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I have a soft spot for the end of the world. That’s probably why I was so bitterly disappointed by the pandemic. I mean, if we’re gonna plague, let’s fucking plague. I’m not sure what my fictional body count is now, but it’s pretty high. I mean, I’ve destroyed the world twice.
I believe that one of the problems with dystopian fiction is its focus on the dystopian part at the expense of character. If you don’t care about the people, you won’t care what happens to them. I still want to see the disaster, but I want to feel it, too.
The First Year
Hannah Barton is the last person on Earth. A deadly plague has killed everyone else. 14-year-old Hannah must survive her first year alone in a dead world. Facing terrors both real and imagined, Hannah’s survival depends solely on her abilities.
It hasn’t rained in a year. Civilization is in tatters. For those who remain, survival comes down to a single choice - kill or be killed. A voice on the radio promises hope and salvation. But in this new world, nothing is ever as it appears. The end of the world is just the beginning.
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