Boston, New York, Charleston, Miami.

  All had been hit.

  They couldn’t estimate the number of fatalities.

  I just sat there. I felt completely numb.

  It was the worst natural disaster in recorded history.

  The most violent volcano eruption in recorded history.

  The biggest tsunami in recorded history.

  They played some footage.

  It played so fast they had to slow it down so you could see what was going on.

  From the street, a shot of the Empire State Building and a tall cloud drawing closer and closer, frame by frame, but it wasn’t a cloud—it was a wall of water—and then the image went blank.

  A beach and you’re looking out at the water, only there is no water, just a boat stranded about a mile out into the ocean bed and you hear a voice praying to Jesus and then the image is shaking, shaking, and a wave so high the minitab can’t see the top thunders up. Then darkness.

  Chloe said she wanted to watch kid TV. We ignored her.

  Bad Makeup said the National Connectivity was down because three of the five satellite centers had been located on the East Coast.

  Blue Suit said the president had declared a state of emergency and was safe at an undisclosed location.

  We watched, mostly in silence.

  “Turn it to Tabi-Teens,” Chloe whined. “This is bo-ring!”

  I looked at her. She was totally clueless. She was listlessly picking at a label stuck on the minitab counter.

  None of the little kids seemed to understand what we were learning. They were just kind of slowpoking around, hanging out.

  I had to keep watching the TV. Couldn’t think about the kids.

  I felt gray. Washed out. Like a stone.

  Bad Makeup said the megatsunami had triggered severe weather conditions across the rest of the country. Her voice caught on “rest of the country.” She mentioned storms called supercells, sweeping across the Rockies (that was us).

  I looked over at Josie. She was watching the screen. Caroline had crawled onto Josie’s lap, and Josie was stroking Caroline’s hair absentmindedly.

  CNN showed more footage from the East Coast.

  They showed a house carried up the side of a mountain. They showed a lake full of cars. They showed people wandering around half naked on streets in places that should have looked familiar, but now looked like locations from war movies.

  People in boats, people crying, people washed down rivers like logs on a log float, people washed up along with their cars and garages and trees and trash cans and bicycles and god-knows-what else. People as debris.

  I closed my eyes.

  Near me, someone started to cry.

  “Put it to Tabi-Teens!” Chloe demanded. “Or Traindawgs or something!”

  I took my brother’s hand. It was ice cold.

  * * *

  We watched for hours.

  At some point, somebody turned off the television.

  At some point, somebody got out sleeping bags for everyone.

  There was a lot of whining from the little kids and not a lot of comforting coming from us.

  They were really bothering us. Especially Chloe and Batiste.

  Batiste kept talking about the “end of days.”

  He said it was just like Reverend Grand said would happen. The judgment day was upon us. I wanted to punch him in his little greasy face.

  I just wanted to think. I couldn’t think and they all kept crying and asking for stupid things and clinging to us and I just wanted them to shut up.

  Finally Astrid bent over and grabbed Batiste by the shoulders.

  She said, real clear and kind of mean, “You kids go and get candy. As much as you want. Go do that.”

  And they did.

  They came back with bags from the candy aisle.

  That was the best we could do for them that night: candy. We took the bags and ripped them open and made a big pile in the middle of the floor, and everyone gorged on fun sizes of all brands and types.

  We ate it like it was medicine. Like it was magic candy that could somehow restore us to a normal life again. We ate ourselves numb and got in our bags and went to sleep.

  There was a lot of crying from the little kids and occasionally one of us would yell, “Shut up!”

  That’s how we got by, that first night.

  THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FEIWEL AND FRIENDS BOOK.

  The Friends who made

  BERSERKER

  possible are:

  JEAN FEIWEL, Publisher

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  FOLLOW US ON FACEBOOK OR VISIT US ONLINE AT FIERCEREADS.COM

  OUR BOOKS ARE FRIENDS FOR LIFE.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Emmy Laybourne is the author of Sweet and the Monument 14 trilogy. Before her life as an author, Emmy performed original comedy on Comedy Central, MTV, and VH1 and acted in the movies Superstar, The In-Laws, and Nancy Drew, among others. She lives in upstate New York with her husband, two kids, and a flock of six nifty chickens.

  Visit her online at emmylaybourne.com, or sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt: Monument 14

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 by Emmy Laybourne

  A Feiwel and Friends Book

  An imprint of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010

  fiercereads.com

  All rights reserved.

  Feiwel and Friends logo designed by Filomena Tuosto

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945 ext. 5442 or by e-mail at [email protected]

  First hardcover edition 2017

  eBook edition October 2017

  eISBN 9781250135230

 


 

  Emmy Laybourne, Berserker Series, Book 1

 


 

 
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