Pod
Authors: Stephen Wallenfels
Tags: #Science Fiction, #Juvenile Fiction, #General, #Fantasy & Magic, #Fiction
“Absorbing … Don’t let this novel slip through your hands. Exceptional and unexpected,
POD
is a gem not to be missed.”
—
The Entertainer
(Kennewick, WA)
“Told from two very different—but equally harrowing—voices,
POD
rocks. Almost cinematic in its delivery … The story builds to a terse, high level of tension … It’s touching, it’s fast-paced, it’s terrifying, and—like the best freakin’ apocalypse novels—it’s all about flawed, real characters. I loved every second of this book, and I can only hope that Stephen Wallenfels is hard at work finishing up the trilogy. (There’s something of a cliff-hanger ending, and I need to know what happens next. IMMEDIATELY.)”
—
The Book Smugglers
“
POD
is science fiction at its best: a gripping postapocalyptic novel that keeps you on the edge of your seat yet has human character and human relationships at its heart … Once you start [reading], you won’t want to put it down … The characters are fascinating and well developed.”
—
Wands and Worlds
“The stories of Josh and Megs are plenty involving … Wallenfels’s prose is clean and straightforward, and he does a good job of giving them each a unique and believable voice … The story’s so involving and so exciting that I just need to get through one more chapter before bed, just to find out what happened, and then maybe just one more, and then before you know it I’ve been up for an hour totally absorbed in the book.”
—
Fyrefly’s Book Blog
STEPHEN WALLENFELS
ACE BOOKS, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL,
England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin
Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community
Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive,
Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books
(South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
POD
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with namelos, llc
PUBLISHING HISTORY
namelos edition / November 2009
Ace mass-market edition / May 2012
Copyright © 2009 by Stephen Wallenfels.
Cover photographs: aerial cityscape © Thomas Northcut/Lifesize/Getty Images;
nebula © clearviewstock/Shutterstock; electric flash © Molodec/Shutterstock.
Cover design by Judith Lagerman.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or
electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of
copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-56903-0
ACE
Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is
stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the
author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
For Teresa and Michael
In our obsession with antagonisms of the moment, we often forget how much unites all the members of humanity. Perhaps we need some outside, universal threat to make us recognize this common bond. I occasionally think how quickly our differences worldwide would vanish if we were facing an alien threat from outside this world.
President Ronald Reagan,
addressing the United Nations General Assembly,
September 21, 1987
DAY 1: PROSSER, WASHINGTON
Static
The screeching wakes me.
Like metal on metal, tearing and twisting and amplified a thousand times. I spring up in bed and clamp my hands over my ears. But my brain feels like it’s being pushed from the inside out. The sound goes on and on, building and building. I stagger out of bed and collapse. I want to twist my head off, the pain is so big. There’s only one thing to do. I scream, hoping it will drown out the sound that is killing me in my room in the dark.
And it stops.
I tense up, ready for another blast, but it doesn’t come. A soft, deep hum fills my throbbing head. I stand, using the wall to steady my legs. Just as I’m thinking what the hell, the hall light turns on. Seconds later my door bangs open. Dad leans hard against the frame, his breathing short
and fast. He’s been wearing a pacemaker since Thanks-giving. This had better not be a heart attack.
“You okay, Josh?” he asks.
His voice is shaky, but not like he needs CPR.
“My head hurts,” I say.
“Yeah. My ears are still ringing.”
He waits, then says, “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I say, snagging a pair of sweatpants off the floor and sliding them over my boxers. “Just don’t trip on anything.” A sweatshirt hangs over the back of my computer chair. I put it on.
Dad hits the lights and navigates through the minefield of clothes, burned CDs, gaming magazines, and assorted AV cables on his way to the window. He’s wearing red pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt. A wet spot with a couple of brown chunks stains the front of his shirt. Based on the smell that hits me as he walks past, I figure it’s the digested version of last night’s supper. He peers out at the dawning day and scratches his butt. I’m sure he’s calculating barometric pressure and cloud cover. To me it’s obvious—another spring morning, more wind, more rain.