Read "The Complete Article 5 Trilogy (Article 5, Breaking Point, Three)" by Kristen Simmons available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first. In Kristen Simmons's Article 5, New York, Los Angeles, and Washington, D.C., have been wm-greece.info Bill of Rights has been revoked and replaced with the . Article 5 has 10 entries in the series. Article 5. Article 5 (Series). Book 1. Kristen Simmons Author Jenny Ikeda Narrator (). cover image of Article 5.
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Enjoy this excerpt from Article 5 by Kristen Simmons, out January New York, Los Angeles, and Washington, D.C., have been abandoned. Ember Miller and Chase Jennings are ready to stop running. After weeks spent in hiding as two of the Bureau of Reformation's most wanted criminals, they have. That is, until her mother is arrested for noncompliance with Article 5 of the Moral Statutes. And what's worse, one of the arresting officers is none other than.
That life in the United States used to be different. Ember has perfected the art of keeping a low profile. She knows how to get the things she needs, like food stamps and hand-me-down clothes, and how to pass the random home inspections by the military.
Her life is as close to peaceful as circumstances allow. That is, until her mother is arrested for noncompliance with Article 5 of the Moral Statutes. And one of the arresting officers is none other than Chase Jennings BETH and Ryan were holding hands. It was enough to risk a formal citation for indecency, and they knew better, but I didn't say anything.
This book is a must have for all Young Adult collections.
Alongside a fierce depiction of oppressive government, Simmons has created a bleak portrait of an America lost. I could hardly put it down. Ember Miller and Chase Jennings can be my post-apocalyptic wingmen anytime. Desperate, struggling humanity in the face of state-sponsored tyranny. This book was engrossing, unpredictable and thoroughly REAL.
Loved it. Read the full review here. A true dystopian force. People even turned in their homework on time. Everyone was scared their teacher would report them to the MM.
As we turned up my empty driveway, I glanced next door. The bushes had overgrown so much that they connected over the concrete steps. Long, fragile cobwebs sagged from the overhang. It looked haunted. In a way, it was. That had been his house. The house of the boy I loved. Deliberately, I looked away and climbed our front porch stairs to let my friends inside. My mother was sitting on the couch.
What I did mind was that she was reading a paperback with a half-naked pirate on the cover. That stuff was illegal now. Hi, baby. Hi, kids, my mother said, hardly moving. I kept my mouth shut about the book, even though I probably should have told her not to bring that stuff home.
It obviously made her happy, and it was better than her reading it on the porch, like she sometimes did when feeling particularly mutinous. Hi, Mom. She kissed me noisily on the cheek, then hugged my friends at the same time before releasing us to our homework.
We pulled out our big heavy books and began deciphering the mechanical world of precalculus. It was horrid work—I detested math—but Beth and I had made a pact not to drop.
Smiling sympathetically at my expression, my mother patted my head and offered to make us all hot chocolate. After a few minutes of frustration, I followed her into the kitchen. I filled a glass from the sink and poured it into the pot. Bad day? She spooned the chocolate powder into four mugs from a blue canister with a picture of a sunrise on the front. Horizons brand food was government owned, and all we could get with our meal rations.
I leaned against the counter and scuffed my heel against the floor, still thinking about the two new abductees, the contraband. The empty house next door.
She hated when I got on her back about the rules. She could be sort of reactive sometimes. How was work? I changed the subject. It made her feel better. I just nodded and soon was smiling. Her enthusiasm was infectious. By the time the teakettle whistled, I felt much better.
She was reaching for the mugs when someone knocked on the door. I went to answer it, thinking that it was probably Mrs. Crowley from across the street, stopping by to visit my mother like she did every day.
She was kneeling on the couch, her hand on the curtain. The color had drained from her already-fair complexion. But it was too late. My mom unlatched the dead bolt and opened the door. Two Moral Militia soldiers stood on our front steps. They were in full uniform: navy blue flak jackets with large wooden buttons, and matching pants that bloused into shiny boots.
The most recognized insignia in the country, the American flag flying over a cross, was painted on their breast pockets, just above the initials FBR.
Each of them had a standard-issue black baton, a radio, and a gun on his belt. One of the soldiers had short brown hair that grayed around his temples, and wrinkles around the corners of his mouth that made him appear too old for his age. His narrow companion brushed at his tawny mustache impatiently. I sagged in disappointment. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had hoped that one of them was him.
It was a fleeting moment of weakness whenever I saw a uniform, and I kicked myself for it. Lori Whittman?
The first soldier asked, without looking her in the face. Yes, my mother replied slowly. I need to see some ID. Is there a problem? Beth came up close behind me, and I could feel Ryan beside her. My mother pulled away from the door without inviting them in. I blocked the threshold, trying not to look as small as I felt. I could not let them search the house; we had too much contraband out to avoid a citation.
I tilted my head subtly to Beth, and she meandered back to the couch, stuffing the romance novel my mother had been reading beneath the cushions. My mind raced through the other things she had: more inappropriate paperbacks, old magazines from before the War, a home manicure kit. Everything had been left out. A burning ignited in my chest, like the flicker of a lighter. And then I could hear my heart, thudding against my ribs. It startled me.
Bateman tried to look past me, but I blocked his view. His brow lifted in judgment, and my blood boiled.