Produkt

KlappentextWinter was the only season every Lake-Lander feared... In a post-apocalyptic America, a community survives in a national park, surrounded by water that keeps the Dead at bay. But when winter comes, there's nothing to stop them from crossing the ice. Then homebody Peter puts the camp in danger by naively allowing a stranger to come ashore and he's forced to leave the community of Wranglestone. Now he must help rancher Cooper, the boy he's always watched from afar, herd the Dead from their shores before the lake freezes over. But as love blossoms, a dark discovery reveals the sanctuary's secret past. One that forces the pair to question everything they've ever known. An action-packed and thought-provoking debut, for fans of Patrick Ness, Marcus Sedgwick, DREAD NATION and The Walking Dead.

Darren lives in London with his partner and works in the voluntary sector for a homeless organisation. His lifetime obsessions with the National Parks of America, horror, film music and 80s kids movies have all worked their way into his writing. Follow him on twitter @DarrenRCharlton

Details

Weitere ISBN/GTIN9781788952507

ProduktartE-Book

EinbandartE-Book

FormatEPUB

Format HinweisePub Wasserzeichen

FormatE101

Verlag

Little Tiger Press

Erscheinungsjahr2020

Erscheinungsdatum06.02.2020

Seiten384 Seiten

SpracheEnglisch

Artikel-Nr.12814445

Rubriken

Genre9201

Inhalt/Kritik

Leseprobe

First Fall, huh? came a gravel voice from behind.

Peter swung round and watched the canoe approach the island. It was a stranger s. An old man lifted up the wooden paddle and sliced it back down through the water. The flaps of his trapper hat swung about his face like the ears on Bud s old bloodhound, Dolly. He looked just as harmless too. But he d got a good pace going and hadn t asked for permission to come ashore yet, so Peter made his way down to the water s edge.

Who goes there?

Permission to land? said the old man, hoisting the paddle out of the water. Yes, yes. Permission to land.

Peter glanced back up toward the tree house. He shouldn t really be letting strangers anywhere near the island on his own. But his dad was nowhere to be seen.

Bah! bellowed the old man. You can make up your own mind, can t ya? You re a big boy.

Yes, said Peter, without convincing himself. I m sixteen.

And you re real handy with an axe too.

You think?

Sure.

Peter shrugged. I s pose.

No suppose about it.

Well, I m trying my best.

Better than trying.

I m trying real hard.

I can see that. Broad shoulders n all.

Peter creased the corner of his mouth into a half-smile and looked down. Darlene had told him that if he wore extra-thick knit it d fool the eye into thinking he had the same broad shoulders as Cooper in a T-shirt. But he was nothing like Cooper. Nobody was. Peter braced his hand across his bony collarbone and wondered if he d be lucky enough to spot him out on the lake today. He hadn t seen him for a few days now, three and a half to be exact.

The old man rested his paddle across the width of the canoe, smiling broadly.

The canoe glided into the shallows under its own momentum and grazed the shingle below.

No, said Peter. I m skinnier than an aspen mauled by beavers. But I patch up all our socks, and I know how to make a quilt out of old shirts and sweaters big enough to cover a king-size bed and make sure all the colours match up and complement real nice too.

The old man pulled off his trapper hat in an I ll be darned kind of way and used it to wipe the sweat off his bald head. Well, fancy that, he said. And a good thing too. We all need a use, a trade in this world. But I gotta admit, it is kinda unusual for a boy. You must take after your ma.

No, said Peter quietly. She s dead.

Too bad. Then who do you get it from?

Peter shrugged. He didn t know what made him this way any more than anyone knew why the planet had become a walking graveyard all those years ago, just before he was born.

A moment passed in awkward silence. The sun broke behind a passing cloud and dazzled across the water like starlight.

Anyhoo, said the old man. I take it I got permission to land?

Peter looked up, embarrassed that he d forgotten his manners, and rushed down to yank the nose of the canoe on to the shore.

Oh sure! Sorry.

The old man wiped his hand across his thigh and thrust it forward. Ben.

Peter. Nice to meet you.

