Streams of Babel

by Plum-Ucci, Carol

• ISBN13: 9780152165567
• ISBN10: 0152165568
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2008-05-01
• Publisher: Harcourt Childrens Books

Summary

In a New Jersey suburb, two women die of brain aneurysms within twenty-four hours--events that cause the government to suspect that a terrorist cell has unleashed a deadly biochemical agent. With each glass of water they drink, the people of Trinity Falls are poisoning themselves.A world away in Pakistan, a sixteen-year-old computer genius working as a virtual spy for the United Statessees an influx of chatter from extremists about a substance they call Red Vinegar that will lead to many deaths in Colony One. Can he warn the victims before it's too late?A Printz Honor Awardwinner and two-time Edgar Allan Poe Award finalist, Carol Plum-Ucci explores disturbing new terrain in thisriveting novel that examines the heroes and victimsinvolved ina terrifying act of bioterrorism.

Author Biography

CAROL PLUM-UCCI is the author of numerous novels for teens, including The Body of Christopher Creed, a Michael L. Printz Award Honor Book that was also nominated for the Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best Young Adult Mystery. She lives in southern New Jersey.

Excerpts

one Cora Holman Thursday, February 28, 2002 6:13 p.m. I sat VERY STILL, waiting for the police and ambulance to arrive. If I dropped my gaze from the living room window, I could see my mothers body on the couch from the corner of my eye. So I stared out at the oak trees and silhouettes passing under the streetlamp. A girls voice rose, with a couple of guys adding whoops and shouts. ". . . gonna win tomorrow! Go, Trinity!" My wish wrenched my insidesto be that carefree girl out on our pretty street, with sports and guys to worry about instead of this. I had assumed, like anyone would have, that my mother had just overdosed. I call my mother Aleese. She had walked into my life for the first time when I was twelve. She was an addict then and got worse, but fortunately, she didnt make public spectacles of herself. Even so, Id always feared a visit from the police, and the moment had arrived. A minute after the singing died away, flashing red lit up the house like a fire. I sat in the chair beside Aleese, gripping a glass of water. I knew from my grandmother dying three years ago that the shock doesnt hit you right away. I couldnt look at Aleese on the couch, but I could say things in my head, like She has died and I am alone now, knowing the shock was about four days off. I thought there might be some way to keep Aleeses drug habit from looking so awful. If the paramedics got suspicious that we werent particularly close, I could mention that Oma, my grandmother, had raised me. I should remember to refer to Aleese as "Mom." I could make her sound a little respectable by saying that she had at one time been a freelance photographer. I knew that was true. I had the camera to prove it. But there was no getting around the worst of this. I had always hoped that if Aleese accidentally overdosed, it would be while she was buying her drugs in Atlantic City, her one inspiration for leaving the house. I would get the phone call instead of making the phone call. Now the police would see how we lived. "Come in?" My voice squeaked as I sat frozen. Our little ranch was suddenly full of people. Four officers, four paramedics, a man in a suit and tie. Nobody ever came in our house, so it was like being hit by a tidal wave. Loud voices and gnarled replies from walkie-talkies filled the air, and footsteps echoed through the walls. They made me want to curl up in a ball, but I sat up very straight. "Hey, Cora. Are you all right?" My eyes rose to see Rain Steckermans dad. He was the man in the suit and tie. He had been the local FBI director for years, then right after Christmas hed become something bigger. He was now some South Jersey supervisor for the U.S. Intelligence Coalition. USIC. I recalled the name and that he had been on television a couple of months back, but I couldnt remember why. And I couldnt understand why someone who tried to catch terrorists would be here with the police and paramedics. I realized he was out of breath. An

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Excerpted from Streams of Babel by Carol Plum-Ucci
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