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Zusatztext *"The popularity of this series is warranted: it is smart! it is dark! it is riveting! and the characters are drawn with respect. Furthermore! Shusterman’s series transcends the dystopian fan base. Libraries without books one through three should get them. Those who already have them! start the waiting list now." Informationen zum Autor Neal Shusterman Klappentext Three teens band together in order to sway the government to repeal all rulings in support of a procedure in which unwanted teenagers are captured and are unwound into parts that can be reused for transplantation.UnDivided 1 • AWOL A tranq tears past his head so close that his earlobe is skinned from the friction. A second tranq flies just beneath his armpit—he actually sees it flaring past—hitting the trash can in the alley ahead of him with a dull clank. It’s raining. The sky has torn loose with a late summer storm of near biblical proportions, but the storm is his best friend today because the relentless torrents hinder the Juvey-cops in pursuit. The sheets of rain make it harder for them to get a bead on him. “Running will only make it worse for you, son,” calls one of the Juvies. He’d laugh at that if he could catch his breath. If he’s caught, he’ll be unwound; what could possibly be worse than that? And calling him “son”? How can a Juvey-cop have the nerve to call him “son” when the world no longer sees him as a child of the human race. As far as humanity is concerned, he’s an object. A bag of biomatter ripe for salvage. There are two, maybe three Juvey-cops chasing him. He won’t turn to count them; when you’re running for your life, desperate to remain undivided, it doesn’t matter whether there’s one, or ten, or a hundred Juvey-cops behind you. All that matters is that they’re behind you—and that you run faster. Another tranq whizzes past, but it’s not as close as the others. The Juvies are getting sloppy in their aggravation. Good. He passes an overstuffed trash can and dumps it over, hoping to slow their pursuit even more. The alley seems to go on forever. He never remembered the streets of Detroit having back alleys this long. The end finally comes into view maybe fifty yards ahead, and he’s already visualizing freedom. He’ll explode out of the alley into the city traffic. Maybe he’ll cause a car accident, like the Akron AWOL. Maybe he’ll find a tithe to use as a human shield like he did. Maybe he’ll even pair up with a beautiful accomplice too. These thoughts push purpose into his bone-tired body, and speed into his strides. The Juvies fall farther behind, and now he has a spark of the AWOL’s most valuable commodity: hope. It’s something in short supply for those who have been deemed not worth the sum of their parts. In an instant, however, that hope is eclipsed by the silhouettes of two more Juvey-cops blocking his exit from the alley. They’ve got him trapped. He turns to see the others closing in behind him. Unless he can sprout wings and fly, it’s over for him. Then, from a dark doorway beside him, he hears— “Hey, you! Over here!” Someone grabs his arm, pulling him in through an open door just as a volley of tranqs shoot past. His mysterious savior closes the door, locking out the Juvies—but what good will that do? Being surrounded in a building is just as bad as being trapped in an alley. “This way,” says the guy who saved him. “Down here.” He leads him down rickety stairs to a dank basement. The AWOL takes a moment to size up his savior in the dim light. He seems to be three or four years older than him—eighteen, maybe even twenty. He’s pale and thin, with dark stringy hair, and weak sideburns longing to be a beard, but failing to bridge the gap. “Don’t be scared,” the guy says...
