Franny takes a deep breath. “We’re a mess.”
“We’re together,” I murmur.
We’re together rings through us, but we look out at what we face. With the universe at our window and the unknown roping us in—we become one maddened pulse. Raging, raging.
Raging.
FORTY-EIGHT
Franny
After they tether and land our Saga starcraft on their dock, they board and say they’re the commander and cadets of the Romulus. Principal starcraft of Saltare-1. So we enter their vessel willingly, and we’re led to a viewing bay.
The room is nothing more than a long metal railing and an enormous window overlooking the universe. Several cadets linger close, hands cupped by their waists. Their sleek burgundy uniforms contrast the onyx and gold slacks and cloaks that all seven of us found onboard the Saga. We changed clothes before landing so they wouldn’t catch our lies in our bloodstains.
However, there is one similarity between the Romulus and Saga. We all wear identical StarDust pins.
I’m not so much a chump that I believe the StarDust emblem makes us friends, but maybe it’ll let them realize that we’re not foes.
The twentysomething, brassy-haired commander appraises us, pleasantries slowly waning. He carries a kind of brisk authority that puts me on edge. Anything can happen. In one moment, he could snap and decide to eject all of us into space.
I swallow an anxious pit at the sight of his eyes, so black the pupils are lost.
“Stand in a line,” he instructs. Court told us not to dispute any of their requests unless they were self-harming, so we listen. Arm’s length apart, we form a horizontal line. Court braces some of his weight on the metal railing.
“You’re the Saltare-3 crew that stole the Saga starcraft … that we gifted to your planet. Correct?”
All seven of us tense, but Court is the only one who speaks. “Yes, but we had reason that tips in your favor.”
“And what’s your reasoning?”
Court inhales strongly. “Saltare-3 wanted peace over aiding our sister planets, and when we asked to stay loyal to Saltare-1, they threatened us. We took the starcraft because we believe in your mission to start a war with Andola.”
“Hmm,” the commander muses, his reaction unreadable. He scans each one of us from toe to head. “It’s hard to believe people I don’t know. On Saltare-3, you all may take one another at face value, but we’re smarter here.” The commander motions to a cadet who approaches with an ivory device, shaped much like a Death Reader.
I go numb and try not to flinch. My nails dig into my arms.
Mykal grits his teeth until his jaw throbs.
“What is that?” Court asks in a seemingly calm voice. His pulse thrashes as vigorously as ours.
“A Helix Reader,” the commander says. “Stay still and everything will be fine.”
We have no choice but to listen.
Starting at the right of the line, the curly-haired cadet puts the double prongs to Gem’s wrist. She winces, but the screen never reveals numbers. It just lights blue.
The cadet moves on to Padgett.
Blue.
Kinden.
Blue.
Zimmer.
Blue.
Then me. Court cages his breath, and I try to expel mine through my nose—wetness drips and drips. I rub and examine my fingers. Another nosebleed.
“Gross,” the cadet says.
I pinch my nose and scowl. “Just do it.”
The cadet presses the prongs to my wrist. I wait.
And wait.
The screen blinks orange.
“What…?”
I’m jerked by the cadet into the group of Romulus crew.
“HEYA!” Mykal roars and punches a cadet who tries to seize him.
Hands grab at me, and I shove every direction, disoriented. Confused. Stop! Stop!
“What are you doing?!” I hear Zimmer’s angered voice in the background. I hear befuddlement from Gem, Kinden, and Padgett. Three cadets restrain Mykal and they stab him with the device.
Orange.
I stop fighting and he goes eerily still. His huge eyes pop out, horror-struck. What does this mean?
Court willingly lets them test him.
Orange.
“Take those four into the bridge,” the commander orders. “Leave these three here for a second. Call the security team in, Brewer, thank you.”
Cadets restrain us, their hands gripping our arms and shoulders like we’ve already wronged them. “What’s going on?!” Mykal growls.
“I don’t understand,” I mutter beneath ragged breath.
Court is lost, drifting in his own mind.
Facing us, the commander scrutinizes our frames once more and then begins speaking in a language that causes my frown to deepen and brows to furrow. What … what is he saying?
