by Jan Gangsei
A cold silence filled the cabin. Karl unhitched his seat belt and positioned himself behind Michael, leaning over his shoulder. The warm breath on Michael’s neck felt like a hand, squeezing the life right out of him. He didn’t dare move.
“I see,” Karl said, taking in the display on the screen. “That is unfortunate.”
Michael tried to remain calm, but every nerve ending in his body was firing at once. Sweat beaded off his forehead. His tongue felt like sandpaper on the roof of his mouth. He didn’t know how Father would punish him, but he knew it would be harsh. For a moment, he wished for the sting of the belt. At least pain could be managed. Pain was finite, with a beginning and an end. Michael knew whatever Father did to him now would not be. And he was completely and utterly alone, in this tin can hurtling through the sky, with no place to hide.
Karl sat back down in silence. He was still in the tattered clothing of a vagrant—torn jeans, ill-fitting T-shirt, grungy pea-green overcoat—that he’d been wearing on the Mall tonight. His hair was wild and disheveled. Michael shuddered as his father reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone, eyes narrowed into slits, not saying a word as he typed out a message.
Addie sat in the back of the ambulance, head resting on Darrow’s shoulder. His white shirt was damp from the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. She had spent so long telling herself she needed no one, and it felt good—terrifying, but good—to let Darrow hold her like this. To let herself just be human. She still couldn’t believe Darrow had gotten the program away from Michael. As soon as she got home she would destroy it, make sure it could never be a threat to anyone again.
She heard the sound of sirens growing louder. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the president’s motorcade approaching at full speed. Reflexively, her entire body stiffened. Darrow stroked her hair.
“It’s okay, Ad,” he whispered. “It’s just your mom and dad. It’s over. They’re here to take you home.”
Addie wanted to believe him. She wanted so badly to believe that this was the end. That the good always outweighed the bad; evil never won. But Addie knew better. Even before she’d been taken—even when she was just a child, sitting in the playroom knee-to-knee with Darrow, a Connect Four grid perched between them—Addie had already understood one simple fact. The game was never over.
There was always another move.
At least now, she had something she thought she’d lost forever: hope. A deep, long-forgotten reserve of hope had inexplicably welled up in her chest. Hope that she did have a future—imperfect and shattered, but still hers for the taking.
The motorcade screeched to a halt at the base of the museum steps. Addie heard car doors opening and slamming shut, followed by the shouts of her parents calling her name. She knew she should go. But she stayed right where she was, letting herself enjoy the warmth of Darrow’s embrace for just one moment longer. Just for tonight, she’d let herself believe in fairy-tale endings.
In the corner of the ambulance, hidden beneath Addie’s seat, the screen on her phone lit up. A message flashed across, lasting exactly five seconds before burning out and disappearing again:
You have been warned.
My heartfelt thanks to both of these amazing women, without whom this book wouldn’t exist: my agent, Sarah Davies, and editor, Laura Schreiber. Sarah, you are more than a seller of books—you are a cultivator of dreams, a mentor, a friend, and an inspiration. I am honored to be one of the seedlings in your Greenhouse. Laura, thank you for the opportunity to tell Addie’s story. It has been a thrill to work with you (and after countless brainstorming sessions and revision notes, I am convinced you are a secret graduate of the Hogwarts School of Story Wizardry). A huge shout-out to the rest of the incredibly talented team at Hyperion: cover designer Tyler Nevins, copy editor Anna Leuchtenberger, School and Library Marketing Director Dina Sherman, and everyone else who helped make this book a reality and get it into the hands of readers. Thank you!
Hugs, love, and thanks to my friends across the globe, who have supported and encouraged me every step of the way: my lifelong Vermont friends, the kids I grew up with in Barre (Go, Tide, Go!); my Key West, D.C. metro, and Northern Virginia buddies; the McLendon Court Moms and Barrington Babes. There are too many of you to name (a problem for which I’m extremely grateful), but I hope you know who you are and how much you mean to me. Also, a shout-out to my writer friends at Greenhouse, the Mixed-Up Files, and across the Twitterverse. Thanks for reading my work, supporting me (and keeping me sane during this wild publishing ride).
Finally, my undying love and gratitude to my family, who know me better than anyone (and still manage to like me anyway). Thank you to my husband, Ted, for the love, support, encouragement—and most of all, for Sven and Ava, the lights of my life. It’s been one big adventure, but I’m so glad we’re all in it together! To my mom, Winnie, thanks for always telling me I could do anything I set my mind to. Because of you, I did. To my brother, Greg—thanks for being my first best friend, for all of the late-night philosophical discussions, and always having my back. I’m sorry about the milk-shake races. A huge hug for my sister-in-law, Monica, and my beautiful nieces Fiona, Mattea, and Celia. For my stepmother, Bev—thank you for always loving me like your own. I’m so glad you are part of my life. And to my in-laws, David and Helen—thank you for raising such a wonderful son.
Last, but most certainly not least—my endless thanks to my dad, Barry, with whom I shared a love of politics, a sense of humor, and a wicked addiction to spy mysteries and thrillers. Your life—and grace and courage until the very end—taught me to appreciate the beauty in every day, to never give up, and to live with purpose, not regrets. You are my hero, always.
JAN GANGSEI lives in Washington, D.C., with her family. She has a degree in political science and is a former newspaper reporter covering both politics and the police beat. Zero Day is her first novel.