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Read or download The Girl With All the Gifts (M. R. Carey) at Shakespir, your free ebook reading partner. Available in TXT,PDB,LRF,RTF,PDF. The Girl With All The Gifts, however, offers a very subtle but sharp contrast to this portrayal of the zombie apocalypse. I will simply state this contrast with one. The Girl With All The Gifts by M. R. Carey PDF Free Download, Read online, ISBN: By M.R. Carey Download with Format: Epub, Mobi, Pdf.


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Get ready for the zombie apocalypse! This has, in fact, become a very popular theme throughout the past few years. Resulting from this, the trend has been able to maintain its relevance and appeal. However, along with the relevancy, has come to a sense of redundancy. These franchises have captained this niche so well, that any following production is expected by fans to be similar to them. This is the concept of, the zombie apocalypse depicted from the perspective of human survivors.

Resulting from this, the trend has been able to maintain its relevance and appeal. However, along with the relevancy, has come to a sense of redundancy.

These franchises have captained this niche so well, that any following production is expected by fans to be similar to them.

This is the concept of, the zombie apocalypse depicted from the perspective of human survivors. The Girl With All The Gifts, however, offers a very subtle but sharp contrast to this portrayal of the zombie apocalypse.

I will simply state this contrast with one question. What if you saw the apocalypse, through the eyes of a zombie, who has retained its intelligence? The majority of the human population has been infected by a virus, which entered the world through the maternal womb of blood and saliva. The virus has caused most of those infected, to become starving flesh eating monsters. Caroline Caldwell is stationed at a military base where she is passionately working on producing a vaccine.

At the military base, there is a group of young children who are kept within cells. Caldwell has great faith that these children DNA can cure the disease. How can a group of young tykes, save the world for a zombie apocalypse? These children while behaving like normal tykes, are infected with the disease and are also in fact zombies.

Unlike the previous victims across the world, these children minds have not deteriorated. They also have shown the ability to retain information and along with both mental and emotional intelligence. Among these children is a young year-old girl by the name of Melanie. She along with the other children are subjected to testing of all sorts. They have to undergo a physical examination by the doctors at the base.

The cell is small and square. It has a bed, a chair and a table. On the walls, which are painted grey, there are pictures; a big one of the Amazon rainforest and a smaller one of a pussycat drinking from a saucer of milk. Sometimes Sergeant and his people move the children around, so Melanie knows that some of the cells have different pictures in them. She used to have a horse in a meadow and a mountain with snow on the top, which she liked better. She cuts them out from the stack of old magazines in the classroom, and she sticks them up with bits of blue sticky stuff at the corners.

She hoards the blue sticky stuff like a miser in a story. Search Ebook here: Carey Book Detail. And then she stops herself, with the next word sort of frozen halfway out of her lips.

In most stories she knows, children have a mother and a father, like Iphigenia had Clytemnestra and Agamemnon, and Helen had Leda and Zeus. Sometimes they have teachers too, but not always, and they never seem to have sergeants.

So this is a question that gets to the very roots of the world, and Melanie asks it with some trepidation. She died when you were very little. So the army is looking after you now.

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The class heard the story of Oliver Twist once, on another Miss Justineau day. It comes out quick and low and almost hard. Miss Justineau changes the subject then, and the children are happy to let her do it because nobody is very enthusiastic about death by this point. So they do the periodic table of the elements, which is easy and fun. Starting with Miles in the front row at the very end, everyone takes turns to name an element.

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First time around they do it in straight number order. Then they reverse it. By the time Xanthi wins with xenon , everyone is laughing and it looks as though all the death stuff is forgotten. Because the one thing they never learn about, really, is themselves.

Melanie thinks that would be better, in some ways, than having a mother and a father who you never even got to meet. But she wants to know one more thing, and she wants it badly enough that she even takes the chance of upsetting Miss Justineau some more. At the end of the lesson, she waits until Miss Justineau is close to her and she asks her question really quietly.

Will the army still want to keep us, or will we go home to Beacon? And if we go there, will all the teachers come with us? All the teachers! Yeah, right. Like she cares if she ever sees Mr Slippery-Voice-Whitaker again.

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She really just wants the facts, so she can prepare herself for the grief of separation. Unless the quick movement of her hand is an answer.

She puts it up in front of her own face as though Melanie has thrown something at her which Melanie never, ever would do in a million years! Then the siren whoops three times to signal the end of the day. And Miss Justineau ducks her head, pulling herself together after that imaginary blow.

Her T-shirt, or her hairband, or her trousers, or her scarf. Miss Justineau is red. Like something about her is wounded, and not healing, and hurting her all the time. Miss Justineau lifts her head and looks at Melanie again. You can do whatever you want to do, of course you can.

She crashes into total, tongue-tied silence, because something completely unexpected and absolutely wonderful happens. Everybody in the class who can see is watching. Nobody else seems to have seen Sergeant come into the room either. Even Miss Justineau looks scared, which is another one of those things like Sergeant having a name that changes the architecture of the whole world.

Because every rule we got, you just broke. Miss Justineau brings her head up again. Both her eyes are wet with tears now. Melanie wants to call her back, wants to say something to make her stay: I love you, Miss Justineau.

Helen Justineau has no good answer, so she just keeps on asking herself the question. Leaning against the mirror on the wall, avoiding her own sick, accusing gaze. She scrubbed her hands until they were raw, but she can still feel that cold flesh. So cold, as though blood never ran in it. As though she was touching something that had just been dredged up from the bottom of the sea. Why did she do it?

What happened in that laying on of hands? Normal affect. Then walked right into it. Except that it was test subject number one, really, who dug the pit. It was her desperate, obvious, hero-worshipping crush that tripped Justineau up, or at least threw her far enough off balance that tripping became inevitable.

