Mom With A Kindle: BOOK BLITZ (6 Authors 6 Dystopian Novels) Shattered Worlds Boxed Set

Shattered Worlds Boxed Set
Publication date: February 26th 2014
Genres: Dystopia, Young Adult

Synopsis:
Read these bestselling tales of survival against the odds, dark worlds, dystopian regimes and heroic rebels.

Shattered Worlds features six full-length novels from bestselling authors. Immerse yourself in post-apocalyptic civilizations and bleak near-futures where hope still lives.

Featured authors and books are:

Elle Casey: Apocalypsis

Shalini Boland: Outside

Zoe Cannon: The Torturer’s Daughter

Scott Cramer: Night of the Purple Moon

Sarah Dalton: The Blemished

Katie French: The Breeders

Elle Casey – Apocalypsis: Book One Khayatle

I stuffed the sleeping bag down into my backpack with angry, punching motions, sick and tired of having to be here and having to do the same thing over and over again. I hated camping, I hated being organized, and more than anything, I hated what this exercise stood for.

“Don’t do it like that. I told you - you have to conserve the room as best you can. You have to travel as efficiently as possible. Take it out and start over.”

“I don’t see what difference it makes.”

“Trust me, it’s going to be a really big deal to you in the not so distant future.” His voice sounded hollow.

“Says who?” I was being ornery. I knew the answer to the question already.

“Says me, Bryn. And the news. Look around, would you?” He sounded like he was pleading now. “Stop defaulting back to the rebellious young teen act, and get serious. We don’t have enough time to play those games anymore.”

“They’re not games, Dad. I am a teenager. I don’t care what the news jerks and the government say.” I threw my backpack down on the ground. “And it’s not rebellious to not want to play friggin’ survivor in the backyard every day.”

My dad looked at me with a sad expression and sighed, reaching over to pull me into a tight hug. He dropped his nose to my head and inhaled deeply.

My face was pressed up against his shirt, and I could smell his sweat mixed with the sweet scent of his aftershave. My dad always said he was the last of a dying breed, using that stuff. He couldn’t have been more right.

“Maybe it’s not going to happen here … to us.” I said it just to hear the words, but I knew it was only wishful thinking.

I could tell he was getting choked up again when he started talking, his voice now hoarse.

“I wish, more than anything else in this world, that you didn’t have to be standing here with me in this backyard playing survivor.” His whole body started to shake with silent sobs. “Oh, God, Bryn. If I could do anything to change this, anything at all, I would. I swear to God I would. But it’s happening. No one can stop it.”

I put my arms around his waist, letting go of my earlier stubborn anger, now choking back my own tears. “I know, Dad. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you did,” he said, sniffing hard and clearing his throat, shifting to hold me at arm’s length. He was staring at me while he smiled through his tears, giving me that look. The one that always made me confess.

“Okay, so maybe I did mean it. But I’ll shut up about it for a little while.”

“Not for too long, though. You wouldn’t be my daughter if you weren’t complaining about something.”

I tried to slap him playfully but he moved too fast for me. My dad is light on his feet, an expert level-one practitioner of krav maga - a certified badass. He’d only recently taken up camping.

“Pick it up,” he ordered, now back in control of his emotions. “Do it again. Only this time, get the air out of that bag first, condense it down …”

I cut him off. “I know, I know … ‘down into the smallest footprint possible.’ Geez, Dad, I’m not an idiot.”

I shook the sleeping bag out and started rolling it up quickly, using the moves I’d been practicing for four months straight to squeeze it down into a lump the size of a small loaf of bread. I folded the whole thing in half, pushed it to the bottom of the backpack, and then let it unfold itself one time, before putting the other items in on top of it: unbreakable water bottle, half-liter of bleach, square of plastic, cup, hunting knife, and various other tools my father was quite certain I would need … once all the adults in the world had died off, leaving us kids alone to fend for ourselves.

Shalini Boland - Outside

Pa is a black marketeer. Nobody and everybody knows this. Pa pays people not to rock the boat. He pays the guards, he pays the neighbours and he even pays his friends. He pays off just about everyone – a litre of whisky here and a bag of sugar there, and in return we live a life of ease and comfort. Pa believes in the carrot approach just as much as the punishing stick. As long as he doesn’t draw too much attention to himself from the wrong quarters, we’re safe and free.

