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Jonah and his younger brother, Simon, are on their own. They set out to find what's left of their family, carrying between them ten dollars, a backpack full of dirty clothes, a notebook, and a stack of letters from their brother, who is serving a tour in Vietnam. And soon into their journey, they have a ride. With a man and a beautiful girl who may be in love with Jonah. Or Simon. Or both of them. The man is crazy. The girl is desperate. This violent ride is only just beginning. And it will leave the brothers taking cover from hard truths about loyalty, love, and survival that crash into their lives. One more thing: The brothers have a gun. They're going to need it.

ANDREW SMITH is the author of Ghost Medicine, which was a 2008 Best Books for Young Adults nominee. In addition to writing, Smith teaches high school advance placement classes and coaches rugby. He lives with his family on a ranch in the mountains of Southern California, where the nearest grocery store is twenty miles away. You can visit him on the Web at www.ghostmedicine.com, where he also maintains a blog about writing.

The car was a 1940 Lincoln Cabriolet, black and white with broad white-walled tires. Its top was down, and, as it neared, crunching and kicking back the dirt of the road, I saw a man at the wheel and a pretty yellow-haired girl sitting in the front, and there was also what appeared to be a third person sitting bolt-upright in the back seat.
It was as out-of-place in that desert as a sailboat would have been, and it was the kind of car you knew had to carry stories with it, but I had no intention of finding out what those stories told.
“Let’s start walking,” I said. “Just don’t even look at them.”
“We should ask them for a ride.”
“No.” I looked at Simon, then put my head down like I didn’t even know or care about that car coming up alongside us. I began walking forward, just looking at the ground, listening to our feet, the scattering sounds of tires on the gravel and dirt of the road.
I warned Simon again, “Don’t even look at them.”
So I just concentrated on not paying that car any attention. I could hear Simon following along, scooting his feet in the rocks and dirt. And it wasn’t until later, until it was too late for both of us, that I found out Simon was sticking a thumb out to beg a ride.

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The car was a 1940 Lincoln Cabriolet, black and white with broad white-walled tires. Its top was down, and, as it neared, crunching and kicking back the dirt of the road, I saw a man at the wheel and a pretty yellow-haired girl sitting in the front, and there was also what appeared to be a third person sitting bolt-upright in the back seat.
It was as out-of-place in that desert as a sailboat would have been, and it was the kind of car you knew had to carry stories with it, but I had no intention of finding out what those stories told.
“Let’s start walking,” I said. “Just don’t even look at them.”
“We should ask them for a ride.”
“No.” I looked at Simon, then put my head down like I didn’t even know or care about that car coming up alongside us. I began walking forward, just looking at the ground, listening to our feet, the scattering sounds of tires on the gravel and dirt of the road.
I warned Simon again, “Don’t even look at them.”
So I just concentrated on not paying that car any attention. I could hear Simon following along, scooting his feet in the rocks and dirt. And it wasn’t until later, until it was too late for both of us, that I found out Simon was sticking a thumb out to beg a ride.

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In the Path of Falling Objects

In the Path of Falling Objects

0312375581

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