World Of Shell And Bone (20 page)

Authors usually thank scores of people in the acknowledgements section of their novels, and now I know why. This book wouldn’t have been possible without a whole army of people in my life. They kept me sane when I was going crazy.

I’d like to thank Lindsey Alexander, my fantastic, magical-quality editor, for her keen eye and her ability to so diplomatically tell me which parts of the story sucked and why. I am forever in your gratitude. Bonus points for not once making me cry.

I’d also like to thank my good friend Jennah Scott for giving me the kick in the pants I needed to keep writing
World of Shell and Bone
. You also shared many a virtual margarita with me when I reached writing or editing goals, which is a really priceless quality in a friend. One day soon we’ll drink those in person!

To my incredibly supportive husband, I’d like to say thank you and so much more. You’ve showed me that true love is a lot more romantic than
Romeo and Juliet
.

To my in-laws and tiny children, thank you for being my stalwart cheerleading section. I love you so much.

And thank you to all the readers who’ve picked up this debut novel from an unknown author and given it a chance. You’re helping artists like me live the dream!

Adriana Ryan lives and writes in Charleston, SC. A huge fan of spooky stuff and shoes, she enjoys alternately hitting up the outlet malls and historic graveyards.

Visit Adriana at her website:
http://adrianaryan.com

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If you liked this book, please consider leaving a review. Reviews are like pixie dust to authors.

1. In chapter one, Vika says, “I am baffled by mirrors… I am nothing more than a collection of genetic puzzle pieces—I understand and accept this fully.” What does she mean by this? Does the concept of being nothing more than genetically linked to one’s biological parents make sense in today’s society?
   
2. When Vika says, “Progeny is our only weapon now,” what does she mean? Is healthy progeny New Amana’s weapon, or is it Vika’s weapon against the government as well?
   
3. Ryan writes, “Most of the men in power were gone; healthy young men in the military had been killed. A feminist regime was born and New Amana was created to rise from the ashes.” During World War 2, American women entered the workforce to step into jobs men left behind when they went to war. Do you think that a situation where a feminist government takes over in the wake of the obliteration of a male-dominated government might be plausible in today’s society?
   
4. When Shale and Vika engage in sexual intercourse for the first time, Shale holds his body in such a way so as to not make any more contact with Vika’s body than necessary. Before they begin, they are required to say the words, “For New Amana.” What might the purpose of saying these words be? Why doesn’t Shale want to touch Vika beyond what is necessary to make a baby?
   
5. The radiation-poisoned homeless, those whose scars are visible, are called Nukeheads. Why is the general society of New Amana opposed to them? Is there a parallel sub-class of people like the Nukeheads in the society in which you live?
   
6. In chapter ten, Vika sees her brother, Mica. She is surprised to see that Shale is taller than Mica, observing, “In my mind, Mica was always the tallest person on Earth. There was never anyone who towered over him.” What do you think Vika means by this? What does this tell us about her relationship with Mica?
   
7. Time seems to have an ephemeral quality to Vika in the first part of the book. For instance, in chapter thirteen, she says, “Time begins to stop and stutter, looping back on itself until I can’t remember whether it’s today, yesterday, or the year before last. “ Why would time seem to be so inconsistent to someone in the dystopian society in which Vika lives? Have you noticed instances in your life when time seemed to sped up or slowed down? What does this say of our thought processes and ability to weather harsh life experiences?
   
8. Why do you think Vika decides to give her travel vouchers to Naiad’s partner and daughter, even though she didn’t know Naiad well? Was her decision connected or influenced at all by her last visit with her mother?
   
9. When Vika sees Ceres for the first time since she was taken to the Asylum, she notes, “There is no soul there.” Do you think Vika’s opinion changes as she spends more time with her sister? Is Ceres as devoid of emotion as Vika initially believes? What led you to this conclusion?
   
10. Even though she is warned that the government might be building an army in China, Vika makes the decision to board the ship with Ceres. Why do you think she did this? Do you feel her decision was based, in any part, on denial?
    

When her best friend Heather calls in the middle of the night, Becca assumes it's the usual drama. Wrong. Heather's parents have been arrested as dissidents—and Becca's mother, the dystopian regime's most infamous torturer, has already executed them for their crimes against the state.

To stop Heather from getting herself killed trying to prove her parents' innocence, Becca hunts for proof of their guilt. She doesn't expect to find evidence that leaves her questioning everything she thought she knew about the dissidents… and about her mother.

When she risks her life to save a dissident, she learns her mother isn't the only one with secrets—and the plot she uncovers will threaten the lives of the people she loves most. For Becca, it's no longer just a choice between risking execution and ignoring the regime's crimes; she has to decide whose life to save and whose to sacrifice.

When she risks her life to save a dissident, she learns her mother isn't the only one with secrets—and the plot she uncovers will threaten the lives of the people she loves most. For Becca, it's no longer just a choice between risking execution and ignoring the regime's crimes; she has to decide whose life to save and whose to sacrifice.

