Four Days till the Lamb …
On Angel Island, the Ceremony is ready. The cameras are in place. For Ruth Black and her husband, the Reverend Matthew, there’s just one problem: their intended sacrifice has plans of his own.
Huddled around a forbidden computer in the compound’s junk shop, five teenage prisoners launch an escape against impossible obstacles: a barricaded church, the electrified perimeter fence, the Key Tower guards, an invisible wall in the water that surrounds the island prison—and against the soldiers of Open Light of Day, led by the most ruthless collector of wayward children in all of New America.
They have to run during the ceremony. Far from keeping it secret, they need as many people to know the truth as possible, or there’ll be nowhere to run. For Rebecca Riggs, Daniel Forester, and their fellow Forgottens, the road home leads through Revelation Way.
16+ due to violence and adult situations
Rebecca held Daniel’s left hand so tightly, he felt as though he didn’t have to do any of the work, at least as far as holding was concerned.
He hung over the side of the roof, right hand gripping the corrugated stone gutter, letting go only when she nodded to him. Still she held him, inching closer to the side herself, sliding too easily over the wet, arched tiles. One foot, two feet, she lowered him—closing in on the drop herself.
Behind her was Caroline, muttering “Oh my gosh” on repeat. Behind her was Gnash. And at the back was Asher, still at the portal, anchoring them all with an expression Daniel was sure would have been agony personified, if only he could see it. He couldn’t let this take forever.
They’d been careful to pick a point between two of the high stained-glass windows. They couldn’t make any shadows. Daniel forced his legs to hang as though dead, resisting the temptation to make contact with the wall. They couldn’t have any unnecessary noise either—even though the eight hundred and fifty-some kids in the chapel were making plenty for camouflage.
The drop from the steepled roof of the praise-and-worship building was twenty feet down to the flat roof of the boys’ school wing. Hanging himself off the edge cut the drop to less than fifteen. Rebecca edging him farther, clutching with tears in her eyes and with both hands, cut it to maybe twelve.
“Let go,” he grunted. “Now or never.”
This might hurt, he told himself. Bend your legs. Don’t cry out. The impact will be loud enough.
Still she held him.
“Do it,” he said.
But it was the rain that conquered. No one could have held him forever in the rain.