Caught Dead - Couverture souple

Wills, S.J.

Couverture souple

ISBN 10 : 1665938048 ISBN 13 : 9781665938044

Editeur : S&S Books for Young Readers, 2024

Synopsis

In this thrilling sequel to the middle grade adventure Bite Risk, Sel and his friends face something even bigger, stronger, and deadlier than Rippers when a new foe rises with the moon on Howl Night.

When you’ve already helped cause the end of the world, what’s left to be afraid of? Plenty.

After Sel Archer and his friends uncovered a conspiracy that turned the whole world upside down, people are struggling to live with the fact that almost all its adult population turn into Rippers once a month, and Sel is struggling with his newfound celebrity and the fact that Elena and Pedro have moved away from Tremorglade.

But bigger problems soon arise when Rippers start getting attacked on Howl Nights, turning up the following day, human but badly injured, with no idea how they were hurt. Rumors of a foul, unkillable beast begin to stir…someone or something is plotting to control the Rippers once and for all.

Can they stop what’s happening before all of Tremorglade is under the power of something unrelenting, unstoppable, and possibly…undead?

A propos du livre

À propos de l?auteur

S.J. Wills grew up in Chelmsford, Essex, where her parents let her choose any books she wanted from the library, no matter what. She has worked as a freelance copyeditor since 2003, alongside rediscovering her childhood love: writing her own stories. She lives in Kent with her writer husband, two sons, and a large, bouncing poodle.

Extrait. © Reproduit sur autorisation. Tous droits réservés.

Chapter 1: Sel CHAPTER 1 Sel
When you’ve already helped cause the end of the world, what’s left to be afraid of?

I’ll tell you. Forgetting to take your strictly-homewear-only socks off for Howl night.

I’ve just spent my entire night as a Ripper—the only time when, let’s face it, I actually look kind of good—prancing around town wearing tiny booties adorned with cartoon puppies. If any of the kids saw me and got their phones out last night, I’m toast.

The socks are ruined, of course, the elastic worn out by being stretched around my oversized furry ankles. Now they hang loose and limp on my cold human toes. I shake them off, cringing.

It’s not enough to bring me down, though. Nothing will, for a while. Returning after a Howl night these days is like stumbling off the best roller coaster in the world; woozy and breathless but exhilarated. Ready to take on anything.

I first Turned in November, just a couple of months after we broke out of Tremorglade, and it was a complete surprise because I hadn’t had my blood tested for a while. The first time it happened, I thought I’d just blacked out. Then I saw my clothes all torn up next to me, and realized it was dawn. Probably brought on by all the stress.

So last night was only my fifth time, but it feels completely natural, like I’ve been doing it for years. Ingrid Turned a month before I did—a fact she mentions a lot more than necessary. It’s just how she is. You don’t get to be Tremorglade tae kwan do champion without being a little bit competitive.

I’m meant to be doing a live stream with her early this morning—we started doing them shortly after the world changed, because it was obvious people were hungry for information.

But I’ve got a few minutes before I need to move. Downstairs, there’s the sound of drawers opening and cutlery clinking—Mum getting herself a coffee. It took a few months to persuade her she didn’t need to go in the cage anymore, and she still insists on locking herself in her room on Howl nights. Everyone adjusts at their own pace, and it’s taking her a bit longer to get over the worry that she might get up to something “too wild,” whatever that means.

At least she doesn’t try to make me stay in. That ship has sailed and she knows it.

Sunlight slices across from the crack in the curtains and warms my chest. I smile to myself; it’s peaceful.

The end of the world didn’t turn out all that bad.

There’s nothing left to be afraid of, right?

My live stream is going better than I hoped. My online following has been building slowly over the handful of videos I’ve made over the last few months, but this is on a whole new level. There are a hundred thousand people watching right now, and the number’s shooting up by the minute. More will watch it later. As the corpus pilori virus has zoomed around the world putting the fun into full moons, so has my face telling everyone hey, don’t worry: sprouting fur, fangs, and claws once a month isn’t such a big deal. Chill. Don’t overreact. Put down that weapon and pick up a banana—Rippers love them and they’re full of vitamins for glossy coats and healthy teeth.

It’s important. While Tremorglade is not so different from how it’s always been—with a few exceptions—things out there in the rest of the world are kind of dicey at the moment. Sequest totally lied to us about how bad things were—most of the deadly weather and diseases and roaming gangs they scared us with never existed… until now. It turns out that a lot of people panic when they hear there’s an “unstoppable werewolf plague” on the way. And when people panic, stuff gets messed up.

