Gold Medal Winner, Young Adult Fiction ― Fantasy/Sci-Fi, Independent Publisher's Moonbeam Children's Book Awards
One thousand years after a cataclysmic event leaves humanity on the brink of extinction, the descendants of the chosen survivors take refuge in thirteen contingency shelters buried deep underground, at the bottom of the ocean, and in the far reaches of outer space.
In the underwater 13th Continuum, sixteen-year-old Myra Jackson has heard rumors and whisperings all her life of a magical place called "The Surface” where people could breathe fresh air, feel the warmth of something called sunlight on their skin, and see things known as stars and trees and mountains. Myra has never dared to ask whether the stories are true, since the act of speaking such words aloud is an offense punishable by death. But after she discovers that the air supply aboard her underwater colony is running out, she realizes that her only hope for survival is to find this mysterious place. To get there, she must first recover the only guide to the Surface―the Beacon, an ancient device that also connects her to Captain Aero Wright, a dashing young soldier from one of the only remaining space colonies.
With the fate of all humankind depending on them, Myra and Aero must escape the tyrannical forces that rule their colonies, journey through the black depths of the ocean and across the cold void of space, to find each other on the Surface that their ancestors once called home.
Wow, this sounds amazing! I love the ocean so much that I really want to check out this series so I can experience the black depths of the ocean with Myra and Aero.
For her bonus content, Jennifer is sharing a short story from the Continuum universe. Below the story, you'll find
more info on Jennifer and a secondary contest from me, as well as a link to a multi-author Instagram contest I'm running right now where you can win eight thrilling, chilling YA novels--just in time for Halloween! Because you can never have too many giveaways, right? BTW, Jen and I have the same lucky number this hunt, the number
thirteen! (13) That's the number you need for this post. And now [drum roll] here's Jen!
Jennifer: This story takes place in the Continuum Universe created in my Continuum Trilogy. The books explore what happens after the surface of the Earth is destroyed and humans are evacuated to colonies located in different environments—underwater, underground, and outer space. Hope you enjoy it!
by Jennifer
Brody
“Wake up … Twelve.”
That
familiar voice was accompanied by light. Blinding light that grew stronger. “No
… I don’t want to wake up … need sleep.”
The
words left the girls lips, but they sounded jumbled, thick with sleep. And not
just any sleep. Deep, cryo sleep.
The
light wouldn’t ease.
The
voice wouldn’t stop.
“Wake
up … Twelve.”
It
kept repeating in a loop. Kept prying her awake. It wasn’t human. It was only a
recording. The girl realized that with a cold sweep of sadness that rushed
through her chest like a torrent. Her cryocapsule hissed open.
A
blast of cold air pricked her skin, accompanied by fear at her paralysis. Her
fuzzy brain. Her disorientation.
It
took a while for her limbs to awaken. For her small heart to pump enough blood
to get her vital systems going. For the thick fog to drain from her mind.
“Wake
up … Twelve.”
The
voice heckled her, driving her upright.
She
peered over the edge of her cryocapsule. Her eyes landed on rows and rows of
other cryocapsules. Only one thing was different—their occupants were still
slumbering, locked away in the deep, unnatural freeze that kept them alive.
She
caught sight of her reflection in the metal side of the next capsule—mousy
brown hair, hacked short for convenience, button nose speckled with a tapestry
of light freckles. Watery, blue eyes—watery like their world. Nothing had
changed since she went to sleep many centuries ago.
She
was still a child of thirteen.
She
was over 700 years old however.
Now
she was alone. Her brain was still foggy from the deep sleep, but it began spitting
out questions anyway.
Why was she the only one awake?
Was it a malfunction? Why were her parents still asleep? And her brother Toren?
Those
thoughts brought a fresh wave of fear. Her heart thudded like a hammer in her
chest. She climbed from her capsule clumsily, her feet hitting concrete, and
staggered over to her family’s capsules. Their eyes were frozen. They stared
out but saw nothing but dark dreams.
With
intense longing, she traced her finger over the clear panels, following the
familiar bent of their features, the crook of her dad’s nose, the gentle slope
of her mother’s chin, the rigid arch of her brother’s eyebrows. Her older brother.
Toren
was her best friend, and her greatest tormentor. She loved him and hated him
all at once. And she missed him like crazy, even though he teased her about her
freckles and frizzy hair. Taking her under his arm and tickling her
mercilessly.
“Toren
…” she rasped softly.
You
couldn’t tell how sick they were from their peaceful repose. How when they went
into their chambers, they were only days away from the final stage of the
illness.
The hemorrhaging.
The
memories came back of them entering their capsules. Toren had to be helped
entering his capsule. His strong body laid low with fever. So many in their
colony had died already. So many bodies had been given back to the sea.
This
was their only chance. To abandon the waking life and pass into frozen slumber.
To wait for the dark years of exile in the depths of the sea to wash over them
and abate, like a current flowing and ebbing.
They
didn’t even know if it would work. They had started to build the cryocapsules once
the infection couldn’t be contained. They were the last resort. Her fuzzy brain
struggled to understand.
But
why was she the only one awake?
The
voice spoke again.
“You
are the Twelfth and the Last. The time for exile has passed. Fulfill your
destiny. Go out and claim it.”
She
realized the recording was her mother.
Her
name, she remembered it now.
“My
name is … Twelve.” The words came out
soft and raspy. “You named me that for a reason.”
“You
are the Twelfth and the Last,” her mother repeated in a maddening loop.
