Connor, Lev, and Risa deal with the fallout of their rebellion in this riveting second book in the suspenseful, New York Times bestselling Unwind Dystology series by Neal Shusterman. Thanks to Connor, Lev, and Risa—and their high-profile revolt at Happy Jack Harvest Camp—people can no longer turn a blind eye to unwinding. Ridding society of troublesome teens while simultaneously providing much-needed organs for transplant might be convenient, but its morality has finally been brought into question. But unwinding is a big business, and there are powerful political and corporate interests that want to see it not only continue, but also expand to the unwinding of prisoners and the impoverished. And the minds behind unwinding have already begun pushing its boundaries. Cam is the first “rewound,” a futuristic Frankenstein’s monster who does not technically exist and is made entirely out of unwinds’ body parts. He struggles with his identity and the question of whether he has a soul. And when the actions of a sadistic bounty hunter inextricably bind Cam’s fate with the those of Connor, Risa, and Lev, Cam comes to question humanity itself. Product DetailsISBN-13: 9781442423664 Media Type: Hardcover Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books For Young Readers Publication Date: 08-28-2012 Pages: 416 Product Dimensions: 6.00(w) x 8.32(h) x 1.34(d) Age Range: 12 - 17 Years Series: Unwind Dystology Series #2About the Author Neal Shusterman is the New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty award-winning books for children, teens, and adults, including the Unwind dystology, the Skinjacker trilogy, Downsiders, and Challenger Deep, which won the National Book Award. Scythe, the first book in his series Arc of a Scythe is a Michael L. Printz Honor Book. He also writes screenplays for motion pictures and television shows. Neal is the father of four, all of whom are talented writers and artists themselves. Visit Neal at StoryMan.com and Facebook.com/NealShusterman.Read an Excerpt Read an Excerpt Chapter 1: Starkey He’s fighting a nightmare when they come for him. A great flood is swallowing the world, and in the middle of it all, he’s being mauled by a bear. He’s more annoyed than terrified. As if the flood isn’t enough, his deep, dark mind has to send an angry grizzly to tear into him. Then he’s dragged feetfirst out of the jaws of death and drowning Armageddon. “Up! Now! Let’s go!” He opens his eyes to a brightly lit bedroom that ought to be dark. Two Juvey-cops manhandle him, grabbing his arms, preventing him from fighting back long before he’s awake enough to try. “No! Stop! What is this?” Handcuffs. First his right wrist, then his left. “On your feet!” They yank him to his feet as if he’s resisting—which he would, if he were more awake. “Leave me alone! What’s going on?” But in an instant he’s awake enough to know exactly what’s going on. It’s a kidnapping. But you can’t call it kidnapping when transfer papers have been signed in triplicate. “Verbally confirm that you are Mason Michael Starkey.” There are two officers. One is short and muscular, the other tall and muscular. Probably military boeufs before they took jobs as Juvey-rounders. It takes a special heartless breed to be a Juvey-cop, but to specialize as a rounder you probably need to be soulless as well. The fact that he’s being rounded for unwinding shocks and terrifies Starkey, but he refuses to show it, because he knows Juvey-rounders get off on other people’s fear. The short one, who is clearly the mouthpiece of this duo, gets in his face and repeats, “Verbally confirm that you are Mason Michael Starkey!” “And why should I do that?” “Kid,” says the other rounder, “this can go down easy or hard, but either way it’s going down.” The second cop is more soft spoken with a pair of lips that clearly aren’t his. In fact, they look like they came from a girl. “The drill’s not so hard, so just get with the program.” He talks as if Starkey should have known they were coming, but what Unwind ever really knows? Every Unwind believes in their heart of hearts that it won’t happen to them—that their parents, no matter how strained things get, will be smart enough not to fall for the net ads, TV commercials, and billboards that say things like “Unwinding: the sensible solution.” But who is he kidding? Even without the constant media blitz, Starkey’s been a potential candidate for unwinding since the moment he arrived on the doorstep. Perhaps he should be surprised that his parents waited so long. Now the mouthpiece gets deep in his personal space. “For the last time, verbally confirm that you are—” “Yeah, yeah, Mason Michael Starkey. Now get out of my face, your breath stinks.” With his identity verbally confirmed, Lady-Lips pulls out a form in triplicate: white, yellow, and pink. “So is this how you do it?” Starkey asks, his voice beginning to quaver. “You arrest me? What’s my crime? Being sixteen? Or maybe it’s just being here at all.” “Quiet-or-we-tranq-you,” says