The Forest of Hands and Teeth

Carrie Ryan

Language: English

Pages: 336

ISBN: 0385736827

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

In Mary's world there are simple truths.
   The Sisterhood always knows best.
   The Guardians will protect and serve.
   The Unconsecrated will never relent.
   And you must always mind the fence that surrounds the village; the fence that protects the village from the Forest of Hands and Teeth.
   But, slowly, Mary’s truths are failing her. She’s learning things she never wanted to know about the Sisterhood and its secrets, and the Guardians and their power. And, when the fence is breached and her world is thrown into chaos, about the Unconsecrated and their relentlessness.
   Now, she must choose between her village and her future, between the one she loves and the one who loves her. And she must face the truth about the Forest of Hands and Teeth. Could there be life outside a world surrounded in so much death?

[STAR] "A bleak but gripping story...Poignant and powerful."-Publishers Weekly, Starred

"A postapocalyptic romance of the first order, elegantly written from title to last line."-Scott Westerfeld, author of the Uglies series and Leviathan

"Intelligent, dark, and bewitching, The Forest of Hands and Teeth transitions effortlessly between horror and beauty. Mary's world is one that readers will not soon forget."-Cassandra Clare, bestselling author of City of Bones

"Opening The Forest of Hands and Teeth is like cracking Pandora's box: a blur of darkness and a precious bit of hope pour out. This is a beautifully crafted, page-turning, powerful novel. I thoroughly enjoyed it."-Melissa Marr, bestselling author of Wicked Lovely and Ink Exchange

"Dark and sexy and scary. Only one of the Unconsecrated could put this book down."-Justine Larbalestier, author of How to Ditch Your Fairy

From the Hardcover edition.

Mogadishu of the Dead (Arisen, Book 2)

Dark Grid: When The Lights Go Out...Permanently.

The Carhullan Army

Aftermath (The Remaining, Book 2)



















The bridge is still there, over the top of the falls, but there’s a gate at the end and nothing beyond. ” I think of our gate, of how the rain masked the sound of the waterfall until we were right up on it. Of how dark the night was, how impossible it was to see past your own body. How we were so focused on the Unconsecrated and escape. I shudder to think that we were that close. That there had once been a path but that we had fallen off track in the slippery darkness. “Folks don’t like to talk about those things,” he says.

I like the sound of his voice. Its depth, its tone. It reminds me of Travis, melts into my memory of Travis’s voice, of the way the words slipped from his lips. “I live in the lighthouse up there,” he says, pointing up the hill past the sand to a tall tower painted with slanted black stripes. “My job after the storms is to come decapitate all the ones that wash up so they can’t get into the town. ” I look around me. At all the bodies of the Unconsecrated littering the beach. “So much carnage,” I say.

His gaze lingers on me last, as if he’s sending out a silent plea for help. As if somehow I know what to do. “The paths are marked,” I finally say, looking down at my hands. “Down at the bottom, where they split. There is a bar of metal that’s inscribed with letters. There were the same letters on the gate from our village. The same on the trunk we found. ” Harry’s eyes widen and then he wrenches free of Cass and kneels at the point where the paths split and pushes aside the overgrown grass until he finds the little metal tag.

Is it easier on the other side? ” I ask her, still tracing her pinky with my own fingers. She tries to grab my hand, but hers is too mangled for such dexterity. She’s barely taller than I am, with a similar build. In another time we could have been mistaken for sisters, though her nose, once long and straight, is now crooked with the bone piercing through at the bridge. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. So badly do I want to believe that she can hear me. That she can understand. But she keeps clawing and as the sun slides down the sky, I continue to cry heavy tears.

So much that it seemed you were never supposed to have been born. ” Any sympathy I may have had for Sister Tabitha shatters; the sound of my mother’s moans the day she turned comes screaming into my ears. It washes over me until I feel nauseated and unable to stay in this room, to be near this woman. But still I stand my ground, unwilling to let her see the effect she’s had on me. She walks back over to the table and lays her hands on the Scripture. Then she comes to stand before me. Her eyes meet mine as she reaches down and grasps my right hand.

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