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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2011 by Allyson Braithwaite Condie
Map illustration copyright 2011 by Dave Stevenson
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.
Crossing the BarBy Alfred Lord Tennyson, from THE WORKS OF ALFRED LORD TENNYSON, Wordsworth Editions, Ltd, 1998.
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good NightBy Dylan Thomas, from THE POEMS OF DYLAN THOMAS, copyright 1952 by Dylan Thomas.
They Dropped Like FlakesBy Emily Dickinson, Johnson, ed., Cambridge, Mass: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, copyright 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College.
I Did Not Reach TheeBy Emily Dickinson, from THE POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON, Thomas H. Johnson, ed., Cambridge, Mass: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, copyright 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Condie, Allyson Braithwaite.
p. cm.
Sequel to: Matched.
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Cassia sacrifices everything and heads to the Outer Provinces in search of Ky, where she is confronted with shocking revelations about Society and the promise of rebellion.
ISBN : 978-1-101-54540-9
[1. Government, Resistance toFiction. 2. Fantasy.] I. Title.
PZ7.C7586Cr 2011
[Fic]dc23 2011016442
Published in the United States by Dutton Books,
a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
www.penguin.com/teens
http://us.penguingroup.com
for Ian
who looked up
and started to climb
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
by DYLAN THOMAS
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Crossing the Bar
by ALFRED LORD TENNYSON
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
CHAPTER 1
KY
I m standing in a river. Its blue. Dark blue. Reflecting the color of the evening sky.
I dont move. The river does. It pushes against me and hisses through the grass at the waters edge. Get out of there, the Officer says. He shines his flashlight on us from his position on the bank.
You said to put the body in the water, I say, choosing to misunderstand the Officer.
I didnt say you had to get in yourself, the Officer says. Let go and get out. And bring his coat. He doesnt need it now.
I glance up at Vick, who helps me with the body. Vick doesnt step into the water. Hes not from around here, but everyone in camp knows the rumors about the poisoned rivers in the Outer Provinces.
Its all right, I tell Vick quietly. The Officers and Officials want us to be scared of this riverof all riversso that we never try to drink from them and never try to cross over.
Dont you want a tissue sample? I call out to the Officer on the bank while Vick hesitates. The icy water reaches my knees, and the dead boys head lolls back, his open eyes staring at the sky. The dead dont see but I do.
I see too many things. I always have. Words and pictures connect together in my mind in strange ways and I notice details wherever I am. Like now. Vicks no coward but fear films his face. The dead boys sleeves are frayed with threads that catch the water where his arm dangles down. His thin ankles and bare feet glow pale in Vicks hands as Vick steps closer to the bank. The Officer already had us take the boots from the body. Now he swings them back and forth by the laces, a sweep of black keeping time. With his other hand he points the round beam of the flashlight right into my eyes.
I throw the coat to the Officer. He has to drop the boots to catch it. You can let go, I tell Vick. Hes not heavy. I can take care of it.
But Vick steps in, too. Now the dead boys legs are wet and his black plainclothes sodden. Its not much of a Final Banquet, Vick calls out to the Officer. Theres anger in Vicks voice. Was that dinner last night something he chose? If it was, he deserves to be dead.
Its been so long since Ive let myself feel anger that I dont just feel it. It covers my mouth and I swallow it down, the taste sharp and metal as though Im gnawing through foilware. This boy died because the Officers judged wrong. They didnt give him enough water and now hes dead too soon.
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