Author: Jennifer Wilson
Series: New World (Book 1)
Genre: YA/Dystopian
Publisher: Self Published
Release Date: Aug 14 2014
Edition/Format Available In: eBook
Blurb/Synopsis:
Since witnessing her parents’ murders at the age of eleven, Phoenix’s only purpose in life has been to uphold her mother’s dying words- to be strong and survive. But surviving outside of The Walls- outside of The Sanctuary- is more like a drawn-out death sentence. A cruel and ruthless city, Tartarus is run by the Tribes whose motto is simple, “Join or die.”
Refusing to join and determined to live, Phoenix fights to survive in this savage world. Trusting no one, she lives as a rogue, fending only for herself. Then in a moment of rash judgment, she breaks all of her rules to save a child, and in that moment her life is turned upside down. When the rescue mission goes awry, Phoenix is captured by an underground group who claims no allegiance with neither the Tribes nor The Sanctuary. She finds herself in the most dangerous game of survival she has ever played.
In her captivity, only one person- the handsome and oddly sympathetic Triven- shows Phoenix something she has never before experienced: kindness. While warring with unfamiliar emotions and still skeptical of her captors' motives, Phoenix quickly realizes that these people may just hold the key to her lost memories. But who can she trust, when no one can be trusted? Not even herself.
It was not until in her mid-teens, when a persistent friend convinced her to read the Harry Potter series, that Jennifer found her love for the written word. J.K. Rowling’s books opened doors not only to the fascinating world of a young wizard, but to a life filled with a multitude of literary friends and fantastical worlds. Once a timid reader, Jennifer now devours books and loves getting lost in a new series.
Jennifer had wanted to write her own novel since her early twenties, but unfortunately inspiration doesn’t always strike on command. Her first book, The Chosen, was completed in 2013. But as most first attempts go, it was a flop. While looking through a multitude of rejection letters, inspiration struck again, putting Grace’s story got on hold as Phoenix’s began.
New World: Rising began to fill Jennifer’s brain, flowing like a fully opened valve from her fingertips. What was once such a struggle in her early years suddenly became a passion.
When Jennifer is not writing, she is enjoying life in Colorado, rock climbing, camping, exploring new foods, playing with her golden retriever, Duke, and sharing her life with her handsome and wonderful husband.
Author Links
Author’s Other Works
New World Series
New World: Ashes Coming Soon
The Chosen Series
The Chosen Coming Soon
The Lost Coming Soon
I awoke with a start, my arms flailing outward, as the
scream caught in my throat. It only took seconds to recognize my surroundings,
to calm my racing heart. This was how I awoke every morning, every morning
since my parents died. After years I managed to restrain the scream, awakening
before it escaped my lips. Screaming in the night could get you found,
screaming during the daytime would get you killed.
I checked my father’s watch in the green light. It was
nearly three in the afternoon. There were still hours until dark. I knew I
would have to stock up more food before I left for my next refuge, but
scavenging during the daytime wasn’t an option.
Thumbing through my book collections, I felt uninspired and
bored, having already read them so many times. I thought about trying to sleep
longer but my mind was too awake. After eating a breakfast of dried apples, I
made a plan to grow my personal library. Aside from needing something else to
distract my mind, books always proved a good source of trade. Those few of us
who defied the Tribes kept to ourselves and stayed quiet. We never gathered,
nor really ever trusted one another. But when goods ran scarce, trades were not
uncommon. It was finding the right recluses to trade with that was key.
One wrong choice and you could easily find yourself with empty hands and a
knife in your back. A select few of my merchants knew how to read and those
that didn’t, never turned down good kindling.
Rifling through my few belongings, I decided to leave my
larger backpack behind. It was too heavy and often cumbersome while crawling
through the vents. I would only need a small tote big enough to carry books. My
revolver lay on the mattress in its holster. I eyed it, speculating if it was
needed. I always took it with me outside or to hunt for food, but no one ever
came in the library anymore. I had seen a few rats and the occasional wild dogs
on the floors below, but none of them ever bothered me. Instead I slid my knife
into my hip sheath and climbed up the shelves to the vent.
