The Eleventh Plague

by Hirsch, Jeff

• ISBN13: 9780545290142
• ISBN10: 0545290147
• Edition: 1st
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2011-09-01
• Publisher: Scholastic Press

Summary

#x1C;With its crumbling Starbucks and rusting theme parks, The Eleventh Plague hits disturbingly close to home, vividly depicting a world that has nose-dived into a futuristic nightmare. Fifteen-year-old Stephen Quinn struggles to define his rules of survival in Jeff Hirsch#x19;s excellent, taut debut novel.#x1D; - Suzanne Collins, author of The Hunger Games In an America devastated by war and plague, the only way to survive is to keep moving. In the aftermath of a war, America#x19;s landscape has been ravaged and two thirds of the population left dead from a vicious strain of influenza. Fifteen-year-old Stephen Quinn and his family were among the few that survived and became salvagers, roaming the country in search of material to trade for food and other items essential for survival. But when Stephen#x19;s grandfather dies and his father falls into a coma after an accident, Stephen finds his way to Settler#x19;s Landing, a community that seems too good to be true, where there are real houses, barbecues, a school, and even baseball games. Then Stephen meets strong, defiant, mischievous Jenny, who refuses to accept things as they are. And when they play a prank that goes horribly wrong, chaos erupts, and they find themselves in the midst of a battle that will change Settler#x19;s Landing forever.

Author Biography

Jeff Hirsch graduated from the University of California, San Diego, with an MFA in Dramatic Writing. THE ELEVENTH PLAGUE is his debut novel. He lives in Astoria, New York, with his wife, and you can visit him online at www.jeff-hirsch.com.

Excerpts

From The Eleventh Plague

Dad turned all around, sheets of water coursing off his head and shoulders. I wanted to scream that it was pointless, that we needed to keep running, but then there was another crack and a flash of lightning, and for a second it seemed like there might be a ridge of some kind out ahead of us. Dad grabbed my elbow and pulled us toward it.
"Come on! Maybe there's shelter!"
By then, the ground had turned to a slurry of mud and rocks and wrecked grass. Every few steps my feet would sink deep into it and I'd have to pull myself out one foot at a time, terrified that I'd lose sight of Dad and be lost out in that gray nothing, alone forever.
As we ran, the ridge ahead of us became more and more solid, a great looming black wall. I prayed for a cave, but even a good notch in the rock wall would have been enough to get us out of the rain and hide until morning. We were only fifty feet or so from it when Dad came to an abrupt halt.
"Why are we stopping?!"
Dad didn't say anything, he simply pointed.
Between us and the ridge there was an immense gash in the earth, a gorge some thirty feet across and another thirty deep, with steep, muddy walls on our side and the ridge on the opposite. A boiling mess of muddy water, tree stumps, and trash raged at the bottom.
Dad searched left and right for a crossing, but there wasn't any. His shoulders slumped. Even through the curtain of rain I could see the sunken hollow of his eyes, deep red-lined pits that sat in skin as gray as the air around us.
"I'm sorry, Stephen. I swear to God, I'm so sorry."