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.
Text copyright © 2018 by Alloy Entertainment Cover design by Mallory Grigg Galaxy © 2018 Robert Gendler / Schence Photo Library / Getty Images Sea © 2018 Jens Mayer / EyeEm / Getty Images Silhouette © 2018 Ostill / Getty Images
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
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ISBN 9780399552274 (trade) — ebook ISBN 9780399552298
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Acknowledgments
for my mother
I push my way through the tangled weeds and onto the cliffs overlooking the Bay. The light of day is already fading, and for a moment, it looks like winter, though there is no such thing. Once there were whales in the waters below, but now there are only skeletons, mammoth in their loss of flesh. I imagine them as they were when they still existed, full of breath and body, before the ocean could no longer hold them.
Vines snake around the buildings below, flowers twisting around the shoots. The whole city pushes out of the land as though it’s blooming. Mirabae is already here, stretched out like a starfish, waiting. I stand hidden in the shadows of the trees, but she senses my presence.
“You’re late,” she calls out, her eyes closed. “I’ve been here forever.”
The gills behind her ears flick open and closed. They allow for the release of air from the body, for breathing underwater. I touch my own gills. They flick open and closed, too, but they let no air out or in. They don’t do anything at all.
“Sorry,” I say. I don’t tell her where I’ve been.
I drop down next to her, my head to her head, and she weaves our hair together in one long braid. Mirabae’s hair is purple and shimmers in the sun. Mine is dark and falls in waves down my back. When we were younger, she would come over at night when her parents fought, scaling up the side of the house to my window, where I always let her in. We would sit on the roof and map out the stars in the sky. There are things I don’t tell her, things I don’t say out loud to anyone, but I know that when I come to these cliffs, she’ll be here, where the world belongs only to us.
“Maybe we should stay here,” I say to Mirabae. “Build a tiny home out of twigs. Sharpen our teeth into points.”
“Go feral,” she says, and smiles. At the end of this week, we start Assessment, the three months of training that will prepare us for enlisting in the Abdolorean Armed Forces. The Abdoloreans call it Conscription. Soon we’ll be galaxies away from here and from each other, starting the first of seven years of military service.
“What if we just didn’t go?” I ask, as though we have a choice.
“I want to go,” she says quietly, staring up at the sky. “I need to get away from here.”
“I know,” I tell her, and the last train of the day flashes by on the bridge overhead.
Mirabae never talks about her family. Sometimes I wonder if we’ve been friends for so long because we both have things we hide. I break open a pod from the trees above and crack the seeds from within it. Inside is silver dust, and I pass the pod to Mirabae. We press the powder onto our lips and they glitter. We streak it over our cheekbones so we sparkle in the moonlight.
“We look like jellyfish,” I tell her, not that I’ve ever seen any. The stars shimmer endlessly above, snaking their light over us. My bones twitch relentlessly under my skin. I have no name for what this feeling is. I push myself off the ground, shaking the dirt from my fingers. Mirabae stands up next to me. Nothing more needs to be said. We both know what comes next.
We race down the cliffs, our feet fighting for purchase on the rocky expanse. We weave through fruit groves. We suck on lemons, spitting the seeds into the dirt as we go.
At the base of the cliffs is a tunnel covered in moss. We rush through it, spinning in circles. I don’t think about who I am, where I’m going. We don’t stop, don’t even think of stopping, until we reach the end of the tunnel and find ourselves at the fence at the edge of the beach.
“Let’s climb it, Li,” Mirabae breathes, her eyes wild. She scales the fence in seconds and looks down at me. “Come on. It’s easy.”
She pulls herself all the way to the top, balancing on her toes, her dress fluttering in the wind. She spreads her arms wide and leaps through the air as though gravity means nothing. She lands on the other side without even faltering.
“Your turn,” she says, smiling.
The fence is twenty feet tall and topped with barbed wire. It’s not that high, I know I can climb it, but if anything were to go wrong…I can’t risk it. Sweat drips down the nape of my neck, the creases of my elbows.
“It’s late,” I say finally. “I have to go.”
Mirabae stares at me through the links of the fence, her smile fading.
“You always leave,” she accuses me. “Stay, just this once.”
I look up at the moon, full in the sky. I don’t know what I can tell her, so I just shake my head.
“Fine,” she says, a tinge of sadness in her voice. “Just go.”
“Mirabae, you know my dad,” I remind her. “You know how he is.”
