Follow Me Through Darkness (37 page)

Then I hear his voice.

“Welcome home, Cornelia.”

END OF BOOK ONE

TURN THE PAGE
FOR A SNEAK PEEK
OF BOOK TWO
IN THE BOUNDLESS TRILOGY

SEEK ME IN SHADOWS

COMING OCTOBER 2015 FROM
SPENCER HILL PRESS

SINCE THE FALL: 55D, 9H, 49M

REMNANT CAMP #22

WHERE THERE IS DEATH
there is always pleading.

That’s one thing I’ve learned since I’ve been in the Old World.

Whether the dying pleads to live longer-a rarity among the camps-or they plead for a loved one to be at their side in their last moments, or for death to be swift depends on the person. Sometimes, they grab my arm and plead for me to take down the Elders, to restore the world. I always say, “we will,” though as the days pass, I’m less and less sure of how to do that.

Almost always, it’s the ones left behind who plead to whatever power runs the universe to spare their mother or their father or their daughter or their husband. There’s always pleading, and the sound is the same cry of desperation, of hope, of fear. I try to keep their pleas in my head, so I can have more people to fight for.

Today is no different, except today, I am with a child.

I hate when children plead for life, because there is nothing else we can do. It’s a boy today, who is small for his age. He is so frail that I can barely stand to hold his hand. I am not good with the dying, or with the pleading, yet he asked for me. “The pretty girl with the hair like the sun-kissed sky.’ I’ve never thought of my hair that way, but now that he has called it that, I will never think of it another way. The boy coughs next to me, his breaths getting more ragged. There is nothing we can do but wait. He doesn’t plead, this boy. He’s ready. Even I am not ready for death.

“What is your name?” I ask him.

He starts to speak and sputters through a cough. “Raymond,” he says.

I smile. “Raymond. I’m Neely.”

“You’re a Maverick?”

I nod. I’m a Maverick. It seems weird to think of myself that way; I still don’t feel like one of them. This world, this cause, this place-none of it feels like me. It feels like a dream.

“You’re going to destroy them all-right, Neely?”

I know he means the Elders. They always mean the Elders. The ones who plotted the destruction of the Old World and forced mankind to live one of two lives: a life surrounded by the lies of the Compound, or a life surrounded by the darkness of a dead world. I used to be the first one, a captive in the Compound. Now I’m the second, a Remnant. One who remains.

“We will,” I say, and I try to mean it. Raymond’s eyes light up like I’ve given him the secret to life. His breaths get sparser, deeper. In the last two months, the time I’ve been traveling through the Remnant camps with the Mavericks, I know that sound means he’s at the end. He squeezes my hand and beyond us through the open door, the sounds of the Remnants outside push back toward us. Children laughing and running, the sounds of footsteps, the wind. The grasp of Raymond’s hand in mine is getting looser. Life is outside and death is inside.

“How will you take them down?” Raymond asks in short, raspy breaths.

I lean in closer to him. “We’ve almost destroyed them,” I say. “They only have one Compound left-just the North.”

The
South
has fallen
. The phrase said on a boat three months ago still lingers in my ears. We took it down, and it’s only a matter of time before we take down the North. But the North is well-fortified and protected. Especially since the Elders have pushed all their resources toward the last piece of their twisted vision.

“I was there when the South was destroyed. One of their brave spies was sent in to distract the leader of the Compound and while he was busy, the Mavericks snuck in.” I say it like a story, instead of a memory. It’s easier to recap it that way, less involved and connected to myself. “The Mavericks ushered the people out, the ones who didn’t know the truth, and brought them to the camps. The Elders were there with their weapons and power and fear, but they couldn’t stop the Mavericks. Everyone was saved, and the Compound was destroyed, and now there’s only one more place. The Elders can’t hide forever, and we will find them, and we will make sure they never hurt anyone ever again.”

As I finish, Raymond’s hand falls from mine. I close my eyes and push down the feeling in my throat that wants to come to the surface. I can’t cry for him, or for anyone. Not here. I can’t be weak. I lay Raymond’s hands over his chest and go to find a Healer. There is no room for crying, no room for mourning. Our battle has only just begun.

Outside, I scan the crowd for Thorne. The Remnants are helping the Mavericks unload supplies. There’s only a small batch of us here-Thorne, Carrington, Handler, and me. Handler doesn’t usually come, but the governor of this camp requested a meeting. The others are mingled with the Remnants, but I feel Thorne’s joy through our branding connection before I see him and move toward him across the crowd.

In the time we’ve been with the Mavericks he’s been happy. Consistently. I know the work that the Mavericks do, helping other people, brings him a kind of purpose. I also know that he believes they can help us, despite any kind of reservations he once had about Xenith being involved with them. Sometimes, Thorne believes that being with them is a simple life, more like the one that we were meant to have. That with them we can be everyone else’s version of normal. That we can be free.

I have not felt the same.

