{"product_id":"the-last-town-on-earth-isbn-9780812975925","title":"The Last Town on Earth","description":"\u003cb\u003eA town under quarantine during the 1918 flu epidemic must reckon with forces beyond their control in a powerful, sweeping novel of morality in a time of upheaval\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“An American variation on Albert Camus’ \u003ci\u003eThe Plague\u003c\/i\u003e.”—\u003ci\u003eChicago Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eNAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY \u003ci\u003eUSA TODAY \u003c\/i\u003eAND \u003ci\u003eCHICAGO TRIBUNE \u003c\/i\u003e• WINNER OF THE JAMES FENIMORE COOPER PRIZE FOR HISTORICAL FICTION\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDeep in the mist-shrouded forests of the Pacific Northwest is a small mill town called Commonwealth, conceived as a haven for workers weary of exploitation. For Philip Worthy, the adopted son of the town’s founder, it is a haven in another sense—as the first place in his life he’s had a loving family to call his own.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd yet, the ideals that define this outpost are being threatened from all sides. A world war is raging, and with the fear of spies rampant, the loyalty of all Americans is coming under scrutiny. Meanwhile, another shadow has fallen across the region in the form of a deadly virus striking down vast swaths of surrounding communities.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Commonwealth votes to quarantine itself against contagion, guards are posted at the single road leading in and out of town, and Philip Worthy is among them. He will be unlucky enough to be on duty when a cold, hungry, tired—and apparently ill—soldier presents himself at the town’s doorstep begging for sanctuary. The encounter that ensues, and the shots that are fired, will have deafening reverberations throughout Commonwealth, escalating until every human value—love, patriotism, community, family, friendship—not to mention the town’s very survival, is imperiled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInspired by a little-known historical footnote regarding towns that quarantined themselves during the 1918 epidemic, \u003ci\u003eThe Last Town on Earth\u003c\/i\u003e is a remarkably moving and accomplished debut.“Provocative . . . dramatic . . . A brisk pace and good storytelling bring to life a historical period that seems as fraught and fascinating as our own. . . . \u003ci\u003eThe Last Town on Earth\u003c\/i\u003e asks important questions and has contemporary resonance.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Seattle Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A gripping story . . . Mullen carefully balances the tensions and events of this historic time.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Sunday Oregonian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In his remarkable first novel, Thomas Mullen employs a theme as old as Sophocles’ plague-ridden Thebes and as modern as Camus’ Oran. . . . A brilliant series of plot twists is set in motion. . . . Time and again, Mullen’s suspenseful storytelling pulls us forward. Time and again, his imagery . . . is devastatingly right.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Absorbing . . . both a moving coming-of-age saga and an intriguing portrait of a town in trouble.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Gripping . . . [a] page-turner . . . psychological suspense, villains, victims, a conflicted hero or two, secrets and a mystery. In short, it’s a grabber. . . . [Mullen has] a killer insight . . . the kind of writing that makes The Last Town on Earth . . . a worthy place to visit.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Extraordinary . . . Mullen gracefully interweaves story arcs—a poignant romance among them—and evokes a powerful sense of place. . . . His tale is deeply resonant.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e (four stars)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Mullen provides a rich historical background and a well-drawn cast of characters. . . . A fascinating account of a time and a place that most of us have never heard about, all without going overboard in sentimentality or kitsch.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eThomas Mullen was born in Rhode Island and lives in Washington, D.C., with his wife. He is at work on a new novel.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The road to Commonwealth was long and forbidding, stretching for miles   beyond Timber Falls and leading deep into the evergreen woods, where   the trees grew taller still as if trying to reach the sun that teased   them with the paucity of its rays. Douglas fir loomed over the   rock-strewn road like two warring armies perched on opposing cliffs.   Even those travelers who all their lives had been reminded of their   insignificance felt particularly humbled by that stretch of road and   the preternatural darkness that shadowed it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Some number of miles into the woods, the road curved to the right and   the trees backed off a bit, the brown dirt and occasional stumps   evidence that the woods had been cleared out only recently, and only   with extreme tenacity. The clearing rose along a gradual incline; at   the base of the hill, a tree that had recently been chopped down   blocked the road. Into its thick bark a sign was nailed: a warning to   travelers who didn’t exist, a silent cry into deaf woods.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A crisp wind picked up atop the bare hill, carrying the combined   exhalations of millions of fir and pine. Philip sucked in his breath.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Cold?” Graham asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I’m fine.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Graham motioned back to the town. “You need to get yourself a warmer   jacket, go ahead.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I’ll stay.