As always, I moved with great caution, careful to never make
a sound and always listening for others. But like usual, the building was empty.
After nearly ten minutes of crawling, I saw light shining up through the
galvanized steel. Cautiously I pressed my ear to the vent while holding my
breath.
Nothing.
I smiled and pushed open the grate before sliding out onto
the top of a bookshelf. Before descending I scanned the rows, my keen eyes
looking for any trace of movement, foreign color or moved shelving. Nothing had
changed since I was here last. Several of the books I had discarded still lay
on the floor where I had dumped them, uninterested.
Relaxing a bit, I took a deep breath. The room was massive,
filled with rows upon rows of abandoned books. It smelled like aged paper, and
earth from the destroyed floors below. I loved that smell. Soundlessly, I
climbed down the metal shelf I had perched on and headed for my favorite
sections.
First I stopped by the romance section— business first, then
pleasure. These were my least favorite kind of book. People fell into whirlwind
romance, swept up with sex and passion. I didn’t believe in love, it was a wasted
emotion that could get you killed. People did foolish things in the name of
love. While I detested these books, they were generally thick and most of my
allies didn’t care about the content as long as they burned.
I never made friends, not even with my allies. There were
those I could barter with safely, and those I couldn't, I stole from. I never
stole from the dead. Rationally it made more sense to take from the dead; after
all it wasn’t like they would be using anything anymore. But the thought made
me nauseous, reminding me too much of watching my parents’ murders. Instead I
traded with a few recluses and targeted the Tribes’ storage facilities for the
rest. I never felt guilty stealing from them.
Blindly grabbing a few thick books, I tossed them into my
bag and moved on to the educational section. I browsed the titles looking for
books on survival and warfare. After skimming their backs I took two of the
most promising titles before moving on to the fiction section. I loved this
section the most. The books here provided an escape, a place to let my mind
wander free and find friends. Not real friends, but friends I could care about
without having to commit to. Once I had opened a book and read its pages, those
characters could never be taken away from me. Even if the books were burned,
they would still live on in my mind. They couldn’t die or betray you, friends
on paper proved much more lucrative than real ones.
This section was also the largest, and after years of
perusing its shelves I had only just scratched the surface. Leisurely, I moved
through the rows looking for authors I recognized or titles that called to me.
Upon finding one of interest I would pull it from the shelf and read the back
cover or the first few pages. Anything of interest was added to my collection.
Everything else got added to the growing pile on the floor. I was so immersed
in the pages of a potential gem that I almost didn’t hear them.
Two voices were making their way toward me, speaking in
hushed tones.
“Shut up. I swear I heard something up here.”
“If I scaled that damn rope for nothing, I swear I will slit
your throat myself.”
Every muscle in my body tensed as the distinctly male voices
drifted through the aisles. Careful not to make a sound, I slipped the book
into my bag and peeked through a gap in the books. Their backs were turned to
me, the black leather of their coats splattered in red. Both men were hulking
in size, my head probably even with their chests. The taller one had a red
mohawk with feathers dangling from it. The other was bald with deep scars that
covered the entire left side of his head like angry red fissures. Both of them
had an obscene amount of metal piercings protruding from their skin. My hair
rose on end.
Ravagers.
What the hell were they doing here? Panic prickled in the
pit of my stomach. The vent leading to safety was nearly five rows over across
the aisle; there was no way to make it there without being seen. Why hadn’t I
brought my gun? I cursed myself as their eyes scanned the empty rows.
“I smell fear.” One of them taunted, his gruff voice
no longer whispering.
They cackled with delight.
I swallowed hard. Even if it was just a farce to scare me,
it was working, my pulse accelerating. Punching the other in the shoulder, the
one with the mohawk motioned for them to spilt off. My ears began to ring as
they moved to either side of my row and progressed towards me. I was trapped.
My eyes instantly searched for another route of escape or a place to hide. As
their footsteps moved closer, I began to silently climb.
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