The 1st Wave rolled in without much fanfare. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no shock and awe. The lights just winked out.
The 1st Wave took out half a million people. The 2nd Wave put that number to shame.
The 3rd Wave? That took a little longer—twelve weeks. Twelve weeks to kill…well, Dad figured 97 percent of those of us unlucky enough to have survived the first two waves. Ninety-seven percent of four billion? You do the math.
In the 4th Wave, you can’t trust that people are still people. But you can trust that your gun is still your gun.
Maybe that will be the 5th Wave, attacking us from the inside, turning our own minds into weapons. Maybe the last human being on Earth won’t die of starvation or exposure or as a meal for wild animals. Maybe the last one to die will be killed by the last one alive.
I’m supposed to marry Prince Joffrey, I love him, and I’m meant to be his queen and have his babies. He’ll be the greatest king that ever was, a golden lion, and I’ll give him sons with beautiful blonde hair.