Court shakes his head, just as unsure.
Mykal looks incensed, like he could topple all of the cadets over with one blow, but he stays still and listens as keenly as us.
“Commander,” a cadet says, “it looks like they don’t know English. Maybe try another Andolian language.”
Chills rake my skin.
Court lifts his grim gaze. “Why would we know an Andolian language?” he asks in Saltarian’s native tongue.
The commander cocks his head. “They planted you well. I almost believe you don’t know who you are.”
Words blare in my head and scald the tip of my tongue. Longing to be yelled.
Who am I?
Who am I?
Who are we?
“How’d you even survive?” the commander wonders. “Your deathdays would be inaccurate. Did you already think you dodged them?” He absorbs our shock. “You really don’t know, do you? You’re not even aware that deathdays don’t work for you.”
Why?
A cadet speaks up. “Maybe they don’t know the planet as Andola.”
The commander says to us, “Your people call the planet something else. They call it Earth.”
I’ve never heard of Earth before, and no recognition sparks inside my soul. The commander studies our features closely.
Court keeps shaking his head.
“My people?” I say. “I’m Saltarian. We’re Saltarian.”
“No,” the commander says with so much more certainty than I’ve ever held. “You’re human. All three of you are human.” And then he raises his voice. “Take our new prisoners to their cells—”
Mykal’s violent scream pierces the air and tears through me, buckling my legs, and cadets instantly swarm us. Grabbing at our limbs. Pulling us away from one another. We reach out. Stay together.
Stay together.
Court elbows and jabs cadets with the last of his strength. “Mykal! Franny!” He tries desperately to clasp our hands. I stretch and stretch, my fingers brushing his, but someone hoists me up. I slam the heel of my palm at a forehead. My own blood flows from my nose.
I reach for Mykal.
He’s being dragged backward by twenty people.
“FRANNY!” Mykal hollers, face reddened with ire. He shoves and screams.
Court slips, his knees banging to the floor, and a cadet presses their boot on his back.
No! “NO!” I cry out for Court. I fight to reach him.
He fights to stand for us.
“Humanity,” the commander says in the background of our struggle, “what a tragic thing.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
GREATEST, LIMITLESS THANKS TO:
Our heroic agent, Kimberly Brower, who has changed countless lives with her passion and dedication to so many brilliant authors and strong women. You are a wonder, and we are so lucky to have you in our corner. We’re deeply grateful for how much you believed in this book and us. It wouldn’t exist without your encouragement and love.
Eileen Rothschild, our editor, for loving Franny, Mykal, and Court enough to give them the biggest shot, and for giving us the greatest chance of a lifet
ime. You’ve made our childhood dream come true.
The Wednesday Books team for championing this book when so many exist in the world and for helping make a lofty dream turn into a vivid reality. You’ve made a pair of dorky twins happier than happy.
Our mom, who is the embodiment of kindness, family, and fierce strength; our dad, who is thoughtful, witty, and loving—thank you for teaching us compassion and empathy. For instilling a kind of persistence and determination inside of us that has no deathday. For believing we’re extraordinary, even when we’re ordinary. We love you both endlessly, terribly, and wholeheartedly.
Alex Ritchie, our older brother, who is the true space explorer as a SpaceX engineer. Thanks for all your knowledge, help with StarDust, and every chat. We’re proud to call you our brother. You’re contributing magnificent, incredible things to society, and we’re in awe of you.
Jenn Rohrbach and Lanie Lan, our shining sea stars and literal superhero sweethearts. You both were with us at the beginning of it all. Our favorite movie growing up said the secret to the success of life is finding something you love, but if you’re not good at it, you’ll probably fail—and the only way to truly know whether or not you’re good is if people tell you. You two were the first ones outside of family to tell us we were good at what we love. You believed in our success before we ever knew what success was. There is not enough thanks in the world to repay all the love and support you’ve given us throughout years of time.
Some of the loveliest people in the whole universe, Lex Martin and Kennedy Ryan, thank you for your friendship over the years; it has meant so much to us. We’re geeky introverts, and you both always bring us out of our shells.
