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320 pages, Hardcover
First published September 17, 2013
“This is the real treasure.” Nat placed a small velvet pouch on the table. She pulled the string and showed him what was inside: tiny crystals that sparkled in the light, bright as diamonds.I should start stockpiling salt. Or not, since I probably have enough in my pantry right now to buy all of California and probably some parts of Canada. Actually, most of Canada.
Sea salt. Real salt, not the synthetic kind—which was at once too salty and not salty enough—but the real thing, from before the floods, when the world was still whole.
The latest RBEs, or “Reading-Based Entertainment,” were all composed in textlish, but Nat couldn’t quite get excited by a story called XLNT <3 LULZ.People actually SPEAK textlish.
The slavers’ language sounded brutal to her ear, a corruption, all consonants and no vowels. Then she realized they were actually speaking textlish, a language that was only designed to be written, not spokenAnd rest assured, you will be happy to know there is a thriving industry of pop music, even in the dystopian future when everyone is poor and hungry as fuck. Gooooooo Britney!
"They'd moved after the Flood."
"The toxic sea never froze, but seethed with poison...the waves dancing on occasion with slim wisps of fire."
"The voice in her head was the reason her eyes were not brown or gray. Her clear tiger eyes—hazel-green with golden pupils—told the world she carried a mark on her skin, one she kept hidden, one that was shaped like a flame and hurt like a burn right above her heart."
"She's not marked, is she?" Zedric asked. "You know we don't mess with ice trash."
"People like her, hunted and killed."
"She's not marked, is she?" Zedric asked. "You know we don't mess with ice trash."
"He smiled and she smiled back, and for a moment they were just an ordinary boy and girl in a car, neither runner and client, or mercenary and thief, and Nat saw a glimpse of how normal things could be."
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice
From what I've tasted of fire.
But if it had to persish twice,
I think I know ebough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
- Robert Frost "Fire and Ice"