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Suit yourself.” Philip did look cold in his thin jacket and khaki   pants—pencil-pusher attire—whereas Graham was clad in his usual blue   overalls and a thick wool coat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Look like it’s gonna snow to you?” Philip Worthy was sixteen, tall   despite the limp that made people think he was shorter, but not as   brawny as most of the men in that town of lumberjacks and millworkers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “It’s not going to snow.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Graham, twenty-five, was what in many ways Philip aspired to be:   strong, quietly wise, the man of his house. While Philip felt he needed   to be polite and conversational to ingratiate himself with people,   Graham seemed to say the minimum necessary and always won respect.   Philip had known him for two years, and he still wanted to figure out   how a fellow did that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Colder’n I thought it’d be,” Philip said. “Sometimes that means snow.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Graham understood his companion’s dread of snow. He shook his head.   “It’s cold, but it ain’t going to snow. It’s October.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Philip nodded, shoulders hunched against the cold.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Graham laid his rifle on the ground, then took off his coat. “Here, put   it on.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “No, really, I’ll be all right. I don’t want you to get—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Put the damn coat on.” Graham smiled. “I’ve got more meat on my bones   anyway.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Thanks.” Philip placed his rifle beside Graham’s. The jacket was big   on him, the sleeves extending beyond his hands. He knew he looked   foolish, but it was as good as wearing gloves. He wouldn’t be able to   hold the rifle, but that seemed fine, since he didn’t expect he’d need   to.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Who do you think that was in the Model T on Sunday?” Philip asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Don’t know.” Neither of them had been at the post on Sunday, when two   other guards had seen a shiny new Ford drive as far as the fallen tree   would allow. The guard post was too far away to get a good look at the   driver, who never emerged from his automobile. The fedora told them it   was a man, but that was all. The man had apparently read the sign,   stopped to think for no longer than a moment, then turned around and   driven away. It was the only sighting of an outsider since the town had   closed itself off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Commonwealth sat about fifty miles northeast of Seattle, or maybe a   hundred—no one seemed to know except the town’s founder, Charles   Worthy, and those who transported the town’s timber. To the east were   the jagged peaks of the Cascades, close enough to be seen on a clear   day but far enough to disappear when the clouds were low and thick. On   those days, the town seemed to be cut off from the rest of the earth.   Miles to the west was the open sea, the confluence of Puget Sound to   the south, the Strait of Georgia to the north, and the Strait of Juan   de Fuca to the west, the point where all three combined and wrapped   their cold embrace around the San Juan Islands. But the sea was just   far enough away, blocked by the thick forest, that it might as well not   have been there at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Commonwealth was no ordinary town, and that helped explain why it   appeared on no maps, as if the rest of the civilized world preferred to   ignore its existence. It had no mayor, no postmaster, no sheriff. It   had no prison, no taxman, no train station, no rail lines. No church,   no telephones, no hospital. No saloon, no nickelodeon. Commonwealth had   pretty much nothing but a timber mill, homes for the workers, plenty of   land from which to tear down more trees, and the few trappings   necessary to support the mill, such as a general store and a doctor’s   office. To shop for items the store didn’t sell, to visit the moving   pictures, or to attend traditional church services, people went to   Timber Falls, fifteen miles to the southwest. But no one from town was   allowed to leave anymore, and no one was allowed to come in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Think the driver will come back?” Philip asked. The wind blew his thin   brown hair across his forehead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Graham thought for a moment, his face appearing immovable as his   blue-green eyes focused on the base of the hill. “No, not after he saw   the sign. If it was someone who really wanted to come in, he would’ve   tried. Probably just somebody on mill business who didn’t know about   the quarantine.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Philip nodded, appreciating Graham’s certainty.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Philip had grown up with neither father nor siblings, dragged   throughout the West by an itinerant mother until the accident that left   him in the Worthys’ care. And when his new family had moved to   Commonwealth two years ago to start this bold experiment, he had   quickly befriended Graham, who hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his   own younger brothers until he met Philip.