It's easy to be a hero when you can save the world, but what about when all you can do is choose how you live in it?
The Torturer’s Daughter
is a story about ordinary teenage life amidst the realities of living under an oppressive regime… and the extraordinary courage it takes to do what's right in a world gone wrong.

Becca’s steps slowed as she approached Processing 117. The floodlights of the parking lot shone down on her, exposing her. Past the lot, the darkness threatened to close in. There was no other source of light nearby except for the dim glow of the streetlamps, nothing but trees for at least a mile in every direction.

The concrete structure loomed taller than its five stories—maybe because of the invisible presence of the underground levels, or maybe because in a moment Becca was going to have to walk inside.

Heather can’t have been arrested. If she were a prisoner, they wouldn’t have let her call.

But when Becca remembered the panic in Heather’s voice, the thought wasn’t all that reassuring anymore.

Becca took the last few steps across the not-quite-empty parking lot. The windows of the upper floors glowed in a patchwork of lights, showing who was working another late night and who was at home sleeping… or down on the underground levels. Becca knew that in one of those dark offices, a phone had been ringing off the hook for the past half-hour, its owner oblivious to Becca’s pleas for her to answer, to find Heather for her, to fix this.

Becca reached the double doors of the entrance—and froze. Her heart thudded against her ribcage.

Heather is in there,
she reminded herself.
Heather needs me.

She pulled the doors open and stepped inside.

The doors slammed shut behind her, the noise echoing off the stark white walls. Security cameras stared down at her from the ceiling. The guards, one to either side of the metal detector, pinned her to the floor with their eyes, but said nothing.

Opposite the metal detector from Becca, the room was bare except for a huge metal desk with corners that looked sharp enough to cut. Behind the desk, a dark-haired woman with a headset clipped to her ear stopped mid-yawn and jerked up to face her.

Becca held her breath and stepped through the metal detector. Its light flashed green, and one of the guards waved her forward. She let her breath out and stepped up to the desk.

She eyed the woman’s crisp gray suit, and the desk that gleamed like it had never seen a speck of dust in its life. Then she looked down at her own clothes, the jeans and wrinkled t-shirt she had grabbed from her dresser after hanging up with Heather. She crossed her arms around her stomach.

The receptionist’s bleary surprise had vanished, replaced by a stone mask. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for…” Becca bit back the name on her lips. No. If she were in her office, she would have answered the phone. Anyway, Becca could imagine her reaction at finding out about this midnight walk to 117. Becca was on her own.

“…Heather Thomas,” she finished. “She called me half an hour ago and told me she was here.”

The receptionist’s expression didn’t tell Becca anything.

“She’s here… somewhere… she called me…” Becca’s voice trailed off.
I’m not doing anything wrong,
she told herself.
I’m not a dissident. Heather’s not a dissident.

Which led Becca back to the question that had been circling through her mind since she had gotten Heather’s call. What was Heather doing here?

The receptionist turned away and tapped something out on her keyboard. It only took her a few seconds to find what she was looking for. She typed in something else and touched her earpiece. “We have a detainee in temporary holding,” she said to someone Becca couldn’t see. “Last name Thomas. Her file says she’s waiting for a relative to collect her. Right, that’s the one. Someone forgot to collect her phone, and she called a friend.” A pause. “No, that won’t be necessary. Just confiscate the phone.”

She turned back to Becca. “Heather Thomas is waiting for her guardian to arrive. Are you Lydia Thomas?” She gave Becca a skeptical once-over.

Becca considered saying yes, but even if the receptionist weren’t going to ask for proof, there was no way she could pass as Heather’s… aunt, she remembered after a moment. Aunt Lydia, the one who always looked at Becca and Heather like being in high school was catching.

The receptionist took her silence as an answer. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Becca wanted nothing more than to do just that. But she couldn’t leave and let this place swallow Heather. “If she’s waiting for her aunt to get here, I can wait with her until she shows up.”

“I’m sorry,” said the receptionist, already turning back to her computer. “The policy is clear. The detainee will remain in temporary holding—alone—until her guardian arrives.”

Becca was losing ground. And somewhere in this building, Heather was waiting for her. “I’m not trying to take her home or anything. I only want to…” To make sure she wasn’t locked away underground. To make sure they hadn’t gotten her mixed up with somebody else, some dissident slated for execution. “…to let her know I’m here. I promised her I’d—”

“Your refusal to leave the building when instructed will be recorded.” The receptionist placed her hands on her keyboard. “May I have your name?”

“At least tell me what happened. Why is she here? Is she all right?”

“Your name, please,” the receptionist repeated.

If she stayed much longer, the receptionist would order the guards to drag her out—or worse, in. She could end up in one of those underground cells… She shivered. They couldn’t do that to her just for asking about Heather, right?

“Your name,” the receptionist repeated again, with a glance toward the guards.

Becca slumped. “Rebecca Dalcourt.”

The receptionist blinked.

“Well,” she said, her voice suddenly warmer, “I suppose we can make an exception.”

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The Torturer’s Daughter
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