by Carrie Ryan
The Recruiter is able to move faster, coming closer and closer, but I say nothing to Catcher, just keep murmuring to take the next step, to worry only about the next step.
But then the Recruiter stops. He stares at me along the length of the fence. And he looks down. I can feel his body shudder, the way it causes the fence to undulate. I know I shouldn’t. I know that looking down will only terrify me even more but I can’t help it.
The morning sun’s burned away the mist so the valley below is now clear. The scope of what I see drowns out every other sense: There’s no river, no water. Instead, hundreds of feet below the bridge the ground shifts and writhes. At first I think maybe it’s a field of some sort but then individual colors begin to pull apart.
And all at once I understand what it is. Like a river flooding its banks, the entire valley is full of Mudo. The sound is not that of a raging waterfall but the pounding of two hundred million feet. The moans of a hundred million mouths. They pour through the valley, more people than I have ever seen. More people than I ever thought could have existed in one world. And they sense me, reach for me but are trapped by the mountains.
I dig my fingers against the fence. Dizzy and hot, I press my face against my shoulder. I feel as though everything inside me has fallen away and left the shell of my body here to stare at the vision.
They’re endless, stretching beyond the horizon and spreading around me like forever. They heave and moan, frothing over each other, cresting and falling. The pure depth and vastness of it all beyond comprehension, my eyes unable to focus on any individual. Instead I’m drowned in their need. They ripple and swell, the bodies of the Mudo, like the ocean. Like the dead-tossed waves.
Catcher feels me stop and opens his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks, panic laced around the words. I shake my head, not knowing what I can say. Not knowing how to explain it to him.
“Don’t look down, Catcher,” I whisper. “Please don’t.”
But of course he does, he can hear it in my voice. He gasps. “A horde,” he murmurs, the word already echoing in my head. We both learned about them in school and just as with the Breakers we never paid much attention, only talking about it as a way to scare the younger children and incite nightmares.
It’s overwhelming to look at them all, each spot of color a person who once was. To understand that they’ve just been lying here, downed in a sort of hibernation, waiting for the scent of a living human to awaken them. To realize that if such a huge mass of Mudo approached a city or town there would be no defense. That this is what the Recruiters have been fighting against outside the Forest.
And that someone like Catcher—an Immune who could walk among them—could direct them. Could control them.
The wind slips down the mountain, brushing over my skin, along my sweat-soaked neck. A drop of blood slithers along my arm, pooling on my elbow and then falls through the air.
“We have to keep going,” I whisper. The Recruiter’s still frozen in place behind us on the fence, staring at the horde. Back on the road the rest of them keep fighting the Mudo, taking them down one by one. Soon enough they’ll be able to chase after us again.
I continue talking Catcher step by step across the gap but in my head a thousand thoughts roar as I try to find a way to stop them from following us, to keep us safe. And I keep coming to the same conclusion: the only way to cross the gap is the fence; the only way to stop the Recruiters is to find a way to break it.
When we finally reach the other side of the gap, Catcher almost kneels to kiss the crumbling concrete. On this end of the bridge there are cars piled against the fence, so the Mudo can’t reach me. But already I can feel how the bridge tilts at a steep angle, making it harder for me to keep my toes gripping the ledge. The metal of the chain links bites harder into my fingers as I’m forced to bear more and more of my weight with my hands.
Behind me the Recruiter is almost to the gap, the hooks he’s using to grab the fence making it easier for him to move along the ledge. “We’re not going to hurt you,” he calls out to me. “You’ll be safe with us, I promise.”
I shake my head and wedge my toes into the links, trying to hold on. With each step Catcher takes, I feel a small rumble through my legs, the bridge shuddering under his new weight. Suddenly my grip feels even more precarious.
“Catcher,” I wheeze, my arms screaming with the effort. “The cars.” I take another breath. “On the other side of the bridge.” Sweat drips into my eyes, blurring everything. “See if you can roll them against these other ones.” I shift my hands. “The bridge is unstable—we have to throw off the weight and if we pile enough up maybe they’ll break the fence.”
His eyes widen. “Are you kidding me? The fence is the only thing keeping you on this bridge.”
I nod my head and wipe my face against my shoulder. “I know,” I tell him. “But, it’s the only way. I’ll keep going. But you have to break it.”
He jumps onto the car closest to me and rests his fingers on my own. “It’s too much of a risk,” he says. “We can just keep going, try to put distance between us.”
I taste salt, not knowing if it’s tears or sweat. “I can’t let them get you, Catcher. I can’t spend the rest of my life watching them use you. Knowing that it’s because of me.”
“Gabry,” he says again, my name a plea. But I just shake my head.
“I’ll be okay. I can make it,” I tell him, trying to sound convincing. I start moving away, slipping my fingers out from underneath his.
Behind us the Recruiters keep making progress, starting to run for us. I struggle along the fence, the sharp tilt of the bridge making it harder and harder to hold on. I close my eyes and try not to think about the horde. Try not to think about how destroying the bridge erases the only link between me and Elias. Between me and my mother. Hoping that Elias was right and there will be another path out of the Forest. A way to find the Dark City.
