Blood Red Road (Dustlands #1)

20 Jun

By: Moira Young

Silverlake, really no good point in callin it that no more. It’s turned into a dust wasteland, where everyone leaves, essept Saba, Lugh, Emmi, and their Pa. Wreckers left nothin for the generation behind them, nothin but a cruel world and landfills. Saba don’t complain, as long as Lugh is with her, the world goes on. One day after a storm though, 4 men in long black cloaks ridin on horses take Lugh and Kill their Pa. Leavin Saba, stuck with Emmi (her little sister that she blames for the death of her Ma and hates her). They set off to find Lugh, but learn that the world is so much more awful outside of Silverlake. Kidknapped and turned into a cage fighter, Saba learns that she can actually live on as a strong, fierce, survivor as she meets some new friends in some unusual ways. Teaming up with the what she calls a sly snake of a man, Jack. Will she ever find Lugh? Will she an Emmi make it out alive.

In my opinion, this is almost as good as the Hunger Games and I can’t wait for the next book to come out. This book baffled me at first. The layout and text were not written in the traditional way. I found that I loved it though. Young writes this book so well, and I picked up on who Saba was within the first few pages. She writes with a great accent that has me speaking with it every day. I can’t stop thinking about the great ending but wish there was more to it. I would have kept reading this book forever. I plan to read it again the near future. If this book had about 600 pages I might be satisfied then. I really wanted to read more and more. I guess that was the writes goal though. I highly recommend this book though!

PREVIEW: The call me the Angel of Death. That’s because I ain’t never lost a fight. Every time the take me in that cage, I let the red hot take me over and it fights till it wins.

If it’s the third unlucky time fer a girl that’s jest bin beat, I turn my back so’s I don’t don’t hafta see her run the gauntlet. I cain’t help hearin, though. The baying of the chaal-crazy crowd, like a pack closin in on their kill.

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