Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
America Pacifica is an island hundreds of miles off the coast of California - the only warm place left in a world in the grip of a new ice age. Darcy Pern is seventeen; her mother has gone missing, and the novel details her quest to find out the truth about her disappearance - a quest which soon becomes an investigation of the disturbing origins of America Pacifica itself, and its sinister and reclusive leader, a man known only as Tyson. America Pacifica invites comparison with the work of Margaret Atwood and China Mieville, but also with Cormac McCarthy's The Road, for its post-apocalyptic scenario and the touching relationship between Darcy and her mother, and the Stieg Larsson trilogy for its implacable central character who is determined to uncover the truth.
outdoor wedding, kids in bathing suits at the beach. All the way back to this young woman sitting in one of those old cars—a Model T—grinning. Of course, we didn’t know how valuable photos would be later—we used them as playing cards until they fell apart. “Then we started hearing about the hurricanes in the Gulf, and people getting shot down at the Mexican border, and we started getting all these refugees from the north, from British Columbia where the ice was knocking out whole towns. We had
Seaboard supported by struts. All she could do was stare at him. “Sunshine’s right,” he went on. “We weren’t getting anywhere before. Then we met you, and now we have all these names. It’s a smoking gun.” Darcy found her voice. “How is it a smoking gun?” she asked. “Say all those people were kidnapped. If we can prove that Tyson’s behind it, it will turn people against him. Right now everyone’s just trying to get by, nobody wants to rock the boat. But if we convince them that Tyson could
she still wasn’t entirely sure—Darcy owed it some honor. When Marie came with her breakfast—strawberries with sugar today, and jiggly poached eggs—Darcy asked to talk to the other prisoners. “They knew my mom,” she said. “I need to talk to them before I decide if I can help you.” Marie looked annoyed. “You can,” she said. “But I’m not sure if it will do much good. They’re not exactly the most mentally stable people.” “What does that mean?” Darcy asked. “Look, I think what Tyson did to those
curse. She cursed her father for dying before she was born and leaving only one person to take care of her, and her grandmother back on the mainland for abandoning her mother and disappearing down some frozen road instead of huddling around her, sag-breasted and wise, like other people’s grandmothers. She cursed the kids at school for thinking she was weird, and the few kids who did play with her for being weird themselves and making her look weirder, and old Dolores Beltran for checking on her
in Seafiber. The pink juices were seeping out onto his pants. The guards had liverish, suspicious faces and they held the meat close to their bodies like greedy children. The sky looked sick. At Third Street, a woman slammed into Darcy. She was wearing a yellow jumpsuit; she was pregnant; she smelled like fire. “You better watch where you’re going,” she yelled in Darcy’s ear. Then she saw the gun. She lifted her hands and her belly spilled out onto the street—coins, not a baby. At Tenth