Behind me I hear the screech of metal as Catcher pries open the door to a car. I hear a horrific scraping sound as the car grinds across the bridge and then the fence shudders as the car collides with it and I try not to scream. Already I feel the concrete under my toes moving and straining; the bridge groans with the sudden shift of weight.
The Recruiter grunts and I look up to see him lose his footing. He’s frantic as he dangles, trying to crawl back up onto the narrow ledge. But he can’t. The only things keeping him from falling are the hooks, and even from here I see his hands weakening.
“Please,” I hear him utter. His eyes bounce everywhere: the sky, the Mudo, the other Recruiters on the bridge, me. In that instant he isn’t a Recruiter—a monster—he’s just like Elias and Cira and the others. Just someone who left his family and maybe his friends to serve and find a better life.
Then I hear a loud screech as another car crumples against the others. The fence bulges under the weight of them. The bridge lists at an even sharper angle. And the Recruiter lets go, his black shirt fluttering around him. Even as he falls through nothingness, his arms scramble for something to grab, some way to save himself.
His eyes lock on mine. I see the terror. The realization of what’s to come. I bury my head in my shoulder but I know when he hits the ground—I can tell from the crescendo of moans, the horde’s voices growing louder, a tidal wave of noise and need.
I’m almost to the end of the bridge when I hear a loud crack and the whip sound of metal tearing. The fence pulls tight under my fingers and then seems to disintegrate. I shuffle as fast as I can along the ledge and scramble for the road just as an enormous rumbling tears through me.
Catcher’s running as behind him everything dissolves at once. A high-pitched squeal turns to screeches as cars shift and pile up on top of each other. What’s left of the bridge tilts farther and farther to the side at an impossible angle and then starts to crumble in on itself.
A huge section tears free and crashes down into the valley, the sound so loud it’s like thunder breaking in my head. C
atcher reaches me and shoves me on top of the brick wall bordering the road and we stand there panting, feeling the reverberations along the ground.
A few Recruiters stand at the edge where the bridge now ends, staring at us across the massive gap. It’s as if we’re holding our breath as we face each other over the horde. One of the Recruiters, a large man with a red slash of fabric over his chest, points toward Catcher and me—whether in a salute, a farewell or a vow to find us, I don’t know. But I do know that there’s no way for them to follow us and for now we’re safe.
Eventually they turn and start making their way back, the man with the red the last to leave.
I trace the line of the path up the mountain until I see the cliff where Elias fell, see the rest of the Recruiters clustered like black beetles. But I can also see my mother and Harry standing apart from them, holding each other, the small form of Odys sitting by their side.
And then I see another figure next to them, leaning on them for support: Elias. He raises a hand toward me and I raise my hand like an echo. A promise that I’ll do whatever it takes to be with him. To find Annah and wait for him in the Dark City.
“We made it,” I tell Catcher, still in shock. Still amazed that we were able to survive crossing the bridge over the horde.
“Where?” he asks.
I turn to him, feeling myself try to smile. “Here,” I say. “Alive.” It feels strange to stand here on the wall, to not be running. A few Mudo struggle against cars dotted along the road, try to shamble toward me. But for this moment we’re safe.
Catcher starts to smile as well. “What’s next?”
I stare at where the bridge has dissolved. There’s no way for us to ever go back. “We keep going,” I tell him. “We find a way out, make our way to the Dark City, look for Annah and wait for Elias.”
He nods, still grinning, and when we’ve caught our breath and our legs have stopped shaking we meander along the top of the wall along the road until we find the path again. As on the other side of the valley, the two fences dead-end against the wall, the safe space in between leading up into the mountains and away from everything we’ve known before.
Catcher climbs down first and holds his hand up to me. I pause for a moment, thinking about another wall and another time. Thinking about how afraid I felt that night and how I pushed myself forward anyway. I reach up and touch Cira’s superhero and Elias’s metal disk resting against my heart. And then I jump down from the wall and start up the path toward the Dark City.
Catcher and I spend the afternoon walking in easy silence, the rumbling of the horde falling away behind us. We’re both exhausted and finally reach the summit as the sun falls into the trees. I wonder for a moment if we’ll see the lighthouse or the glint of the sun’s reflection off the ocean in the distance but I know we’re too far away for that, too deep in the Forest.
As darkness settles around us a thousand memories race through my mind: I’m a child climbing the stairs to the top of the lighthouse and my mother is teaching me to light the lamp …. She’s holding me against her during a storm ….
She’s teaching me how to pound bread dough, how to name the stars.
But the one that freezes in my head, that stops the spinning, is of her standing at the edge of the ocean, her toes digging into the sand as she stares at the horizon.
That’s who my mother will always be to me. Fierce against the edge of the world. I push my feet into the dirt of the mountain, listening to the trees sway overhead like waves against the shore. That’s who I am now as well, I realize.
I stare out into the darkness. Somewhere out there, somewhere back down the path, is my village. Beyond that is Vista, the lighthouse that will continue to turn, and the waves and the coaster, and beyond that is the Dark City.
