The Variables

“I’m hungry,” Monroe said. “When can we eat?”

“I’m cold,” Malcolm answered.

“Shhhh,” Maxine replied. “I know, sweeties, but we’re doing the best we can right now. We’ll stop when we can. Just let Lucy drive.”

“Here,” Galen said and he reached into his backpack. He pulled up some granola bars and an apple. He handed them to the backseat. “I just brought food,” he admitted. The twins opened up the bars; the wrappers crinkled.

“Where are we going?” Galen asked a few miles later.

Lucy kept her eyes on the road, “I guess that’s the only thing I know the answer to right now,” she said. Then she reached out and took her brother’s hand. “We’re going to Ethan and Grant.” She drummed the fingers of her left hand on the steering wheel and broke out into a huge smile. “There’s a little cabin at the foot of the mountains and it overlooks this lake. It’s away from all the death…like a little bubble of peacefulness that escaped destruction. And there are places for everyone and a room with a fireplace and a piano. It’s beautiful and it’s safe.” She paused—her eyes focused straight ahead, only seeing as far as the headlight beams in front of her. Then she looked over at Galen and back in the rearview mirror. “We’re going home,” she said. “Home. Together.”

THE END

Author’s Note

The inclusion of an author’s note is sometimes an a

So, I give you permission to skip this. (Not like you need my permission, because, truly, you—the reader—have all the power.)

Many people already know the story of how Virulent came to be. A ninth grade student in a pullout class for reluctant readers was unsurprisingly reluctant to read any book I peddled in front of him. Discouraged and out of options, I promised him that I would write the book he wanted to read. Sliding a piece of paper in front of him, I had him craft a list. His list was brief. He wanted: the apocalypse, death, destruction, bad guys with backstories, zombies, and he most definitely didn’t want a sappy love story. Sorry kid about the zombies.

For a few months, I crafted what would become some of the early chapters of Virulent. It was my creative writing students who inspired me to keep plugging away. (Yes, they inspired ME! I’m beyond blessed to teach the next generation of writers.) And when one of my students took the manuscript home and came to me the next day begging for the next chapter, I knew that I had to finish the story I had started.

I had no idea when I started Virulent where the story would go. So, writing three books was out of the realm of my understanding.

There was only one thing I knew for certain: when I wrote The End, I wanted it to truly be a begi

That is a different story.

Maybe I’ll write it someday. Maybe I won’t. Maybe someone else should?

Regardless, I knew that ending The Variables where I did would inspire a certain level of frustration. There are unanswered questions. My intention was to end the series when it felt like it could be the start of another great adventure. For me, that feels powerful and exciting.

In that vein, I opted out of publishing the epilogue I wrote. It didn’t work; it didn’t fit. It wasn’t where the story needed to stop—I went on too long, told too much, painted too precise a picture.

Sometimes the future of our most beloved characters is best left in the mind of the reader. You can craft for yourself what will happen to our motley cast after The End. And best of all: you won’t be wrong. I leave the next chapters to you and your imaginations. I trust you.

No matter what happens to my dear Lucy, Grant, Ethan, Darla, Teddy, and the others in the aftermath of their escape, one thing is abundantly clear. They have become intricately woven into the fabric of my life and they will still stay with me every day. I wish for them happiness and love and a life without regret. But who knows? We don’t always get what we want.

Alright, narcissistic navel-gazing over. Continue on with your day. And know that I appreciate you (yes, you; don’t be silly) more than you will ever know.

Shelbi

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I have already wasted my best ideas. An Academy Award acceptance speech…credits at the end of a movie…what else is out there to fully capture my appreciation besides a boring old acknowledgments page? I thought of recording my thank yous and uploading a video and simply providing you the link.

But I’ve been trapped in my house for four days due to a snow and ice storm in Portland and I am in dire need of an eyebrow wax and a haircut. Add that to the fact that I have not showered and I’m wearing sweatpants. There are some moments that should not be captured visually for posterity. (Don’t take that sentence to mean I’m unhappy with this current state: sweatpants make up fifty-percent of my wardrobe.)

Do you want to know the truth about writers? Do you want to pull back the curtain to the writer’s life and examine the minutia of his or her world?

It is a lonely journey. Long hours in front of a computer and inside one’s own head.

I write these acknowledgments as a way to show my appreciation for the people who dared to venture inside that crazy head. For the people who have allowed me to be a horrible friend. Do you know what a horrible friend does? A horrible friend listens to you and tries to help you solve your own problems, but the whole time is thinking about whether or not you want to hear about how her characters are trapped on this manmade island out in the Atlantic. And do you know why it’s the Atlantic and not the Pacific? Because the Atlantic has better waves that could be converted to wave energy. And do you want to hear about what I learned about wave energy?