“I know,” she sighs, trailing her toes in the sand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The city sparkles in the distance, a million lights blinking from far away. I walk down street after street, my footsteps echoing on the pavement. Again I look up to the sky and the galaxies within it. “Where am I going?” I whisper. “What does this life hold?” But I know there’s only one answer. There’s only one way for my life to move.
* * *
—
My house sits on a cliff over a small curve of ocean. All the houses here look the same—three floors of interconnected glass tiers, their frames lined with chrome. Ours is the last one on a long street, set far apart from the other houses.
I go through the backyard, picking a bundle of mint from the plant that snakes along the side of the house. The door opens and shuts automatically behind me, making no sound. I walk into the kitchen. Zo stands by the sink, her back to me, her hair piled on top of her head. She turns around when she hears me come in. Her hair is black, like the ocean on a night when there is no moon. Her eyes are hazel, like our father’s.
; “Dad’s looking for you,” she says, a warning in her voice. She’s dressed in one of his old shirts, streaked with paint. She pours vials of white powder into different bowls, then fills the bowls with water. The powder bursts into colors as she stirs—blue, purple, green.
“Is he here?” I ask, feeling a twinge of anxiety. I already know what he’s going to say.
“He’s upstairs,” she says. She spreads a canvas across the table, its thin metallic surface rippling as she unrolls it.
“What did you tell him?”
Zo shrugs. “That I had no idea where you were.” She dips a brush into the bowl of blue paint.
I fill a glass mug with hot water and drop in the mint. Steam rises into the air and I blow on the water to cool it, waiting for the herb to steep. My father used to bring me a mint infusion at night, placing the mug by my bed. When he first visited Earth, my human parents were the ones who hosted him, teaching him human customs, like how to make tea. He was part of a coalition, one of many scientists who arrived from Abdolora with advanced preservation technology. The damage to Earth was still considered reversible then, the planet not so far gone that changes couldn’t be made. No one knew what the future would hold; no one predicted the despair that would follow. Soon after he arrived, the famines came, then the wars—so many humans killed by one another’s hands, everyone trying to survive on a dying planet. By the time the Abdolorean council decided that humans weren’t fit to survive, my father had taken me in. He hid me in secret on Abdolora until he could return to Earth, one of the thousands sent to repopulate the Bay.
We don’t talk about my human parents now. We don’t talk about the past. Abdoloreans don’t dwell on what’s already happened, because there’s no way for them to change it. But I’m not Abdolorean. I can’t help thinking of my parents sometimes.
My hands clench around the mug, my knuckles pale. The tea scalds my throat as I gulp it down in just a few mouthfuls. I push my chair back and it scrapes sharply across the floor. Zo looks up, startled by the sound, brought back from whatever dream world she goes to when she paints.
I walk up the stairs and into the bathroom. It’s dark and growing darker, but I don’t turn on the light. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, at the gills my father gave me when I was a baby. They’re meant to protect me from discovery. They are my armor, hiding the truth of who I am.
“Li.” My father’s voice cuts into my thoughts. I take a breath and open the door. My father’s hair is dark but his beard is auburn. He’s tall and broad; his frame fills the doorway.
“Li,” he says again. “Where have you been?”
“Nowhere,” I say, curling my hair around my fingers.
“Do you have anything you’d like to tell me?” he asks.
I shrug. “Not really.”
He presses his hand to the wall. The light turns on.
“How about where you were tonight?”
“I was with Mirabae,” I tell him, although I suspect he already knows.
“It’s past midnight,” he says. “You should have been home hours ago. You know it’s not safe for you to be sneaking around in the middle of the night.”
“Dad,” I say calmly, “I wasn’t sneaking around. All I did was hang out with a friend.”
He folds his arms across his chest, turning to Zo as she tries to pass by unnoticed.
“You,” he says. “You both know the risks. You know what will happen if Li gets caught.”
Zo winces, and I know what’s running through her head. The Abdoloreans set up a council on Earth called the Agency. Its purpose is to safeguard the freedom and security of all Abdoloreans, to collect and analyze information about the planet. My father told me that humans had similar organizations, but it’s not like they did any good. If I’m caught by the Agency, we’ll all be killed—me for being human, my family for harboring a planetary enemy.
“You have to watch out for your sister,” he tells Zo. She rolls her eyes, but I know she listens to everything our father says. “And you.” He turns back to me. “You have to be more careful.”
“I’m always careful,” I say, tracing the edge of the sink with the tip of my finger. He keeps talking like he hasn’t heard me.
“I’m doing everything I can to keep you both safe,” he says. “But if you ignore the rules I set, I can’t protect either of you.”
I open my mouth to speak, meeting Zo’s eyes. She shakes her head slightly, her way of saying No, not tonight. Don’t push his limits.