There is a world eking out a living at the edge. Clinging on to more than survival. They love and believe and question and hope.
I press my hands into the grass around me, feeling the blades tickle my palms and fingers. Elias was right. Survival is not enough. There has to be more.
There was more for my mother. She pushed past the edges. She tempted the ocean. She wandered the coast. She kept the lantern in the lighthouse burning for anyone else out there to see and find.
I tilt my head back and watch the stars shimmer in the night. I hold my breath and wait and then I see it, the dot of a satellite humming through them all. I hold up my hand and follow it with my finger. Wanting to touch the before time. I wonder if somewhere across the valley Elias is doing the same, touching the same memory and thinking of me.
I close my eyes and think about the feel of him next to me, the way he traces his thumb over my knuckles when he holds my hand. The way my name sounds on his lips. The promise we made to find each other. The belief that we’ll be together again—that this can’t keep us apart. Not anymore.
I understand now that we’ll never live life as it was before the Return. We’ll never recapture that time. The satellites will fall from the sky, the ruins will crumble to the earth and eventually the roller coaster will collapse. We’ll all die and the Mudo will continue to hunger.
It’s the nature of our world.
Maybe, though, it’s time we learned that we don’t have to live within the boundaries we set up. Maybe we have to learn to push those barriers. To reclaim some of what was lost. And to build a new world.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m so incredibly grateful for the people who’ve cheered me on, offered thoughts, advice, research, and generally just stuck with me over the past year during the writing of this book. I’m overwhelmed by your generosity and love, and “thank you” never seems like an adequate phrase to express how deeply I appreciate all of you, including all the readers out there.
Jim McCarthy is more than I could have ever asked for in an agent, and I feel lucky every day to be working with him. Krista Marino, my editor, shows endless patience and brilliance at every stage—she’s downright amazing. Kelly Galvin, my publicist, works tirelessly and yet always has time to spend an afternoon catching up and sharing secrets. I’ve loved continuing to work with the fantastic team at Delacorte Press over the past year and am constantly overcome by their enthusiasm and dedication. Many thanks to Beverly Horowitz for her support, to Jocelyn Lange and the subsidiary rights department for introducing Mary and Gabry to so many countries, to Vikki Sheatsley for the beautiful design, to Jonathan Barkat, whose photograph was the inspiration for the coaster by the sea, and to Colleen Fellingham and Barbara Perris for their attention to detail. To the many sales associates I’ve been lucky to meet online or in person: Lauren Gromlowicz, Tim Mooney, Dandy Conway, Deanna Meyerhoff and Cristin Stickles. Also a big thanks to Jessica Shoffel, Kimberly Langus, Rebecca Platkin and Becky Green.
During the writing of this book I’ve been lucky to meet some very amazing writers who’ve grown into amazing friends. Thanks to the 2009 Debutantes, Gothic Girls, Team Castle and especially my “Writing Group”: Saundra Mitchell (who was willing to read and critique at any hour), Sarah MacLean, Heidi Kling, Aprilynne Pike, Sarah Rees Brennan, RJ Anderson and Sarah Cross. Thanks also to Diana Peterfreund, a truly fantastic friend and critique partner, Justine Larbalestier and Holly Black for giving me the chance to expand this world and my voice, and Ally Carter for one particular phone call in which she gave me the most perfect advice.
Without Kris Finlon, I’d still be trying to figure out critical details of the plot. Thanks also to: Shea Mucci for giving me insight into the effects of a forest fire, Dennis and the crew at 300 East for sharing all the celebrations and excitement, Darren Cassese and Kymm for the author photos, and Madeira James for the gorgeous online presence.
I never know how to adequately thank my family because their love and support can never be summed up easily. Their enthusiasm for my writing is without bounds and constantly thrills, amazes and humbles me. Thanks to Bobby and Doug Kidd for letting me borrow their romance; to my father, Tony Ryan, for car rides when he helpe
d me work through plot details and for always supporting my imagination; to my sisters, Jenny Sell and Chris Warnick, for being early readers (and for not being able to put the manuscript down while cooking dinner)—I tear up thinking about how lucky I am to be your baby sister. Also thanks to the Davis family for supporting and loving me as if I’d always been one of their own (and for accepting a daughter-in-law who brings zombies to the family). Finally, as always, to John Parke Davis. Stephen King once said that every author writes for one reader. JP is that reader.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born and raised in Greenville, South Carolina, Carrie Ryan is a graduate of Williams College and Duke University School of Law. She now lives and writes in Charlotte, North Carolina. The Dead-Tossed Waves is her second book for young readers. Look for The Forest of Hands and Teeth, the companion title, available from Delacorte Press.
To learn more about Carrie Ryan, please visit her at www.carrieryan.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright ©2010 by Carrie Ryan.
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ryan, Carrie.
The dead-tossed waves / Carrie Ryan. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Gabry lives a quiet life in a town trapped between a forest and the ocean, hemmed in by the dead who hunger for the living, but her mother Mary’s secrets, a cult of religious zealots who worship the dead, and a stranger from the forest who seems to know Gabry threaten to destroy her world.
