Here is a synopsis of the book.
Five years ago, ordinary Americans fell under the grip of a strange new malady that caused them to sleepwalk across the country to a destination only they knew. The shepherds followed them on their quest, and friends and family gave up everything to protect them.
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Ouray, a small town in Colorado, would become one of the last outposts of civilization. The end of the world was preceded by the sleepwalking epidemic and the birth of a new one.
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The survivors, sleepwalkers and shepherds all have a dream of rebuilding society. Among them are a scientist who is struggling through grief to lead the town, a former police officer who wants only to look after the people she loves, and a teenage girl who became the first shepherd.
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The world the people of Ouray are building is fragile. Ed Creel is the leader of the forces of brutality and cruelty. In the heart of Ouray, the most powerful survivor of all is planning its own vision for the new world.
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Against these threats, the rest have only one hope: one another. The only way to survive the end of the world is together.
The cover design is by Carlos Beltrn and David Stevenson, and the cover art is by Michael Bryan. Continue reading for the first part of Wayward!
The Resolute desk is thelogue.
Atlas Haven is located in Atlas Haven.
America City, Kansas.
Now.
The President of the United States of America sat at his desk in a dim, octagonal room that was lit by lights. His desk was not occupied. He was not interested in books. He could not have had papers in it because what would he have to sign now? There was a pen holder with a soft trench, a flat piece of wood and a single pen. The holder was a gift from the British Prime Minister and was taken from the hull of the anti-slaver ship.
The object matched the desk itself, and its plaque explained some of its history.
H.M.S. The expedition that was sent to search for Sir John Franklin was abandoned in May 1854. She was discovered and extricated in September of 1854. The President of the United States and the people of the United States gave the ship to Her Majesty Queen Victoria as a token of goodwill and friendship. The Queen of Great Britain and Ireland presented the President of the United States with a table made from her timbers as a memorial to the courtesy and loving kindness she showed.
There were parts of that history that were missing. The Erebus and the Terror were the two ships that Sir John Franklin's expedition had set out to find. The Resolute and three other vessels became icebound in that search, and Sir Edward Belcher, a man with no experience in the area, ordered the captains of those ships to abandon their vessels even though a coming thaw would have allowed them. The embarrassment was heightened by the fact that they failed to find the lost expedition. The plaque didn't mention how Captain Buddington took the ship under the rights of salvage, but the U.S. government used it as a goodwill gesture to soothe troubled relations with England.
The Franklin expedition was not found by the United States or England. The missing sailors were found by a Canadian effort. They discovered that the men under Franklin suffered from a variety of deficiencies and diseases and died from them. Some of the men's cold, mummified remains showed knife wounds and bite marks that were consistent with cannibalism.
Many of the links were wet with blood.
As for the desk itself.
It was moved from one part of the White House to another. Some presidents preferred it to be in the Oval, while others preferred it to be out of the way. oosevelt added a panel to hide his braced legs. Some presidents forgot about it and others rediscovered it, but it was not John who found the desk hidden in storage. It was used by Eisenhower for his radio broadcasts. Johnson did not care for it. A replica of it is in Reagan's library. The first Bush kept it in the Oval for a few months. After that, it was used by every president, including the one who killed her.
The desk has become a symbol of the office's history and dignity.
The man sitting at the desk is not giving a shit about dignity. It was all good, but what did it get you? Someone else thought of dignity as how you should be acting. He believed that history was just the road behind. Why look back? America's political machine was a series of errors and studying them was both foolish and boring. The errors were not Creel's fault. Why do you scrutinize or apologize for them? You took ownership of the errors. It was not on Creel to take responsibility for someone else.
You didn't look at the steps behind you when you walked up the steps. You were on your way up. Those behind you did not deserve help. They had to run, climb, and ascend to the top of the steps.
Creel did that every day.
He knew he had to go up. On every step. Everyone who offered to make themselves a plank for his ascent was on every head, on every back. Upward and onward. All in the name of power.
The desk was brought from the White House here to Atlas Haven because he wanted it there, not because of its history. His victory was a symbol of its present. Ed Creel had won. He had ruled the world. He eliminated Hunt. He deserved this, and if he could not occupy the real White House, he would take a part in it as a trophy.
The trophy was the Resolute desk.
It didn't matter, now.
The air scrubbers made their air scrubber sound like a chatter, a hiss, and a hiss. tssssss, ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-tsssss. tssssss, ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-tsssss. The pooling stain on the desk was traced by his right hand, which looked like cherrywood and not the oak timbers of an old British ship.
The door to his office was metal and thick, and a great wheel had to be operated to open it. As the door opened, the man who entered put his hand against a panel and turned to face the wall. The room was instantly brighter as the octagonal walls erupted in light, showing a single view of the Aquinnah Cliffs overlook on Martha's Vineyard.
The illusion was not good: some of the pixels blinked and others were dead. The entire wall behind the desk was blue-screened with an error code as long as the Declaration of Independence. As the screens came on, they buzzed and clicked, as if they were chewing through a wall.
What do you want? President Creel died.
The older man was filthy at the edges of his robe. His eyes were set in the skull. Honus Clines was here. Vice President Honus Clines. There was a big smile with small teeth. From behind his back, he produced a Reebok shoe box. He had a soft Virginia accent and said, "Go on." It's open.
Creel wanted to buck at the command because he did not take commands from his subordinates. He didn't take orders from anyone because everyone was subservient to him. He told himself. It was a lie that echoed around his head so much that he almost believed it.
He undid the bow with a trembling hand.
The ribbon fell apart.
He looked at the box. At its margins. The box was blackened with blood.
He popped the top of the box.
President Creel looked inside and saw a block of clear epoxy in the center of a jeering eyeball. It was frozen in its stare.
At that point, President Creel began to laugh, a small laugh at first, but soon it became a big belly laugh, a goddamn guffaw, and those heaving guffaws gave.
At least one of his eyes. It seemed that the other would remain dry.
Wayward is a book by Chuck Wendig. Chuck Wendig's work is Copyright 2022.
Random House is a division of Penguin Random House. All rights belong to the person.
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