“What’s really going on, Li?” he demands.
“Nothing’s going on,” I say, and suddenly I’m so tired. I’ve always known I was different. My father never hid the truth from me. You’re not like Zo or me, he told me. There’s no one else like you on this planet, in this galaxy, at all. I knew what that meant, the ways I’d have to hide, the ways all three of us would.
“Can you just leave me alone? Please.” My voice shakes and I reach for the door. I see a flash of anger on his face before I close it, but I press the lock pad anyway.
I undress and fill the bath, my hair fanning out around me in the water as I slide in. I look at the stars through the glass of the skylight. Clouds move over the face of the moon and my mind races, my memories stutter. I think back to all the mornings I spent training with my father, lifting weights until my muscles burned, running until my whole body was on fire. I remember the day I realized just how hard I’d have to work to stay alive.
My father woke me before dawn. He took me farther into the forest than I had ever been before, past the cabin, built in secret, where my usual training took place. He led me through the redwood trees, the ground swollen with their roots, gnarled hands holding one another tight, so deep below the earth.
He stopped at the base of a tree, pointing to the top.
“Climb it, Li,” he said.
I was eight years old.
The tree rose to the sky, higher than I could see. Still, I knew better than to question him. I unlaced my boots, pressing my feet into the dirt. I ran my hands over the ridges of the bark, lifting myself off the ground. I climbed as high as my body would let me; then my hands slipped. I plummeted, landing so hard, all the air left my lungs. I struggled to breathe, fighting against the pain that spread through me. My father pulled me to my feet.
“Again,” he said.
I scaled my way back up. Blood rushed in my ears. My bones clicked. My hands scraped against the bark of the tree, my nails snapping, my palms bleeding. I made it no farther than I had the first time. I fell to the ground.
When I looked up, I saw nothing but shadows. It could have been midnight that far down in the forest. What little light there was moved over my skin like lace. The trees around me had existed here for thousands of years, long before Abdoloreans, before anyone at all. I closed my eyes and imagined pressing myself into them. Shards of bark would pierce the tender space between my ribs, my flesh merging into their hulking frames. My feet would twist into knots. They would grow until they took root, nesting themselves in the dirt.
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I told him, keeping my eyes closed. I didn’t want to see the look of disappointment on my father’s face.
“You have to,” he said. “You have to do the work if you’re going to fit in.”
I opened my eyes, turning onto my side. Next to me was a spray of ferns. I ran my fingers across their feathery leaves, waiting for my father to continue.
“You have to be just as strong and fast and smart as everyone else on this planet. You have to be more than human, Li. You have to be one of us.”
He leaned over me, touching my neck, checking my pulse.
“You’re ready,” he said. “Go.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, tears threatening to burst free.
“Go!” he shouted. “Go!”
Comets streak across the sky, bringing me back to where I am now. I watch their light as they flash through the darkness.
I close my eyes and pull my fac
e beneath the water. I stay there, my body still, my tears blurring with the water; then I scream. I scream until my vision swims and my chest burns and I burst out of the water, gasping for breath.
I know I have no choice. I know this is my life. But this life is a lie.
“Zo!” I call up the stairs the next morning. “Zo, come on, we’re late!”
“Coming!” she shouts back.
I put on my sandals, lacing them around my ankles, then walk through the kitchen and wait by the door.
“Zo!” I shout again, just as she comes flying around the corner. She races through the kitchen in a flurry of movement. She grabs a plum off the counter, pulls on her sandals, and ties her hair back. She’s dressed in a gauzy yellow shirt and loose, shimmering pants.
“Are those mine?” I ask, pointing to the pants as we walk out the door.
“Oh,” she says, looking down at her legs like she just realized she had them on. “Can I wear them?”
“You’re already wearing them,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“So, yes?” she says, wiggling her shoulders up and down.
I smile. “What are you doing?”
“My tiny victory dance,” she says, laughing, then takes a bite of plum.
I laugh with her, which feels good after last night. I try to not feel sorry for myself. I try to be strong, but there are times when it’s hard. After my bath, I fell into a deep sleep. I dreamed of the other galaxies and flying through the air, weightless and free. Then the sun came up this morning, and with it some relief. Time keeps going. I keep going.
We walk down the twisting roads that cut through the forest, passing a line of houses, their doors opening and closing as kids move through them. School starts earlier for us than work does for most parents. They won’t go into the city until the afternoon. I know everyone who passes by, since we’ve been making this trip together for years.
The Last Girl on Earth Page 1