Mouthpiece, like it’s all one word. A part of Starkey wants to be tranq’d—just go to sleep and if he’s lucky, never wake up. That way he won’t have to face the utter humiliation of being torn from his life in the middle of the night. But no, he wants to see his parents’ faces. Or, more to the point, he wants them to see his face, and if he’s tranq’d, they get off easy. They won’t have to look him in the eye. Lady-Lips holds the unwind order in front of him and begins to read the infamous Paragraph Nine, the “Negation Clause.” “Mason Michael Starkey, by the signing of this order, your parents and/or legal guardians have retroactively terminated your tenure, backdated to six days postconception, leaving you in violation of Existential Code 390. In light of this, you are hereby remanded to the California Juvenile Authority for summary division, also known as unwinding.” “Blah, blah, blah.” “Any rights previously granted to you by the county, state, or federal government as a citizen thereof are now officially and permanently revoked.” He folds the unwind order and shoves it into his pocket. “Congratulations, Mr. Starkey,” says Mouthpiece. “You no longer exist.” “Then why are you talking to me?” “We won’t be for much longer.” They tug him toward the door. “Can I at least put on shoes?” They let him go but stay on their guard. Starkey takes his sweet time tying his shoes. Then they pull him out of his room and down the stairs. The Juvey-cops have heavy boots that intimidate the wood of the steps. The three of them sound like a herd of cattle as they go down. His parents wait in the foyer. It’s three in the morning, but they’re still fully dressed. They’ve been awake all night anticipating this. Starkey sees anguish on their faces, or maybe it’s relief, it’s hard to tell. He hardens his own emotions, hiding them behind a mock smile. “Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!” he says brightly. “Guess what just happened to me? I’ll give you twenty guesses to figure it out!” His father takes a deep breath, preparing to launch into the Great Unwinding Speech that every parent prepares for a wayward child. Even if they never use it, they still prepare it, running the words through their minds while on lunch break, or while sitting in traffic, or while listening to some moronic boss blather on about price points and distribution, and whatever other crap that people in office buildings have meetings about. What were the statistics? Starkey saw it on the news once. Every year the thought of unwinding passes through the mind of one in ten parents. Of those, one in ten seriously considers it, and of those, one in twenty actually goes through with it—and the statistic doubles with every additional kid a family has. Crunch those juicy numbers, and one out of every two thousand kids between the ages of thirteen and seventeen will be unwound each year. Better odds than the lottery—and that doesn’t even include the kids in state homes. His father, keeping his distance, begins the speech. “Mason, can’t you see that you left us no choice?” The Juvey-cops hold him firm at the bottom of the stairs, but they make no move to get him outside. They know they must allow the parental rite of passage; the verbal boot out the door. “The fights, the drugs, the stolen car—and now being expelled from yet another school. What’s next, Mason?” “Gee, I don’t know, Dad. There are so many bad choices I can make.” “Not anymore. We care enough about you to end your bad choices before they end you.” That just makes him laugh out loud. And then there’s a voice from the top of the stairs. “No! You can’t do this!” His sister, Jenna—his parents’ biological daughter—stands at the top of the stairs in teddy bear pajamas that seem too old for her thirteen years. “Go back to bed, Jenna,” their mother says. “You’re unwinding him just because he was storked, and that’s unfair! And right before Christmas, too! What if I had come storked? Would you unwind me also?” “We are not having this discussion!” yells their father, as their mother begins to cry. “Go back to bed!” But she doesn’t. She folds her arms and sits at the top of the stairs in defiance, witnessing the whole thing. Good for her. His mother’s tears are genuine, but he’s unsure whether she’s crying for him or for the rest of the family. “All these things you do, everyone told us they were a cry for help,” she says. “So why didn’t you let us help you?” He wants to scream. How could he possibly explain it to them if they can’t see? They don’t know what it’s like to go through sixteen years of life knowing you weren’t wanted; a mystery baby of uncertain race storked on the doorstep of a couple so sienna-pale, they could have been vampires. Or to still remember that day when you were three years old and your mom, all doped up on pain medication from your sister’s cesarean delivery, took you to a fire station and begged them to take you away and make you a ward of the state. Or how about knowing every Christmas morning that you