There’s something about this new way of life that leaves me unsettled. The Compound was predictable, and this life as a Maverick, as a Remnant, is not. Any day we could wake up and lose everything. That’s not freedom, just another unforeseen threat to our lives. At least in the Compound we knew what to expect; we knew who the enemy was. Here we don’t know anything, and everything we think we know changes too frequently to make a move. The Mavericks insist they have it all under control, but I’m not convinced.

“Hey,” Thorne says, grabbing my hand. He moves in closer to me and we walk along the edge of the forest. Those who don’t stay in the Burrows come to a camp. Most of the camps are built hidden in the woods of the Old World, nestled deep within and spread out. The Remnants know how to blend in.

“Is he gone?”

I nod. Twelve in the camps have now died in two months-and those are just the ones I’ve been there to sit with.

We stop walking and Thorne holds my face in his hands. “You okay?”

I force a smile, but I’m not sure that I am. He must sense that through our connection, through the branding that allows us to share emotions, because he presses a kiss against my forehead. It’s not as comforting as he meant it to be.

Handler calls for Thorne. “We’re almost done,” Thorne says, leaving me.

For some reason, I think we will never be done.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

THIS BOOK HAS BEEN MY LIFE
since 2010, so I’m beyond thrilled (and nervous!) to share Neely’s story with the world. I’m very grateful that I get to do it in a place like Spencer Hill Press that believes so strongly in their authors and stories. Thanks to everyone at SHP from the editorial staff to the publicity team for their time, passion, and creative ideas.

Thank you to Kate Kaynak, who connected with Neely and believed in this series. I have all the respect for you, and for the opportunities you’ve given me from intern to editor to author!

To my fabulous editor, who also has the pleasure of doubling as best friend, Patricia Riley, for always believing in this book and in me. This book is yours just as much as it is mine (maybe more.) Thank you a thousand times for being there when I wanted to give up. I can’t express how thankful I am to have you as my editor. Thanks for talking through scenarios, for knowing my characters almost better than I do, for letting me live in your basement, and for being adamantly against Neely eating trash. Thanks also to your husband and kids for letting me consume so much of your life-and your phone bill.

Hafsah Faiziel, thank you for the fantastic book cover! You took exactly what I wanted and meshed it with what I didn’t know I wanted, and I love you for giving my heart the perfect body.

Thank you to my unwavering crit partner, Christina Ferko, who read every draft of this book (nine, to be exact), and never grew tired of it. Thank you for pushing me and teaching me and for always believing in Xenith. And to my other CP/best friend, Cindy, for this insane ability to talk me off of ledges and this insight to make me smile and keep me moving when I want to sleep. You are a joy.

To the entire writing community-there are more of you than I can list here. I may not have said you by name, but you’re on my heart as I write this.

To Jenny Perinovic, because Neely is your homegirl and you made my book look so pretty inside; Helen Boswell, who helped me figure out my science-y/genetic stuff. You are a lifesaver! To my agent, Nicole Resciniti, for seeing something here and supporting me in every single thing I do.

To Jenn Rush, for the enthusiasm in my characters and this story, and for the fun distractions. It has always meant the world. I always thank the God that I have a friend like you. #hotboyswin

To the ladies of the HB&K Society-Amalie, Kristi, Angie, Kate & Cindy-for being these amazing human beings and writers who inspire me to be more, try more, and do more. I am so incredibly lucky to have all of you in my corner. Your support is endless, and I hope to repay the sentiment to each of you in some little way now and forever.

My best friend, Ashley Carmichael: I promised way back in high school that you’d get your own paragraph when this happened. Here we are. Thank you for pretending to care when I would IM you lines from all my writing or talk about my characters like people. Whether it was theater class or Harry Potter or singing duets on the phone or failing to meringue a pie correctly-you have been there. I would be utterly lost without your friendship; I’m not sure how that happened, but it does mean you are stuck with me forever. (One day we can go be British and they will not know what hit them.) And I really hope this paragraph was worth the wait.

To my little sister Cierra, who, like Neely, is stubbornly passionate. It’s a good thing to be because it means you won’t give up. May all of my journey (and Neely’s) show you that what you want in life is possible to achieve if you give your all, even when it’s hard. Probably especially when it’s hard. If you live a life of passion you can achieve things you only dreamed of-and I know that you will.

And thanks to my mom for always knowing I had these grand worlds inside my head, even as a kid, and letting me live in them.

To end, thank you whomever you are reading these words. This book is a huge piece of my heart and I hope it can be part of yours as well.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DANIELLE ELLISON
spent most of her childhood reading instead of learning math. It’s the reason she can’t divide without a calculator and has spent her life seeking the next adventure. It may also be the reason she’s had so many different zip codes and jobs.

When she’s not writing, Danielle is probably drinking coffee, fighting her nomadic urges, watching too much TV, or dreaming of the day when she can be British. Danielle is also the author of
Salt
and
Storm
, a series about a snarky witch without magic. She has settled in Northern Virginia, for now, but you can always find her on twitter @DanielleEWrites.