USA TODAY bestselling author Jeff Hirsch once again creates a futuristic world with stunning, dramatic realism.
A civil war rages between the Glorious Path--a militant religion based on the teachings of a former US soldier--and what's left of the US government. Fifteen-year-old Callum Roe and his younger brother, James, were captured and forced to convert six years ago. Cal has been working in the Path's dog kennels, and is very close to becoming one of the Path's deadliest secret agents. Then Cal befriends a stray dog named Bear and kills a commander who wants to train him to be a vicious attack dog. This sends Cal and Bear on the run, and sets in motion a series of incredible events that will test Cal's loyalties and end in a fierce battle that the fate of the entire country rests on. Praise for THE ELEVENTH PLAGUE:"A gripping survival drama." --USA Today"Sure to be a hit among fans of dystopias." --Booklist"An impressive story with strong characters." --Publishers Weekly Jeff Hirsch graduated from the University of California, San Diego, with an MFA in dramatic writing, and is the USA TODAY bestselling author of THE ELEVENTH PLAGUE and MAGISTERIUM. He lives in Beacon, New York, with his wife. Visit him online at www.jeff-hirsch.com. When I woke up in the examination room, I was handcuffed to the bed. My head swam as I lifted it off the pillow. My right wrist was circled in gray steel and locked to the bed rail. My left arm lay throbbing by my side, the skin swollen taut and scarlet from where Sergeant Rhames had broken my wrist with a baseball bat.The room I was in was small and sharply antiseptic. Footsteps passed quietly outside, their sound mixing with the breathy hush of air conditioning. I've done it, I thought. I'm here.I closed my eyes and thought about James, hoping that my little brother's face would be enough to get me through what came next. I pictured him back in the dorm, straightening our meager possessions into piles around our bunks. It always made me laugh, his hospital corners and tidy bustle. Sometimes I'd leave my bunk unmade just to see the obvious pleasure he took in making the place neat again. The door to my left opened and then shut with a clap. There was someone else in the room with me now. His breathing was raspy and labored. Papers rustled in his hands."You must have really pissed somebody off."I didn't move. Didn't speak."Three lacerations that required stitches, along with ten other minor cuts. Multiple bruises over your chest and arms and face. Damn near cracked your eye socket. Your left wrist is fractured. I think maybe I can put a cast on it, but I can't spare any pain meds. Your friends in the Path are to thank for that."I opened my eyes and lifted my head a painful inch off the pillow. The doctor was short, probably in his forties, with an awkward belly and thinning brownish-gray hair. He wore a white coat over a khaki T-shirt and camo pants. "Where am I?" "Ah, the dead arise. It's a miracle. What's your name?""I asked where I was.""Fine." He started writing on a clipboard. "You're Path John Doe.""I'm not Path." I said, letting my head fall back. "Not anymore.""Funny, they're not exactly known for their revolving-door policy over there."My tongue darted out over my cracked lips. "Can I have some water?""If I can have a name.""Callum Roe. Cal."Seconds later a canteen was lowered to my lips. The water slid ice-cold down my throat. I drank until I gasped and the doctor pulled it away from me. "It's okay," he said. "Take it easy. You're in the infirmary at Camp Victory. I'm Dr. Franks. One of our patrols found you out in the desert and brought you here.""I need to see your base commander." "Oh, sure," Franks said with a nervous chuckle. "He asks that I bring all supposedly ex-Path soldiers right over to his office. You know, I keep my sidearm in my desk -– maybe you'd like to take
