By Joelle Anthony
The 12 months is 2041, and sixteen-year-old Molly McClure has lived a comparatively quiet existence on an remoted farming island in Canada, but if her family members fears the worst could have occurred to her grandparents within the US, Molly needs to courageous the harmful, chaotic international left after international fiscal collapse—one of big oil shortages, rampant crime, and deserted towns. Molly is relieved to discover her grandparents alive of their Portland suburb, yet they’re financially ruined and virtually ravenous. What should’ve been a brief journey becomes a full-fledged rescue challenge. And whilst Molly witnesses anything the neighborhood crime bosses needs she hadn’t, Molly’s simply method domestic could be to overcome them at their very own video game. fortunately, there’s a good-looking stranger who’s prepared to assist. Restoring concord is a riveting, fast paced dystopian story entire with event and romance that readers will eat.
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Additional resources for Restoring Harmony
My sister, Katie, brought Mom strawberry shortcake, but she pushed it away untouched. James, my older brother, who claimed he was her favorite (although none of the rest of us believed it), tried cheering her up in the evenings on CyberSpeak. He was working in the Okanagan Valley on the mainland for the summer, and he told her silly stories about his days in the vineyards, but she didn’t even crack a smile. Little Jackie even brought in a kitten from the barn to perch on her pregnant belly, but nothing helped.
We’re kind of insulated from the rest of the world because they cut back ferry service years before the Collapse. ” Jane asked. ” She laughed. “It’s an old term, like soup kitchens. ” “Oh, we have poor people on the island, but the church makes sure they have enough to eat. ” Jane asked, surprised. ” “After the Collapse, the big boats couldn’t get any fuel,” I explained. “So they stopped fishing. It’ll never be like it was because of all the pollution, but the fish have come back in surprising numbers.
My dad had told me to buy a ticket from one of the machines before I boarded. I saw a big dispenser with cracked red buttons and a little screen. The entire thing was covered with graffiti. There was a spot to put money in, but a strip of metal had been screwed over the top of it so you couldn’t use it. A guy with sandy hair and a sunburned nose stood leaning against the machine, watching me. I pushed a button just to see if maybe the screen would light up, but nothing happened. “Those machines haven’t worked since the Collapse,” he said.