By Johan Harstad
It's been many years in view that a person set foot at the moon. Now 3 traditional youngsters, the winners of NASA's exceptional, world wide lottery, are approximately to develop into the 1st kids in space--and swap their lives forever.
Mia, from Norway, hopes this may be her punk band's price ticket to repute and fortune.
Midori believes it's her method out of her constrained lifestyles in Japan.
Antoine, from France, simply desires to get as distant from his ex-girlfriend as possible.
It's the potential of a life-time, yet little do the teens recognize that whatever sinister is looking forward to them at the desolate floor of the moon. And within the black vacuum of space... not anyone is coming to avoid wasting them.
In this chilling event set within the so much brutal panorama recognized to guy, hugely acclaimed Norwegian novelist Johan Harstad creates a shiny and scary international of probabilities we will simply desire by no means come actual
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Extra resources for 172 Hours on the Moon
I wish I could escape. Not just for the night. Forever. I want to leave. But there is nowhere to go. Aboveground? Never. It is poisoned, decimated. I have no choice. No one does. But no one else seems to care. No one else fights these emotions. Not that I can tell, anyway. Maybe they are hiding their feelings like I am hiding mine. Maybe there are more people like me. I think of Berk’s eyes, his whispered words. He feels things, I know it. He helped me return to the pod when he should have turned me in to the Monitors.
I play until my arms refuse to hold the violin. Against my will, I lay it back down and return to my sleeping platform. The food is cold, but I have never had a meal that tasted better. The reality of my situation hits me. I was unconscious for a week. I was going to be annihilated. Berk rescued me by turning me into a science project. I finish my meal and stand, my legs feeling stronger. I am lonely. I miss Rhen. I never thought about how much we talked until now, when I have no one to talk to.
John’s comforting hand is gone. Was it even there to begin with? Perhaps John was a hallucination, a result of whatever pharmaceuticals were pumped into my body through the syringe. The door opens. Footsteps stop just a few feet from my sleeping platform. I keep my eyes closed. I am sure I will learn more if they believe I am still asleep. ” My heart begins to race. Berk. ” Berk seems to stutter at the word anomaly. Or maybe that is just my imagination as well. It is hard to know what is real and what is not anymore.