It’s not “societal collapse” like some of the TV news presenters kept warning about in the early weeks, before they realized they weren’t going to need to hide in bunkers, emerging only to battle to the death over tins of beans. It’s just… a period of adjustment. To be fair, we’ve had twenty-five years to get used to the idea. The whole world Turning in a matter of months has blown a lot of minds. My videos are helping everyone adjust, whether they Rip out on a full moon like most people, or they don’t—because they’re a kid, or they’re Immutable, which means they’re immune and don’t Turn.

Today, I’ve promised to show viewers where it all started, and remind them of the truth about what happened. Because there are a lot of rumors and lies flying around, about who’s responsible for Rippers, and about how dangerous they—we—really are. I’m here to set the record straight.

Ingrid’s behind the camera, refusing to have her face on screen because “people on the internet are creepy.” Elena would have been all over it, but she’s not here.

“We’re coming to you from inside Shady Oaks, the local hangout for luxury senior living,” I tell the viewers. We’re filming in Harold’s old room. The whole place is locked up, empty, but it was easy to get in. Tremorglade has never had much crime, so isn’t built to protect against it.

Eddie sniffs around at the armchair where he used to curl up at Harold’s feet and snaffle biscuit crumbs. I wonder if dogs feel nostalgia? He’s mine now, and at home I let him on the sofa, on my lap, and sometimes he gets a bit of cheese, so hopefully he feels like he’s better off now.

“This is where Elena and Harold and I used to play cards, all the while he was experimenting on us and the rest of Tremorglade for his company, Sequest. Across the corridor was Dora’s room.”

Ingrid swings the camera around slowly to get it all in, as I talk about the experiments Harold designed and carried out, and mention that Dora tried to protect us from him, in her own way.

They’re both dead, now. I’m sad about Dora. I’d only just started getting to know her. But at least she lived long enough to see Tremorglade free, and it wasn’t a bad way to go—she died of old age, on a Howl night toward the end of last year. Just lay down where Shady Oaks’ grounds meet the edge of the forest, on a soft carpet of snow under the full moon, and never woke up. When dawn came, her body stayed Ripper. She was buried under the trees, in accordance with the instructions in her will. I think she knew she was dying, and went out there to do it in peace, under the glittering stars.

Also, I can’t prove it, but I have a feeling she ate Harold.

Not the night she died, I mean. She must have done it that same night me and Ingrid and Elena escaped from Tremorglade. Dora was out of her cage—ironically, he let her out—and at that time Sequest was still blasting the town with infrasound, driving all the Rippers berserk, so she’d have been deadly. I was worried Harold had escaped but, a couple of months back, investigators found his remains in the forest. They reckon he was killed around the time of the Rippocalypse. According to the experts, given the distribution and condition of the remains, it was either a frenzied Ripper attack, or he spontaneously exploded. On balance, probably the former.

If it was Dora that got him, she would have Returned the following morning, put her dentures back in, and gone about her day with no idea she’d done it, since we can’t remember anything about the nights we’re Turned. Probably just as well.

But even if Harold’s death was at the claws of a Ripper, things were different then. It doesn’t mean we’re dangerous. Which is the point of this video.

“Remember, now they’re not being tortured by Sequest, Rippers don’t hurt people.” I speak the words slowly and clearly, looking straight into the camera, my serious face on.

I take a quick glance at the comments feed on the little screen next to the camera—a constant scroll of mostly positive emojis from what Ingrid calls my weirdo fans.

Okay, some of them are weirdos.

There are a few who take it a bit far. Ripper cultists. It’s a thing now. When they discovered the joys of Turning, some people didn’t just accept it, they didn’t even just embrace it, they threw themselves into it and refused to come out. They wish they could do it every night. Corpus pilori is the best thing that ever happened to them: a miracle that has given their lives meaning, a community, rituals. A few have even made pilgrimages to Tremorglade. I found one a few weeks ago trying to burn incense on my porch. Some of them started Turning even before I did, but they still look at me like I invented it.

But mainly my audience are just truth seekers and a lot of commenters are saying that they aren’t afraid anymore, that they are actually excited for their new lives. I feel pretty good about that.

Occasionally, one or two comments on my videos are less positive. I get that. It’s a big change, and in some places around the world people aren’t coping too well. But some of the conspiracy theories that are popping up are ridiculous—there’s no need to try to force us back in cages when they’re not needed.

And let’s remember who the real villain was here: Sequest.

