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No Surrender
Cover of No Surrender
No Surrender
Skink Series, Book 7
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Carl Hiaasen serves up his unique brand of swamp justice in the New York Times bestseller Skink—No Surrender. A National Book Award Longlist Selection When your cousin goes missing under...
Carl Hiaasen serves up his unique brand of swamp justice in the New York Times bestseller Skink—No Surrender. A National Book Award Longlist Selection When your cousin goes missing under...
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  • Carl Hiaasen serves up his unique brand of swamp justice in the New York Times bestseller Skink—No Surrender.

    A National Book Award Longlist Selection

    When your cousin goes missing under suspicious circumstances, who do you call? There's only one man for the job: a half-crazed, half-feral, one-eyed ex-governor named Skink. Skink joins 14-year-old Richard on a breakneck chase across Florida, undaunted by lightning storms, poisonous snakes, flying bullets, and giant gators. There are a million places cousin Malley could be, a million unpleasant fates that might have befallen her, but one thing is certain: in the Florida swamp, justice is best served wild.
    SUNSHINE STATE AWARD FINALIST!
    From the Hardcover edition.

Excerpts-

  • From the cover ONE


    I walked down to the beach and waited for Malley, but she didn't show up.

    The moon was full and the ocean breeze felt warm. Two hours I sat there on the sand—no Malley. In the beginning it was just annoying, but after a while I began to worry that something was wrong.

    My cousin, in spite of her issues, is a punctual person.

    I kept calling her cell phone but it went straight to her voice mail, which was Malley chortling in a British accent: "I'm in the loo. Ring you back later!" I didn't leave a message, and I didn't text, either.

    In case somebody else had her phone.

    Somebody like her dad, who's my uncle. He takes away Malley's cell like twice a week as punishment for acting up, acting out, whatever. Still, even when she's in trouble at home, she always finds a way to sneak out to the beach.

    A few turtle people were scouting the shoreline, waggling their flashlights. I walked north, as Malley and I usu- ally did. We'd never seen a turtle actually laying her eggs, but we'd found several nests. The first thing you notice is the flipper tracks leading up from the water's edge. Loggerheads, hawksbills and green turtles leave trenches like a mini–dune buggy when they drag their heavy shells across the sand.



    After the mother turtle finishes depositing her eggs, she covers them with a loose, churned mound. Every time that Malley and I came across one, we'd call the state wildlife office and they would send an officer to mark it.

    First, wooden stakes are tapped into the sand to create a rectangular perimeter outside the mound; then hot-pink ribbons are strung from one stake to the next. You can go to jail for messing with a turtle nest, so the officers put up a warning sign. Still, every so often some random idiot gets caught stealing the eggs, which are sold as a romantic ingredient in certain places.

    Pathetic but true.


    The phone chirped, but it wasn't a text from Malley; it was my mom asking where the heck I was. I texted her that I was still down by the water, and that no savage criminals had tried to snatch me. Afterwards I tried Malley's number once more, but she didn't pick up.

    So I walked on alone until I came to a marked nest that I didn't remember seeing the last time Malley and I were there. The dig was new and soft. I picked a spot outside the warning ribbon and sat down holding my baseball bat, which Mom makes me carry for protection whenever I go to the beach after dark. It's an Easton aluminum model left over from when I played Little League. I feel dorky carrying it, but Mom won't let me out of the house if I don't. Too many creeps in the world, she says.

    The slanted moonlight made the waves look like curls of pink gold. I lay back, folded my arms behind my head and closed my eyes. The wind was easing, and I heard a train blow its horn to the west, on the mainland.

    That wasn't all. I heard the sound of breathing, too, and it wasn't my own.

    At first I thought: Turtle. The breaths were damp and shallow, like air being forced through a broken whistle.

    I sat up and looked around: No sign of tracks. Maybe it was an old bobcat, watching me from the dunes. Or a raccoon—they like to dig up loggerhead nests and chow down the eggs. I slapped the Easton in the palm of my left hand, which stung. The noise was sharp enough to scare off most critters, but it didn't frighten whatever was breathing nearby.

    Leaving seemed like a smart idea, but I got only fifty yards before I turned and went back. Whatever I'd heard couldn't be very large because otherwise I would have...

About the Author-

  • CARL HIAASEN has been writing about Florida since his father gave him a typewriter at age six. Now Hiaasen writes a column for the Miami Herald and is the author of many bestselling novels, including Star Island and Bad Monkey. Hoot, Hiaasen's first novel for young readers, was the recipient of numerous awards, including the prestigious Newbery Honor.

Reviews-

  • Cory Doctorow "The book itself is just a wonder, part love poem about the Florida wilds, part road-trip novel, and part thriller. The second half of the book is a nail-biter to rival Cape Fear. I love Hiaasen for adults. I love Hiaasen for kids. But most of all, I love this Hiaasen, which brings the two writers together in one book."
  • Booklist, starred "Skink and Richard make quite a dangerous and entertaining duo in a story that careens perfectly from one crazy situation to the next. Reluctant readers (especially guys) will surrender themselves to this page turner. Cross your fingers that we haven't seen the last of Skink!"
  • Kirkus Reviews "If you were pursuing your cousin's kidnapper across Florida, you would want a man like Skink at your side. Maybe."
  • The Horn Book "Skink is larger than life.... A presence to be reckoned with."
  • VOYA "A high stakes, action-packed comedy with a lot of heart."

Title Information+

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    Penguin Random House Audio Publishing Group
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    All copies of this title, including those transferred to portable devices and other media, must be deleted/destroyed at the end of the lending period.

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