BEA.

The Grove is gone and in its place is a pile of black rubble and thick blankets of foam, suds, and withered trees. The debris is still smoking. It took me a couple of days to get here, using the underground stations as markers. I slept a lot, finding shelter among icy ruins. I wasn't scared. What did I have to be scared of? I walked for two days and didn't see another living soul.

And now I am at The Grove, the place I came to find refuge, and I am completely alone, with little hope of finding anyone alive.

I allow myself to cry. I have no idea where to go.

The sun rises and the black wreckage remains unchanged. I find a place to sit, where I open my flask and drink. Then I hear a voice.

"Bea."

It is so quiet, I close my eyes, afraid.

"Bea."

I turn and drop the flask.

And then he is holding me and crying into my shoulder and pulling at our masks so he can kiss me.

"Quinn," I whisper. He holds my face in his hands.

"Your parents-"

"I know," I say, and Quinn holds me again, wrapping me up in his thick coat to protect me from the snow. He rocks me back and forth.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Later we walk the perimeter of The Grove together, trying not to notice the bodies. And then a face, set deep into the rubble, blinks at me. I look away, sure my mind is playing some gruesome trick, but a moan follows and the black tree crushing the body shifts slightly. "Someone's alive!" Quinn shouts, and jumps into the debris. When he emerges, a small, soiled figure is holding his hand and stumbling toward me.

"They're heading west. Sequoia," she whispers. It's Jazz. She's alive. She's covered from head to toe in dirt, but she's alive. And so are we.

"Then that's where we're going, too," I say.

Quinn looks at me and nods. "Yes," he says.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

It takes a whole heap of people to get a book ready. Rarely can a writer work in isolation.

Sincerest thanks are due to Julia Churchill and Sarah Davies, my glorious agents, and the whole team at Greenwillow, with a special mention to Martha Mihalick, who spent countless hours working on the manuscript to get it just right.

Many thanks to Lisa Wu and Felicity Williams, who helped me create a world that works, scientifically.

Thank you to my friends and family, and especially my husband.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

SARAH CROSSAN first had the idea for Breathe when traveling in Washington State. Seeing the logging, she thought, "Don't people understand that we need trees to breathe?" And so began a book about how awful life would be if access to one of our most basic needs-air-were restricted.

Before becoming a full-time writer, Sarah Crossan taught high school English and creative writing. She lives in New Jersey.

www.sarahcrossan.com.

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