dried sweat stains marked his black T-shirt and jeans, and, oddly, he was barefoot. Barefoot in the desert! Blisters big as quarters, caked with dirt and blood, dotted the undersides of his feet.
We poured water from our canteens into his mouth. Some of it made it to his throat; the rest dribbled down his neck, carving trails in his dust-covered face.
