The Dark and Hollow Places - Carrie Ryan [134]
I’m so happy at that moment that I don’t know what else to do or say. I just know that I love this man. And more than anything, I want to live my life with him—truly live.
“Mine,” I whisper, twining my fingers through his, holding him closer. Knowing that this is what it means to live. That this love, this need is what drives us to push and fight and build and grow. That as long as there’s hope and love in this world, there will always be the living.
For this moment it’s just us and the breaking day, the promise of something new. We sit pressed against each other and stare out at the limitless horizon.
“What now?” I ask him.
He smiles, an excited flicker in his eyes. “That,” he says, turning and pointing. I follow his gaze and draw in a sharp breath that I let out with a laugh. Down the coast a peninsula juts into the water with a fenced field teeming with hot-air balloons of all different colors and sizes. They’re like wild-flowers bobbing and twisting in the breeze. People huddle around them in groups, shaking hands and hugging.
“And there,” he says, pointing toward the shallows, where a large ship sits serenely, deck bustling with activity as smaller boats ferry back and forth from the shore. “Gabry and Elias are already on board, making sure there’s enough room and supplies for everyone. We’ll go to Vista first and then …” He pauses, pulling me tighter, fitting us together as one. “Then we’ll search for other survivors. If we can survive, others have as well.”
I shake my head, not ready to believe it.
“You made it,” Catcher whispers into my ear. He draws back, his forehead resting against mine.
I think about the moment in the tunnel when I didn’t believe I’d make it out. When I was willing to just curl up in the ice and sleep—let the dead take me because it was too hard to keep fighting against them. “I almost gave up,” I admit, unable to put force in my words because it makes me feel weak.
He pulls away, his gaze serious as he meets my eyes. He trails his finger along my cheek, following the path of a tear. “But you didn’t.”
I stare past him at all the people in the field, at those on the boat scrambling to fill it with supplies. They didn’t give up either. Not in the face of the Recruiters or the Rebellion or the horde. All those sparks of light, stars burning brightest in the darkness.
“And I won’t,” I reassure him, knowing it deep inside as truth.
Catcher pulls me to him and I feel his heart thrumming through me, matching the rhythm of my own. I close my eyes, listening to the sound of the ocean, the constant brush of water against shore.
My father, Jacob, used to tell me about the ocean when I was a child. Stories whispered to him on the endless path through the Forest when desperation lay thick like ash. He said it was a place where possibilities were endless and hope stretched as far as the horizon. And now, staring at the pure endlessness of it, I know it to be true.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m incredibly grateful that I’m lucky enough to spend every day doing what I love: making up stories and writing them down. Thank you to all the readers, booksellers, librarians, teachers and book lovers who have made my dream a reality!
There are so many people involved in getting a book from idea to shelf, and I’d be lost without each of them. A huge thanks to my agent, Jim McCarthy, who is just fantastic beyond words, and to my editor, Krista Marino, whose insight and patience continue to astound me. Beverly Horowitz and the entire team at Delacorte Press have been wonderfully supportive in every way imaginable: Meg O’Brien, Jessica Shoffel and Kelly Galvin, my publicists, have worked tirelessly on my behalf with amazing results. I’m so thankful to Jocelyn Lange and the subsidiary rights department, as well as all the sales associates who’ve shown such enthusiasm for my books: Lauren Gromlowicz, Deanna Meyerhoff, Tim Mooney and Dandy Conway. Once again my book designer, Vikki Sheatsley, has outdone herself creating a gorgeous package, and Colleen Fellingham