5
" Sam woke to a feeling of utter, profound, incredible relief.
He closed his eyes as soon as he opened them, afraid that being awake would just invite something terrible to appear.
Astrid was back. And she was asleep with her head on his arm. His arm was asleep, completely numb, but as long as that blond head was right there his arm could stay numb.
She smelled like pine trees and campfire smoke.
He opened his eyes, cautious, almost flinching, because the FAYZ didn’t make a habit of allowing him pure, undiluted happiness. The FAYZ made a habit of stomping on anything that looked even a little bit like happiness. And this level of happiness was surely tempting retaliation. From this high up the fall could be a long, long one. "
― Michael Grant , Fear (Gone, #5)
6
" It’s time,” Jack said.
“Breeze? Count the kids,” Sam said.
Brianna was back in twenty seconds. “Eighty-two, boss.”
“About a third,” Jack observed. “A third of what’s left.”
“Wait. Make that eighty-eight,” Brianna said. “And a dog.”
Lana, looking deeply irritated—a fairly usual expression for her—and Sanjit, looking happy—a fairly usual expression for him—and Sanjit’s siblings were trotting along to catch up.
“I don’t know if we’re staying up there or not,” Lana said without preamble. “I want to check it out. And my room smells like crap.”
Just before the time was up, Sam heard a stir. Kids were making a lane for someone, murmuring. His heart leaped.
“Hey, Sam.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Diana?”
“Not expecting me, huh?” She made a wry face. “Where’s blondie? I didn’t see her at the big pep rally.”
“Are you coming with us?” Brianna demanded, obviously not happy about it.
“Is Caine okay with this?” Sam asked Diana. “It’s your choice, but I need to know if he’s going to come after us to take you back.”
“Caine has what he wants,” Diana said.
“Maybe I should call Toto over,” Sam said. The truth teller was having a conversation with Spidey. “I could ask you whether you’re coming along to spy for Caine, and see what Toto has to say.”
Diana sighed. “Sam, I have bigger problems than Caine. And so do you, I guess. Because the FAYZ is going to do something it’s never done before: grow by one.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You are going to be an uncle.”
Sam stared blankly. Brianna said a very rude word. And even Dekka looked up.
“You’re having a baby?” Dekka asked.
“Let’s hope so,” Diana said bleakly. “Let’s hope that’s all it is. "
― Michael Grant , Plague (Gone, #4)
17
" About time,” Brianna said.
“Hey, sorry, we were kind of busy,” Quinn snapped. “And I didn’t exactly realize I was on a schedule.”
“I don’t like what I have to do here,” Brianna said. She handed Quinn the note.
He read it. Read it again.
“Is this some kind of joke?” he demanded.
“Albert’s dead,” Brianna said. “Murdered.”
“What?”
“He’s dead. Sam and Dekka are off in the wilderness somewhere. Edilio’s got the flu, he might die, a lot of kids have. A lot. And there are these, these monsters, these kind of bugs . . . no one knows what to call them . . . heading toward town.” Her face contorted in a mix of rage and sorrow and fear. She blurted, “And I can’t stop them!”
Quinn stared at her. Then back at the note.
He felt his contented little universe tilt and go sliding away.
There were just two words on the paper: “Get Caine. "
― Michael Grant , Plague (Gone, #4)
19
" We were girls, you see, not even women, just girls, most of us when we started. And the boys were just boys, not men, most of them. We’d only begun to live life, we knew little and understood less. We were unformed, incomplete. It’s funny how easy it is to see that now. If you’d called me a child three years ago when this started I’d have been furious. But looking back? We were children just getting ready to figure out what adulthood was all about. "
― Michael Grant , Silver Stars (Front Lines, #2)
20
" I hear civilians saying we’re all heroes, heard someone… was it Arthur Godfrey on Armed Forces Radio? I can’t recall, but it’s nonsense anyway. If everyone is a hero, then no one is. Others say everyone below ground is a hero, but a lot of those were just green kids who spent an hour or a day on the battlefield before standing up when they shouldn’t have, or stepping where they shouldn’t have stepped. If there’s something heroic about stand up to scratch your ass and having some Kraut sniper ventilate your head, I guess I don’t see it.
If by “hero”, you mean one of those soldiers who will follow an order to rush a Kraut machine gun or stuff a grenade in a tank hatch, well, that’s closer to meaning something. But the picture in your imagination, Gentle Reader, may not bear much similarity to reality. I knew a guy who did just that—jumped up on a Tiger tank and dropped a grenade (or was it two?) down the hatch. Blew the hell out of it too. But he’d just gotten a Dear John letter from his fiancée in the same batch of mail that informed him his brother had been killed. So I guess it was eight on the line between heroism and suicide. "
― Michael Grant , Silver Stars (Front Lines, #2)