“Fulfill your destiny. You’re our chosen one. The only uninfected. Everything depends on you.”
That’s
right. She wasn’t sick yet. Nobody knew why she didn’t fall prey to the fever
like the other colonists.
“My
destiny …”
Her
fuzzy brain started to remember more. And that was when she knew exactly what
she had to do.
“I
must claim it,” she whispered back to her mother.
“Twelve
claim your destiny,” her mother said. It felt like a response, but it was still
the recording.
Twelve
passed through the rows of capsules, each face familiar. There weren’t many of
them left down here. The virus had taken so many, emerging after the water leak
that flooded their colony and drowned four of the sectors.
She
approached a thick window in the exterior wall—outside was a vast expanse, but
it was blotted out with darkness. When she pressed her face to the portal, the
exterior lights flashed on. Their beams pushed through the water, dying a few
meters away from their colony. This life in the dark of the sea.
The
light brought more memories back. They rushed through her. She remembered the
flood and virus. She knew she had to summon help. She ran through the capsules
to the door at the end of the chamber. It registered her identity.
“Twelve
… access approved.”
It
hissed open. She dashed through the corridors, weaving past sealed doors
protecting them from the flooded sectors. Salt water is corrosive, especially
with the massive pressure exerted in the trench. It had forced its way in and with
it brought this plague to their world.
An ancient plague from the depths
of the ocean. That’s what her father said, and
Twelve knew he was right. Knew it in her heart.
Her
freshly pumping heart.
“Twelve,
we’re cursed,” he said before he took to his sick bed and never emerged. “The
Doom cursed us.”
Her
bare feet tore through the smooth corridors. She reached the right door.
“Mortuary” was branded on it. She passed through it and found another
capsule—only this one was a tomb. The boy inside wasn’t much older than her.
“Langston
…” she whispered, feeling a tear trickle from her eye and land on the clear
panel. His golden face, scarred with pox. The virus had taken him. Something
glinted on his wrist. The golden armlet branded with the snake swallowing its
own tail. There it was, waiting for her to claim it.
The Beacon.
The
capsule opened at her touch with a hiss. Twelve reached for the Beacon. Her
hand nearing, it split apart. The metal turned to liquid. Greenish light
flashed over the snake, making it look angry. In one smooth motion the device wrapped
itself around her wrist.
Searing
pain tore through her like a bolt of lightning. She convulsed and fell to the
floor. Her body shuddered, as memories poured through her. She saw everything
through Langston’s eyes. She lived through him. His childhood, growing up in
the chamber next door to her family. Their friendship. That blossomed into
something more. Their … first kiss … mostly innocent … stolen when their
parents weren’t looking. Stolen in a dark nook of the corridor.
Tears
blossomed in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Twelve felt everything
again. And then the memories went back further and further … to the beginning …
to the day of the Doom. She was a girl again, fleeing into a submarine with her
family, packed into the hull as it dove and dove and dove.
As
the world above ended.
All
the pain from the unmaking of the world.
She
felt it all.
When
the Beacon released her from the memories, she couldn’t tell if a few minutes
had passed—or an hour—or a millennium. Maybe no time had passed, or maybe all
the time had passed. She was a child; she was over 700 years old.
The
paradoxes made sense to her now. Everything was true, and nothing was true.
Time didn’t mean the same thing anymore now that she carried all these
lifetimes within her.
It’s time, Langston
said. Do it.
His
voice rang in her head. It sounded like he was standing right there talking to
her, even though he was long dead.
“How
is this possible?” she asked, amazed.
When
they were kids after he became a Carrier, he’d tried to explain.
“They’re
all inside me now,” he said, then frowned. “No, that’s not right. They are me
now. And I am them.”
She’d
rolled her eyes. “Oh, fancy Carrier, you’re just trying to confuse me.”
But
a seriousness had invaded him since the Bonding, after their prior Carrier
died. It was almost like she didn’t know him anymore. The silly boy who’d
kissed her in the corridors—that boy was gone, replaced by this new boy.
This
Carrier.
And
now she was one, too. She finally understood the weight of the burden. What it
felt like to carry the destiny of other people on her narrow shoulders.
She
knew she had to act. She shut her eyes, concentrated, then projected her
thoughts into the Beacon.
Hello … anybody out there?
Please answer me.
I’m the Twelfth and the Last.
Anybody … can you hear me?
She
pushed the knowledge of all that had befallen her colony into the Beacon, more
images than words.
And
then she heard something.
It
was Langston’s voice. There’s a signal …
I can feel it.
That
was when she understood that her thoughts were no longer her own. They’d never
be her own again. She was divided, split into many selves, all the prior
Carriers.
“A
signal?” she said back. “Did someone hear me?”
Hold on, I’ll try to connect with
it.
That’s
when another voice struck her thoughts like an electric charge. This one was
warm and confidant. And it was the sweetest sound that Twelve had ever heard.
This is Myra Jackson of the First
Continuum, the new voice said. Formerly of the Thirteenth Continuum,
Puerto Rico Trench, Atlantic Ocean. Newly elected President of the United
Continuums. I received your signal … who are you? And … where are you?
Twelve,
the girl answered. I’m Twelve.
There
was a pause, long enough to make Twelve worry that she’d done something to
offend this new voice.
But
then Myra spoke again. The Twelfth
Continuum?
Twelve … it’s my name.
And your location apparently, Myra
replied with amusement. Mariana Trench.
Underwater colony. Holy sea, you’ve survived! We thought you’d perished.
Welcome back, Twelve.