Pa can get his hands on just about anything from before. If you’ve got a craving for a pot noodle he can probably magic one up from somewhere. But it’ll cost you all you’ve got and more besides. He isn’t swayed by threats or tears. He’ll hold fast and stare you down and if you can’t pay you might get a bullet in your head, or worse.

This morning, my parents are standing together in the doorway of the sitting room. Behind me, the sun floods in through the windows and they edge closer to avoid squinting into the too-bright light.

Their faces are ghost white and Ma’s nose and eyes are pink and swollen. She shivers and her teeth chatter as though she’s chilled and it isn’t the warm July morning it appears to be.

‘Riley, can you sit down?’ Pa asks.

‘Okay,’ I say. They’re acting weird. It’s freaking me out. My legs are heavy wood and I’m not sure I can make the three feet required to reach the sofa.

‘Okay,’ I repeat. But I don’t move. I just keep looking from one to the other and they stare back almost as if they’re afraid of me.

‘Riley, sit down,’ Pa says.

I walk to the sofa and sit in one corner with my hands on my lap. The leather is cool against my legs in the warmth of the room. Fear has travelled up from my stomach to my throat and I can’t swallow. I feel sick.

‘Riley,’ he says, running his hands slowly through his hair.

‘No!’ Ma loses it. She sobs and stumbles towards me. Sits and buries her head in my chestnut curls, rocking me backwards and forwards, moaning and muttering. I can’t breathe she’s holding me so tight.

‘Sweetheart, let go, you’re crushing her. Go and lie down upstairs if you want. I’ll tell her.’ Pa’s voice is soft and broken. It doesn’t sound a bit like him.

She lets go of me, cups my face in her hands and kisses my face all over. ‘No, It’s alright, I’m alright,’ she says not taking her eyes from my face. ‘I'm not leaving my baby.’ She leans back, trembling. I press my hands back into my lap and she wraps her arms around herself, still shivering and rocking.

Our house has always been a light and happy place. I don’t understand what’s going on. My face and pyjama top are wet from Ma’s sticky tears. I let my mind wander for a minute, away from the awful strangeness of what’s going on and I hear the low background hum of the generators overlaid by the familiar whirr and thrum of a copter hovering overhead.

Has my father done something wrong? Are we in danger? Do we have to leave the Perimeter? All the most awful things I can think of crowd my brain. And then … Skye! Why isn’t she here? My little sister is usually up before me. I hesitate, not wanting to pose the question. Maybe she’s too young for this conversation and they’ve sent her out of earshot. She won't like that; she’ll kick up a real fuss. But then I would have heard them arguing and everything has been quiet this morning; abnormally quiet up until now.

An unwanted thought creeps into my head and I push it out quickly.

‘Where’s Skye?’ My voice sounds high pitched and distant, like my ears need to pop.

Pa comes close and crouches down in front of me. He takes both my hands in his and looks into my eyes.

‘Something’s happened.’ He breaks off. ‘We’re waiting for … We’re not sure ...’

And then something really horrible happens. My powerful, strong, wonderful father starts crying. Proper messy crying where his face twists and his voice sounds broken. I’m appalled. He never cries.

‘Pa …’

I’m not a typical daddy’s girl. I love the bones of him, but I feel easiest around Ma. We always talk make-up, fashion, gossipy stuff and laugh a lot together. Skye belongs to Pa and Pa definitely belongs to Skye. They’re a team. I never feel excluded exactly, but I don’t have the same natural connection they do.

‘Riley,’ he says. ‘I don't know how to say this.’ He looks over at Ma who’s staring at him in horror. ‘Skye is … Skye is. Oh Riley, she … she’s dead.’

I stare down at the patterns on the carpet. I’ve never noticed just how vivid the individual colours are. The over-all effect is of a soft warmth, but I focus on a particular strand of red that seems almost luminous, as if it’s going to jump out of the weave and hit me in the face.

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Special sale price of only $0.99! Together these books have over 650 five star reviews!

Read these bestselling tales of survival against the odds, dark worlds, dystopian regimes and heroic rebels.

Shattered Worlds features six full-length novels from bestselling authors. Immerse yourself in post-apocalyptic civilizations and bleak near-futures where hope still lives.