Julie Cross, for helping us in immeasurable ways when we were starting out. We’re great believers of fate, and years ago, one of us (Krista) decided to read your book instead of studying for the MCAT. With that decision, Krista realized she loved books and writing more than she could ever love medicine. So in a small but big way, you had a hand in leading us here.
Thanks to our grandparents, Grandpa Pat and Granddad Ritchie, who are no longer with us—who almost made it to see this book on shelves. For thinking we’re the smartest girls on the planet, as grandparents often do. They’re both subtly in this book.
The rest of our family—our grandma, our aunts and uncles, and our amazing cousins—for their overwhelming love and encouragement. We write about family because we love family. Thank you for always believing in us.
To the Fizzle Force family, you are powerful. And rare and beautiful. Your excitement for our work and our characters is a thing of purity and beauty that never goes unnoticed by us. You’ve helped us defeat doubt monsters and believe strongly in ourselves and climb over mountains and kiss the sky. We feel your love every day, and we wouldn’t be where we are without passionate, loving humans like you. An infinite thankyouthankyouthankyou.
Thank you to every single person who has read this very book. For taking a chance on Court and Mykal and Franny, for opening your hearts to this world, for reaching this acknowledgments section—we’re so honored that you’ve chosen to read a story that we’ve written.
Lastly, to every teenager at home thinking, “I want to do this, I want to be this”—you can. We were the young girls scouring the acknowledgment section thinking, “Maybe one day.” Your one day will happen. Maybe it won’t be in the way you expect. Maybe your path will be different from the one you imagine at twelve, thirteen, fourteen—but you can and you will. Hold on to your passion. Seize the day, and the moment will come when you may still be ordinary but you’ll feel extraordinary.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Krista & Becca Ritchie are New York Times bestselling authors and identical twins, one a science nerd and the other a comic-book geek. With their shared passion for writing, they combined their mental powers as kids and have never stopped telling stories. Graduates from the University of Georgia in Biology and English & Journalism, the twin writing duo now lives in Atlanta. The Raging Ones is their first young-adult novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
Sign up for email updates on Becca Ritchie here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Map
Prologue: Court
Part One
One: Franny
Two: Court
Three: Mykal
Four: Franny
Five: Franny
Six: Court
Seven: Franny
Eight: Mykal
Nine: Franny
Ten: Court
Eleven: Mykal
Twelve: Mykal
Thirteen: Franny
Fourteen: Franny
Part Two
Fifteen: Court
Sixteen: Mykal
Seventeen: Franny
Eighteen: Franny
Nineteen: Court
Twenty: Mykal
Twenty-One: Mykal
Twenty-Two: Franny
Twenty-Three: Court
Twenty-Four: Court
Twenty-Five: Mykal
Twenty-Six: Franny
Twenty-Seven: Court
Twenty-Eight: Court
Twenty-Nine: Mykal
Thirty: Franny
Thirty-One: Franny
Thirty-Two: Court
Thirty-Three: Franny
Thirty-Four: Mykal
Thirty-Five: Franny
Thirty-Six: Court
Thirty-Seven: Court
Thirty-Eight: Mykal
Thirty-Nine: Court
Forty: Franny
Forty-One: Mykal
Forty-Two: Court
Forty-Three: Franny
Forty-Four: Mykal
Forty-Five: Franny
Forty-Six: Mykal
Forty-Seven: Court
Forty-Eight: Franny
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE RAGING ONES. Copyright © 2018 by K. B. Ritchie. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.wednesdaybooks.com
www.stmartins.com
Cover photograph: sky © nienora/Shutterstock.com
Map illustration by Rhys Davies
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Ritchie, Krista, author.|Ritchie, Becca, author.
Title: The raging ones / Krista Ritchie & Becca Ritchie.
Description: First edition. | New York: Wednesday Books, 2018. | Summary: In 3525, with the threat of people learning they have dodged their deathdays, three teenagers must flee their planet to survive.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018002455 | ISBN 9781250128713 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250128720 (ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Science fiction. | Death—Fiction. | Survival—Fiction. | Love—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.R5756 Rag 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018002455
eISBN 9781250128720
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
First Edition: August 2018
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Krista Ritchie, The Raging Ones
The Raging Ones Page 36