Technically, it’s no longer the same company, even if the name hasn’t changed. Harold’s deputy, Dr. Smith, is in prison awaiting trial, along with every other employee who knew about the Tremorglade experiment. But you can’t make a huge company like that just disappear completely. There are labs, equipment, files, systems. New staff have been drafted in to take care of those things, everything we need to make our new reality work.

Ingrid’s hand is flipping around, imploring me to get on with it. I drag my eyes away from We love u Sel! in the midst of a long block of heart emojis sailing up the screen, and realize Ingrid’s moved the camera to film something behind me.

I turn and nearly jump out of my skin. There’s a face pressed up against the window, hands cupped around to peer in, breath steaming. Sunglasses on, despite the freezing fog. Eddie belatedly notices, and starts barking. He’s not much of a watchdog.

Recovering quickly, I take it in stride. “Now, this is one of the other Tremorgladers you’ve heard me talk about—Sergeant Derek Hale. A key member of our community,” I say, raising my voice, hoping he’ll hear and feel too flattered to kick us out and make trouble for me with Mum.

No such luck. He bangs on the window, frowning, and jabs a finger toward the door.

I can’t figure out Hale. When we returned to Tremorglade, after nearly dying in our attempt to find out the truth about Sequest, I honestly expected that our relationship might change. Finally, I thought, he—and Mayor Warren too—would be less patronizing, maybe even grateful.

If anything, Hale is worse. When we had a moment to actually speak to each other, he started by asking if I’d caught up with my schoolwork yet, or if “events” had got in the way. Like I’d been playing hooky, rather than exposing a huge lie and changing the world.

But that’s the thing: we’re still very isolated here, even though the road is open. Our everyday world isn’t all that different. It’s everywhere else that’s changed.

There are new people in Tremorglade now, visitors and residents, but that hasn’t turned us upside down or anything. We still mainly get what we need via drone deliveries, but now we get the odd truck, too. The only change Hale’s really had to make is to add traffic management to his duties, now that there are more cars here.

I suppose it’s a comfort, in a weird way. If things ever do go really bad, if society does collapse, if Sequest messes up again and turns half the world into zombies, he’ll be out there giving them parking tickets.

Ingrid and I reluctantly make our way out the front of the building and onto the lawn, where he’s waiting for us, hands on hips, chewing gum. Eddie finds an interesting smell on the grass and starts rolling in it.

“Know what trespassing is, kids?” he asks, then clocks the camera. “Come on, turn that thing off.”

“Say hello to the world, Sergeant Hale.” Ingrid grins, shoving the camera in his face. “You’re live to thousands. Sel was just explaining that Rippers don’t bite, and no one needs to be scared of them. Would you agree?”

His jaw freezes midchew and I stifle a snicker at his stage fright. But then I see he’s not looking at the lens. He’s staring past it, into the forest. Ingrid and I follow his gaze to the tree line, the camera still rolling.

So it’s fair to say there are an awful lot of international witnesses who see the man stumbling toward us, covered in blood, naked, and shielding his dignity with his hands. Rippers have a strong homing instinct and we almost always find ourselves back home by dawn, unless we get stuck somewhere. In those cases, politeness reigns and everyone averts their eyes or discreetly passes something to wrap up in for the journey home—it’s rare, but we’d all want them to do the same for us if we were as unlucky.

It takes me a moment to recognize him—it’s our school’s recent history teacher, normally only to be seen in a pristine suit and tie, droning on at the front of the classroom. He was brought in at the start of the new term to bring us up to speed on the actual twenty-five years of history Sequest faked for us.

“Mr. Costa?”

Even at a distance, it’s obvious that he’s badly hurt. His shoulder is a glistening wet, fleshy open wound, seeping blood. His skin is a horrible pale gray, streaked with sticky dried-red rivulets.

“Help me.” His voice is rasping and broken. Hale moves first, rushing to give first aid as Mr. Costa cries out, “I’ve been… I think I’ve been…”

And then he collapses face down on the grass.

When I turn back to Ingrid, her horror reflects my own. Because we both know what Mr. Costa was about to say.

He’s been bitten.

Détails de l'édition

• Éditeur: S&S Books for Young Readers
• Date d'édition: 2024
• Langue: anglais
• ISBN 10: 1665938048
• ISBN 13: 9781665938044
• Reliure: Broché
• Nombre de pages: 320
• Coordonnées du fabricant: non disponible
• Personne responsable: Simon and Schuster Netherlands BV; info@simonandschuster.nl; ; Herculesplein 96; Utrecht; 3584 AA; Pays-Bas