The old man nodded as if to say likewise and whipped an old blanket off the front of the canoe to reveal a big pile of stuff. He was a trader. The lake was full of them in the summer months. Whether it was rare essentials like cooking pots and flare guns, or novel trinkets from the old world like CDs for shaving mirrors, there was nearly always something to find if you rummaged deep enough. And, just as long as Peter didn t dwell on how traders had to raid dead people s homes for these items, he always looked forward to their visits.

Anything take your fancy? asked the old man. We got pairs of boots in all sizes, a Swiss army knife complete with a corkscrew and some good old titty porn with all its pages intact.

Peter pushed the bundle of magazines aside and started to rifle through the rest.

Oh, they were so sure the internet had killed off print, the old man went on. But then the world blew its fuse and look who s laughing now!

I guess, said Peter, none the wiser. Do you have a needle and thread?

You re a right little homebody, ain t ya?

It doesn t matter what colour it is.

Well, I m not too sure we do, Peter.

I mean, it does matter. You don t want to mend a pair of white socks with black cotton if you can really help it, but anything will do really.

The old man looked up into the pines toward their tree house. And what have you got to trade anyhoo?

We got a freshly hung deer, said Peter, distracted by a neatly stitched gingham oven glove.

Uh-huh.

And I made a dreamcatcher out of some twigs and eagle feathers.

Right.

I can show it to you if you like.

Bet you got it looking real nice in that there tree house of yours.

Yes, said Peter. Dad felled trees for a bunch of logging companies before the world went dark. The cabin s made out of solid pine. Real good grain apparently. And he made the roll-up rope ladder too. The Restless Ones can t climb up it, but the bears will have a good go.

Is that so? Well, I bet it s real cosy.

Oh yes. It s just the one room with an outhouse round the back. But we ve got a log burner and some old deer hide in the middle of the floor to make it soft underfoot.

Well, lucky ol you.

Peter continued to rummage through the pile. A few things caught his eye, but he d made serious mistakes before by trading hard-hunted meat for things his dad decided were frivolous. He put the oven glove back on the pile because nobody had ovens any more and kept looking. After a while, his fingers came across something small and plastic, and he pulled out a toy animal. Peter turned the black and white striped horse over in his fingers and wondered how such a thing was ever possible out there in the world.

Aha! said the old man. Zebra.

Peter looked into his eyes and smiled. Wow.

Yeah. Zee used to be for zebra, on kids alphabet charts, I mean. But now zee just stands for-

Yes.

Peter held eye contact with the old man for a moment and a silent understanding passed between them. Nobody knew what was worse: being too young to remember what life was like before the world was turned upside down or being old enough to have to live with the loss. But this wasn t the first time Peter had felt someone look inside him and wish their memories were as short as his.

Tears welled in the old man s eyes. Peter noticed just how bloodshot and tired they were and wondered if he should invite him in to sit by the fire.

Snow drifted over the canoe. Heavier now.

Suppose you ll be battening down the hatches if the snow keeps up like this, said the old man, clapping his hands together to warm them.

Peter looked out toward the islands where the other thirty or so Lake Landers lived, and nodded.

Yes. Once the lake s frozen over, we re in for the long haul.

How d you even manage to defend yourselves? I know you ve got a tree house n all, but if a herd of Rotters came toward ya, I mean.

The watchtower mainly, said Peter, pointing at the middle of the lake where the vast wooden structure stood. The military built it when everyone had to abandon the towns and cities, and they turned all the national parks into refuges.

Yup, I remember. And you re the lucky few who get to live here, huh? I heard Yosemite and Yellowstone damn near bust they were so full.

I don t know, said Peter. Why, which park have you come from?

You must all be scientists and neurosurgeons the world can t live without.

I s pose. But the truth was Peter had never really given it much thought.

The old man held eye contact. Well, fancy that.

Peter smiled. An awkward silence passed between them...

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Autor

Charlton, Darren

Darren lives in London with his partner and works in the voluntary sector for a homeless organisation. His lifetime obsessions with the National Parks of America, horror, film music and 80s kids movies have all worked their way into his writing. Follow him on twitter @DarrenRCharlton

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