“A story that rallies your spirit and lifts your soul.”-Readers’ Favorite
“An original and compelling work of dystopian fiction.”-SPR
With America under attack from within, twelve-year-old James must fight his way to freedom while trying to hold onto his values and virtue.
“We are all given a space in life to fill, a roaring emptiness in time… and it’s how you choose to fill that void, that will determine the difference in becoming a man or a legend.”
That’s what my father said to me a few years ago before he walked out on Mom, Emily, and me. If I would have had any sense back then, I would have asked him exactly what that meant.
Instead, I’m out here learning it the hard way – dodging bullets and bombs while America is at war – my friends fighting back with all we have, while trying to keep these orphaned children safe and our dreams alive.
They call us The Risers. Well, okay… so we call ourselves “The Risers.” But either way, we’re out here doing everything we can just to survive and rise up from our nation’s ashes with honor, integrity, and justice.
Now, with smoky memories of a lost childhood, and the horrible, lingering, cardboard taste of MRE crackers (still left over from living in Dad’s bomb shelter), my mini army and me march forward, taking back what was once taken for granted.
But to be honest, I’m really just out here winging it. Wish me luck.
Targeted Age Group:: 12+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I wanted to write a book for teens that weren't into reading. Growing up, I hated to read. I'd rather be outside playing army, climbing trees, or basically doing something that I shouldn't be. Having quite the imagination, I would often imagine what my life might be like if America was at war, and I had to fight for my freedom in my own backyard. So this is for all the pre-teen, rowdy Jakes of the world who would rather have been playing army in the backyard instead of being stuck inside reading a stupid book.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
I imagined what my fictional son might be like, and let him create the story.
IT HAD BEEN NEARLY two long years since the war started. Somehow, call it fate or dumb luck, I was still alive. Or at least as alive as a thirteen-year-old kid could be in this new parentless world of burning towns and early morning machine gun fire. Now, instead of worrying about how to
talk to girls or failing geometry, I was leading a group of grimy teens and scared children to take back our country from the clutch of war.
We called ourselves The Risers. Mostly because Dad really liked Dierks Bentley and thought it was funny to blare that Riser song in my ear each morning when I wouldn't get up for school on time–and, well, I guess I thought it did sound kind of cool.
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