Gated: Extended Book Teaser

By Amy Christine Parker

A fast-paced, nerve-fraying contemporary thriller that questions loyalties and twists truths. Read the first seven chapters for FREE in this extended book teaser that includes a letter from Amy Christine Parker!
 
Appearances can be deceiving.
 
In the Community, life seems perfect. After the 9/11 terrorist attacks, Pioneer invited Lyla’s family to join his group and escape the evil in the world. They were happy to be chosen, happy to move away from New York and start over in such an idyllic gated community. Now seventeen, Lyla knows that Pioneer is more than just their charismatic leader, he is their prophet . . . but his visions have grown dark.
 
Lyla is a loyal member of the Community, but a chance encounter with an outsider boy has her questioning Pioneer, the Community—everything. And if there’s one thing not allowed in the Community, it’s doubt. Her family and friends are certain in their belief. Lyla wishes she could feel the same. As Pioneer begins to manipulate his flock toward disaster, the question remains: Will Lyla follow them over the edge?
 
From the outside looking in, it’s hard to understand why anyone would join a cult. But Gated tells the story of the Community from the inside looking out, and from behind the gates things are not quite so simple. Amy Christine Parker’s beautiful writing creates a chilling, utterly unique YA story. Perfect for fans of creepy thrillers and contemporary fiction alike.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
• Release date: Nov 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9780385390798

Book preview

The good in this world, what little of it that remains, is worth protecting by whatever means necessary. We can’t be afraid to stand up and defend it.

—Pioneer, leader of the Community

Shoot to kill this time, okay? Will winks and pushes me into the tall corn as we walk through the field to the gun range. I push him back and he laughs. The sky is a perfect cloudless blue and the air is hot from the summer sun. It’s a day meant for picnics, not pre-end-of-the-world target practice.

But that’s why I have you, I say. I fiddle with the leather strap attached to my rifle, sliding it back and forth across my shoulder until it rests comfortably in the crook of my neck. Turning my face up to his, I’m sure that I’ll see his lips curl into a smile at my routine grumbling, but instead he’s frowning.

What if I’m not with you when we’re attacked? You can’t assume someone else will pull the trigger for you all the time. His hand tugs absently at his ear, a sure sign that he’s not joking anymore.

I swallow back my answer and look out past the corn to the prairie beyond. The unspoken words drop into my stomach, making it hurt. The gun range is up ahead. Marie and Brian are already there. The popping sounds of their guns carry over the cornfield, punctuating the sudden awkwardness between Will and me.

I’m just saying that maybe it’s time you took all of this seriously. Will reaches out for my non-gun-toting hand. I hesitate, my fingers twitching in the air. He dips his head and gives me a sidelong smile.

I know he means well. He always means well. He cares about me. I am the problem. Exactly three months until the end of the world and I still can’t muster up the proper response. I pull in a long breath, glad for the abundance of air around me. Thinking about the end of things always makes me feel like I’m suffocating.

Will chases after my hand with his own until he snares it. He laces his long fingers through mine. I worry about you, Lyla. I can’t be with you every second, even once we’re in the shelter. I just want to know you’ll do what you have to to survive.

I can’t keep a sigh from escaping. We’ve had this conversation so many times. It’s intensifying now because of the target shooting. This is only our fifth time out on the range, and his pestering is reaching epic proportions.

Come on, I finally say, like he’s the one who’s holding us up. He squeezes my hand lightly. We walk the last few yards to the open grass and the gun range. I fish my earplugs out of my pocket and stuff them in my ears before Will can say anything more. He leans down, his lanky frame casting a shadow over my face. He’s like a barometer—constantly measuring my moods and reporting them back to me in his expressions. His stonewashed-blue eyes are troubled and his freckled nose is crinkled with concern. This means that he thinks that I’m overly anxious. I want to reassure him, if only to get him to look away, but it’s as if clouds have suddenly formed and gathered over my head.

Brian’s standing behind Marie, his face buried in her dark curls. He’s gently guiding her rifle to her cheek for what I’m sure is the hundredth time. Together they aim her gun at the large collection of hay bales across from them. Each hay bale has a life-sized cutout of a person bound to its front. They’re aiming at a woman. It’s a silhouette, but still it makes my skin tingle when the gun goes off and I see a piece of the plywood lady’s chest fly out into the grass. Marie grins at us and her cheeks flush pink.

Did you see that? she asks. I can’t exactly hear past my earplugs, but I don’t need to. She says the same thing every time she manages to land a shot. I paste a smile on my face and walk toward them and out of Will’s shadow.

Nice! I holler back. I take my usual spot in the grass, across from the hay bale with the man cutout. I’m pretty sure this makes me sexist, but the man target is the only one I can stomach shooting. I lower the rifle from my shoulder and try to psych myself up.

Not enough room for everyone. We can’t take them all. They had their chance. We have to protect ours.

I play this litany over and over in my head, hoping that somehow it will make my heart understand. It didn’t work the last time and I don’t hold out much hope for this time either. How can I take someone’s life when he’s just scared and looking for help, even if it saves my own?

I glance over at Will. He’s shooting at two plywood cutouts: a man and a woman. His rifle is tucked into the space between his chest and his shoulder, and his cheek is welded to the gun’s stock. He keeps both eyes open, lines up his sights. There’s no hesitation once he gets the sights level. The rifle jumps as he takes the shot and the plywood man’s head flies backward. His featureless face searches the sky. Will readjusts and shoots the plywood woman in almost the exact same spot. Her head stays upright, but it’s missing its rounded top. He smiles as he lowers his gun and looks at me.

I turn back to my own hay bale and the silent man-board waiting there for me. I pull my rifle up into position and ready my stance. I can feel the others watching me, hoping that for once I’ll shoot one of the mandatory targets: head or heart. My bangs are plastered to my forehead and sweat tickles my back