mobile lesson from Chandra. Lisette strapped the iPod to her arm, inserted the earbud, and pressed play. The voice of her Russian teacher began reviewing vocabulary words. Doctor Perkins had said that he wanted every member of Generation M to be fluent in Russian, German, and English because of all the scientific work recorded in those languages.
In the bathroom, Lisette stepped up to a sink and got up on her tiptoes to see her face in the mirror. She reached for her bottom tooth and felt the mad beating of butterfly wings in her chest when it wiggled. The tooth was much looser than last night. She put a dab of toothpaste on her brush and brushed carefully around the loose tooth.
Lydia moved to the next sink. The six-year-old always had a serious expression, as if she had just made it to the final round of the Atlanta Colony spelling bee. Knowing what was coming next, Lisette grinned at Zoe, two sinks away, who grinned back.
Lydia was the only girl in the unit who kept pace with her language lesson while brushing her teeth.
“Ya paneemayoo,” Lydia said, dappling the mirror in front of her with white dots of toothpaste.
Lisette and Zoe doubled over in laughter.
A piercing whistle gained their attention, and they stopped laughing. Murph stood in the doorway with a stern expression. “Focus, ladies. The countdown clock is ticking.”
They started giggling again as soon as Murph was gone.
1.06
BROOKLYN
Hugging her pack against her chest, Abby limped through the crowd streaming to the bank of the East River to pick through the assortment of items that had been washed ashore.
The kids surged forward to explore the bounty. Abby could see value in gathering boards for firewood or a soggy sleeping bag, but wondered what anyone would do with a rusty baby stroller without wheels, a broken umbrella, or a swollen paperback. Maybe the artifacts reminded kids of life before the night of the purple moon.
She kept an eye out for Toby. It would be easy to spot the dark blue Colony East coveralls among the multicolored combinations of clothing worn by the survivors. Assuming he was still wearing the uniform, of course. Had Doctor Perkins, who had kicked Toby out of the colony, allowed him to keep it? Maybe Toby had discarded the uniform, wishing to blend in with the crowd.
Despite the scrapes and bruises that hobbled her, Abby was glad to be on the move. The sights and sounds helped take her mind off her hunger. Better to focus on something louder, brighter, and more interesting than the gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Moments after she congratulated herself for this newfound approach, an aroma of roasting meat slowly crept up her nostrils. She spun around, looking for the early morning barbecue, ready to march over and ask for a bite. When she didn’t see the source, she considered investigating the side streets. The odor was like a vine reaching out and lacing around her wrist, pulling her away from the river and her ultimate destination: the fish market. She had to resist the temptation.
She tried breathing through her mouth, hoping to eliminate her sense of smell, but her taste buds and pores soaked up the delicious aroma in the air. Gripped by hunger, she wandered across the road where she fell to her knees on the sidewalk and squeezed her eyes shut.
“If I have the power to stop, I have the power to avoid distractions,” she said to herself. She got to her feet and stumbled back toward the river.
Farther on, kids were wading into the water to snag floating debris; some were building a raft by lashing inner tubes together. She stopped near them to rest.
She was about a mile from the Brooklyn Bridge. The fish market was another hundred meters beyond the base of the bridge. To reassure herself she still had the walkie-talkie, she reached into her pack, letting out a sigh of relief when she felt it inside, then shuddered as her fingertips brushed the bag of rice. Her mouth flooded with saliva, and she
In the bathroom, Lisette stepped up to a sink and got up on her tiptoes to see her face in the mirror. She reached for her bottom tooth and felt the mad beating of butterfly wings in her chest when it wiggled. The tooth was much looser than last night. She put a dab of toothpaste on her brush and brushed carefully around the loose tooth.
Lydia moved to the next sink. The six-year-old always had a serious expression, as if she had just made it to the final round of the Atlanta Colony spelling bee. Knowing what was coming next, Lisette grinned at Zoe, two sinks away, who grinned back.
Lydia was the only girl in the unit who kept pace with her language lesson while brushing her teeth.
“Ya paneemayoo,” Lydia said, dappling the mirror in front of her with white dots of toothpaste.
Lisette and Zoe doubled over in laughter.
A piercing whistle gained their attention, and they stopped laughing. Murph stood in the doorway with a stern expression. “Focus, ladies. The countdown clock is ticking.”
They started giggling again as soon as Murph was gone.
1.06
BROOKLYN
Hugging her pack against her chest, Abby limped through the crowd streaming to the bank of the East River to pick through the assortment of items that had been washed ashore.
The kids surged forward to explore the bounty. Abby could see value in gathering boards for firewood or a soggy sleeping bag, but wondered what anyone would do with a rusty baby stroller without wheels, a broken umbrella, or a swollen paperback. Maybe the artifacts reminded kids of life before the night of the purple moon.
She kept an eye out for Toby. It would be easy to spot the dark blue Colony East coveralls among the multicolored combinations of clothing worn by the survivors. Assuming he was still wearing the uniform, of course. Had Doctor Perkins, who had kicked Toby out of the colony, allowed him to keep it? Maybe Toby had discarded the uniform, wishing to blend in with the crowd.
Despite the scrapes and bruises that hobbled her, Abby was glad to be on the move. The sights and sounds helped take her mind off her hunger. Better to focus on something louder, brighter, and more interesting than the gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Moments after she congratulated herself for this newfound approach, an aroma of roasting meat slowly crept up her nostrils. She spun around, looking for the early morning barbecue, ready to march over and ask for a bite. When she didn’t see the source, she considered investigating the side streets. The odor was like a vine reaching out and lacing around her wrist, pulling her away from the river and her ultimate destination: the fish market. She had to resist the temptation.
She tried breathing through her mouth, hoping to eliminate her sense of smell, but her taste buds and pores soaked up the delicious aroma in the air. Gripped by hunger, she wandered across the road where she fell to her knees on the sidewalk and squeezed her eyes shut.
“If I have the power to stop, I have the power to avoid distractions,” she said to herself. She got to her feet and stumbled back toward the river.
Farther on, kids were wading into the water to snag floating debris; some were building a raft by lashing inner tubes together. She stopped near them to rest.
She was about a mile from the Brooklyn Bridge. The fish market was another hundred meters beyond the base of the bridge. To reassure herself she still had the walkie-talkie, she reached into her pack, letting out a sigh of relief when she felt it inside, then shuddered as her fingertips brushed the bag of rice. Her mouth flooded with saliva, and she
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