Greenhouse by Stephanie Mylchreest (Insularity #1)
English | 2019 | Sci / Fi | ePUB | 299 Kb
Greenhouse : If you want to die, there’s no place like home.
Twenty-one-year-old Chris Kennedy is impulsive. He never looks before he leaps. When he meets Delphine Grace—tenacious, beautiful, and deaf—she makes a shocking, heretical claim: the floods which destroyed civilization hundreds of years ago will come again. Chris vows to support her and her dire warning. After all, her family has maintained secret climatic and tidal records for centuries.
Their home, Martha’s Vineyard, is a sanctuary from the violence and danger on the mainland—where chaos reigns following apocalyptic climate horrors. Prepared to risk it all, Chris and Delphine travel to the mainland to find the truth. If they fail to bring back the evidence they need, a tsunami could destroy their whole world. If they succeed, the truth will shatter the foundations of their society. The island elders will do everything to stop them. What will become of the unwitting insurgents? And who is the mysterious girl who fell from the sky and crashed in the sea off Martha’s Vineyard? The fight for their survival begins…
“I hear some others have got rum. It’s supposed to be from the mainland. Did you both want to come outside?”
“I will,” says Marissa.
“Who’s drinking?” I ask.
“Some boys from our Village,” Abigail replies. She pauses. I know there’s more. “And Carl Spool.”
The rabbit meat sours in my mouth. “No thanks,” I say. Carl Spool is the youngest son of the senior elder of West Tisbury. Considering my father is the senior elder of Edgartown, we should be friends. Unfortunately, he’s an arrogant bully.
Abigail hovers her face next to mine, wild tendrils of black hair tickling my cheek. “Suit yourself,” she whispers. She gives me a dismissive wave of her hand and pushes herself away from the table. I watch her weave her way through the revel. I would have joined her if it weren’t for Carl.
“Are you sure you won’t come?” asks Marissa. Her eyes shine green and her smile is sweet. I shake my head and she follows Abigail with a shrug.
I take another long gulp of my cider. It has a fruity fizz that bubbles in the back of my throat but there’s no hearty punch. In the old days, my grandfather used to leave open cider barrels outside on a winter’s night and then remove the frozen water floating in the barrel the next morning. We haven’t had cold winters like that for decades.”