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Graham, like many millworkers, had run away from his home too young,   chased off by a drunk father with whom he had violently clashed one   time too many. He had been about Philip’s age when he’d left his home   in Kansas, and sometimes when he looked at Philip, he was amazed that   he himself had been so headstrong, so foolish, to venture out into the   world at such an overwhelmed age. Somehow he had survived, survived   bloody strikes and stints in jail and fights with cops, and here he   was, a foreman at a respectable mill. Though he had his own family to   care for now, he liked teaching Philip the things he’d learned from his   older brother, to hunt his first deer, catch his first fish, navigate   the trails that cut through the endless forest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    In truth, Graham didn’t feel so certain that the man in the automobile   wouldn’t return, but the mere sound of his own calm voice was   reassuring. This was why Graham had missed having younger brothers, he   realized—they made you feel almost as strong as the image they looked   up to.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Philip and Graham’s first stint as guards, four days earlier, had been   uneventful. They had stood there for the ten long hours, silent for   stretches and chatting when the boredom became too great. Wondering   aloud how long the flu would last, swapping stories of past illnesses   and ailments. Philip had even proposed a small wager as to how long the   quarantine would last, but Graham had lightly chastised him for being   indelicate. Philip regretted the comment, felt young and stupid. But   other than that the time had passed slowly, the sky gradually   darkening, the mists descending from the formless clouds above, leaving   the two watchmen damp and tired and longing for their warm homes, where   they would have nothing interesting to share with their families over   the supper table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “So how’s ‘class’ coming?” Graham asked, minutes or hours later.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Class is fine. Ask me anything you’d like to know about interest   payments.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I would like to know nothing at all, thank you very much.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Philip was Charles Worthy’s apprentice, being trained in the business   side of the mill, bred for the same job that Charles himself had held   in his father’s mill, the one he had disgustedly turned his back on   only two years ago.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You honestly like sittin’ in a chair all day?” Graham asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Wouldn’t know what else to compare it to.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Philip wondered if Graham looked down on his desk work, but with his   damaged body, Philip was a bad candidate for labor of a more physical   nature. He gave a surreptitious glance at Graham’s missing finger, the   one he’d lost in a mill accident some years ago, and figured his wasn’t   such a bad lot to draw.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Just the other day, Philip had helped calculate what the mill would   save if it switched over from gang saws to band saws, whose thinner   blades would mean losing less of the timber to sawdust. It had been   challenging work, but when he was finished, he felt he’d contributed   something of value to the mill, and his father’s soft-spoken compliment   was still ringing in his ears.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “How’s your little girl doing?” Philip asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “She’s great,” Graham said with a slight smile. “Been crawlin’ all over   the house lately. Amelia’s gotta keep her eyes on her all the time   now.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “How long till she talks?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “A few months yet, at least.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “How long till she chops down trees like her old man?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Till hell freezes over.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I don’t know,” Philip said, “she’s got that lumberjack look to her.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “That lumberjack look? What’s that?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Philip shrugged. “She drools a lot. Burps. Kinda smells sometimes.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Graham nodded, smirking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “So you get any sleep, or is she still up all night?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I sleep when I can.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Like when you’re out here standing guard.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I was not asleep last time. I was resting my eyes and ignoring you.   It’s an important skill a man develops after he has a wife and kid.   Trust me on this.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Speaking of which,” Graham continued after a brief pause, looking at   Philip from the corner of his eye, “I keep seeing you talking with that   Metzger girl.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Philip shrugged unconvincingly. “She’s my sister’s friend.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “So how come I keep seeing you and her and no sister?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    It took an extra second for Philip to come up with a retort. “What, a   guy can’t talk to a girl?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Graham smiled. “Boy, I hope you’re less obvious with her than you are   with me.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Minutes of silence had passed before they saw someone at the base of   the hill.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    They saw him through the tree trunks first, hints of light brown and   tan flashing every other second through that tangle of bark. Each of   them stiffened, breath held, as they waited to see if a figure would   emerge or if they had imagined it, if it was some trick of light.