The Book of M. Peng Shepherd

The Book of M - Peng  Shepherd


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       Copyright

      HarperVoyager

      An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

      1 London Bridge Street

      London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

      Copyright © Peng Shepherd 2018

      Cover design by Holly Macdonald © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

       Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com

      Peng Shepherd asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

      Source ISBN: 9780008225605

      Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780008225629

      Version: 2018-05-16

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

      Part I

      Orlando Zhang

      Orlando Zhang

      Orlando Zhang

      Orlando Zhang

      Part II

      Mahnaz Ahmadi

       Orlando Zhang

       Naz Ahmadi

       Orlando Zhang

       The One Who Gathers

       Orlando Zhang

       Mahnaz Ahmadi

       The One Who Gathers

       Orlando Zhang

       Part III

       Orlando Zhang

       Orlando Zhang

       Orlando Zhang

       The One Who Gathers

       Mahnaz Ahmadi

       Orlando Zhang

       Mahnaz Ahmadi

       Orlando Zhang

       The One Who Gathers

       Orlando Zhang

       The One Who Gathers

       Mahnaz Ahmadi

       The One Who Gathers

       Orlando Zhang

       Mahnaz Ahmadi

       The One Who Gathers

       Orlando Zhang

       Part IV

       Orlando Zhang

       Mahnaz Ahmadi

       Orlando Zhang

       The One Who Gathers

       Orlando Zhang

       Mahnaz Ahmadi

       Orlando Zhang

       The One Who Gathers

       Mahnaz Ahmadi

       The One Who Gathers

       Mahnaz Ahmadi

       Orlando Zhang

       Part V

       M

       Acknowledgments

       About the Publisher

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       ORLANDO ZHANG

      THE END OF ORY’S WORLD BEGAN WITH A DEER.

      He went outside at dawn to where the trees began, to check the game trap. Followed the trip wire, pushed away the leaves, uncovered the hidden metal cage. Empty.

      The air had already turned his hands red with cold before he’d scattered the dried twigs back into place with the nose of his shotgun. The last time there had been anything snared inside had been two weeks ago, at least. Pale orange bruised into gray around the edges of the horizon, a gangrenous dawn. He and his wife, Max, were down to just one meal now that it was too cold to catch anything—a jar of spaghetti sauce he’d found the last time he broke into an abandoned house in western Arlington. There was no delaying it any longer. Ory would have to go into the city again to scavenge for food. Go or starve.

      On the way back in, he saw it, frozen midstep in the weeds a few feet from the tree line. A deer. Its huge, dark pupils gleamed as they stared warily back, calculating. It should have dropped its antlers for the coming winter already, but they were still there, perched between its pricked ears. We’re saved, Ory thought. He raised the double-barrel Remington in silence and aimed. Then he saw.

      White steam billowed around its muzzle. The obsidian eyes blinked. It had seemed like a deer, but now he could see that it was not. Almost, but not quite. Where its bony, branchlike antlers should have been, instead a pair of small brown wings sprouted from its forehead, mottled feathers spread in the same way horns might curve.

      Max.

      Ory made for the shelter at a sprint. Inside, he scrambled to lock all the locks and re-prop the wood plank at an angle under the doorknob as fast as he could. Max was still


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