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The figure turned the corner and looked up the hill, saw the town in   the distance. Between him and the town stood Philip and Graham, though   he seemed not to notice them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You see that, too, right?” Philip asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I see it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The figure started walking toward them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Read the sign,” Graham quietly commanded the stranger. “Read the sign.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Indeed, after a couple of seconds, the figure reached the sign and   stopped. Stopped for an unusually long time, as if he could barely read   and there were one too many big words written there. Then the man   looked up at them. Graham made sure his rifle was visible, standing up   beside him, his hand under the barrel so that it was pointing away from   him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Philip hadn’t looked at the sign in days yet he had memorized what it   said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    QUARANTINE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    ABSOLUTELY NO ENTRY ALLOWED!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    On Account of the Outbreak of INFLUENZA\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    This Town Under Strict QUARANTINE.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    This Area Under Constant Watch of ARMED Guards.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Neither STRANGER Nor FRIEND May Pass Beyond This Marker.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    May God Protect You.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    After reading the sign the man had some sort of brief spasm, one of his   hands reaching to his face. Then he stepped up to the fallen tree and   started climbing over it. It was an impressive tree, and it took him a\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    moment to ascend its thick trunk. Then he was past it and walking   toward them again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “He’s still coming,” Philip said helplessly, trying not to panic. He   hurriedly rolled up the sleeves of Graham’s coat, wondering why he felt   fid-gety and nervous when Graham seemed to become even more still than   usual.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The man walked with a slight limp, wincing when he moved his right leg.   It made his progress slower but somehow more definite. His clothes   suggested a uniform of some kind, with stripes on one sleeve. As the   man approached, Philip and Graham saw the back end of a rifle poking up   over his right shoulder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He’s a soldier, Philip thought, confused.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He was nearly halfway to them. No more than eighty yards away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Stop right there!” Graham shouted. “This town is under quarantine! You   can’t come any closer!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The man did as he was told. He had dark and uncombed hair that appeared   somewhat longer than a typical soldier’s. He looked like he hadn’t   shaved in a couple of days, and there was a piece of cloth tied around   his right thigh, colored black from what might have been dried blood.   His uniform was dirty all over the legs and was smeared with mud across   parts of the chest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Then the soldier sneezed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Please!” The man needed to raise his voice in order to be heard over   the distance, but the effort of doing so seemed almost too much for   him. “I’m starving. I just need a little something to eat . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    What’s a soldier doing out here, Philip wanted to ask, but he kept the   thought to himself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You can’t come up here, buddy,” Graham replied. “The sign said, we’re   under a quarantine. We can’t let anyone in.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I don’t care if I get sick.” The man shook his head at them. He was   young, closer in age to Philip than to Graham. He had some sort of an   accent, not foreign but from some other part of the country. New   England, or maybe New York—Philip wasn’t sure. The man’s jaw was hard   and his face bony and angular, the type of face Philip’s mother would   have told him you couldn’t trust, though Philip never knew why.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I’m starving—I need something to eat. I’ve been out in the woods two   days now. There was an accident—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “It’s not you getting sick we’re worried about.” Graham’s voice was   still strong, almost bullying. “We’re the only town around here that   isn’t sick yet, and we aim to keep it that way. Now head on back down   that road.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The soldier looked behind him halfheartedly, then back at Graham. “How   far’s the next town?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “’Bout fifteen miles,” Graham replied. Commonwealth was not on the way   to or from any other town—the road led to Commonwealth and ended there.   So where had the soldier come from?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Fifteen miles? I haven’t eaten in two days. It’ll be dark in a few   hours.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He coughed. Loudly, thickly. How far does breath travel? Philip   wondered.[quotes]--USA Today, People, Entertainment Weekly, The New York Times Book Review; The Washington Post","brand":"Random House Trade Paperbacks","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305266303205,"sku":"NP9780812975925","price":17.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780812975925.jpg?v=1767740167","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-last-town-on-earth-isbn-9780812975925","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}