Those big, trusting eyes, in that bone-white face.

Death and the maiden, all wrapped up in one tiny package. Quick and easy, taking all her things with her, leaving no footprint. She just sits there and waits. The clacking of the shoes and the clicking of the pen get louder and louder and then stop.

The gender is completely irrelevant. I meant high and low end of the bell curve. Her pen clicks. His voice sounds really close. Melanie looks up. Dr Caldwell is looking in through the grille in her cell door. Marcia is number sixteen and Liam is number twenty-two. They wheel Liam and Marcia out, and down the corridor—not towards the classroom, but the other way, towards the big steel door.

Melanie watches them as far as she can, but they go further than that. She thinks they have to have gone through the door, because what else is down at that end of the corridor? Of course, she hopes it will be a Miss Justineau day for a lot of other reasons too. And it turns out it is. The children make up songs for Miss Justineau to play on her flute, with complicated rules for how long the words are and how they rhyme.

And maybe asking the question will change what happens. Maybe if they all pretend not to notice, Liam and Marcia will be wheeled in one day and it will be like they never went away. Now, what does that mean? The kids all clamour to answer. Today is the day when the two finally balance. The night and the day are both exactly twelve hours long. The equinox was the day when the promise was fulfilled.

Miss Justineau picks up the big bag and puts it on the table. Gasps from the children. Region 6 may be mostly cleared, but outside the fence still belongs to the hungries. Miss Justineau laughs at the horrified expressions on their faces. Would have felt like vandalism, before the Breakdown, but the wild flowers are doing okay for themselves these days, so I just thought what the hell. She reaches into the bag and takes something out. Nobody speaks. Dummy, dummy, dummy , Melanie scolds herself.

Her rainforest picture is just full of branches. But the real branch looks different somehow. Its shape is more complicated and broken up, its textures rougher. A couple of thousand years ago, the people who lived around here would have called this time of year the alder month. Because the bag is full of colours—starbursts and wheels and whorls of dazzling brightness that are as fine and complex in their structures as the branch is, only much more symmetrical.

The children are hypnotised. He even has the same name as a flower, Melanie thinks, and she likes his poem a whole lot better. But maybe the most important thing that comes out of this day is that Melanie now knows what date it is. She clears a place in her mind, just for the date, and every day she goes to that place and adds one. She makes sure to ask Miss Justineau if this is a leap year, which it is.

Caroline Caldwell is very skilled at separating brains from skulls. She does it quickly and methodically, and she gets the brain out in one piece, with minimal tissue damage. But her mind is clear, with only the very slightest sense of a hallucinatory edge to that clarity.

She watches herself do it, approving the virtuosity of her own technique. The first cut is to the rear of the occipital bone—easing her slimmest bone-saw into the gap that Selkirk has opened up for her, through the peeled-back layers of flesh and between the nubs and buds of exposed muscle. She extends that first cut out to either side, taking care to maintain a straight horizontal line corresponding to the widest part of the skull.

She journeys on, the bone-saw flicking lightly back and forth like the bow of a violin, through the parietal and temporal bones, keeping the same straight line, until she comes at last to the superciliary ridges.

At that point, the straight line ceases to matter. Which flicker in rapid saccades, focus and defocus in restless busy-work. The next part is delicate, and difficult. The subject sighs, although he has no need for oxygen any more. This is not a conversation, or a shared ex perience of any kind. She sees Selkirk watching her, with a slightly guarded expression. Piqued, she snaps her fingers and points, making Selkirk pick up the bone-saw and hand it back to her.

Lifting the front of the calvarium, Caldwell snips loose cranial nerves and blood vessels with a number ten pencil-grip scalpel, lifting the brain gently from the front as it comes free. Once the spinal cord is exposed, she cuts that too.

The Girl with all the Gifts

Now she lifts it; with both hands, from underneath, teasing it up with the tips of her fingers through the opening in the skull without ever letting it touch the edge. Subject number twenty-two, whose name was Liam if you accept the idea of giving these things a name, continues to stare at her, his eyes tracking her movements.

Dr Caldwell takes the view that the moment of death is the moment when the pathogen crosses the blood—brain barrier. And the parasite, whose needs and tropisms are very different from human needs and human instincts, is a diligent steward.

It continues to run a wide range of bodily systems and networks without reference to the brain, which is just as well seeing as the brain is about to be cut into thin slices and set between glass plates. She has that tentative, pleading tone in her voice that Caldwell despises.

If anything were ever to make her shake her fist at the untenanted heavens, it would be this. There was a device called an ATLUM —an automated lathe ultramicrotome—which with its diamond blade could be calibrated to slice brains into perfect cross-sections of single-neuron thickness.

Thirty thousand slices per millimetre, give or take. Mention Robert Edwards to Dr Caldwell. I bet he or she had an automated lathe ultramicrotome. And a TEAM 0. She had her chance once to do it in style. But nothing came of it, and here she is. Alone, but complete unto herself. Still fighting. Selkirk gives a bleat of dismay, jolting Caldwell out of her profitless reverie.

Level with the twelfth vertebra. She remembers Dr Caldwell saying those words on the day when it all happened. Mr Whitaker is having one of those up-and-down days when he brings his bottle into class—the bottle full to the brim with the medicine that makes him first better and then worse. Melanie has watched this strange and mildly disturbing progress enough times that she can predict its course. Mr Whitaker comes into class nervous and irritable, determined to find fault with everything the children say or do.

Then he drinks the medicine, and it spreads through him like ink through water it was Miss Justineau who showed them what that looks like. His body relaxes, losing its tics and twitches. If he could only stop at that point, it would be wonderful, but he keeps drinking and the miracle is reversed.

Knowing this cycle well, Melanie times her question to coincide with the expansive phase. What might those two little ducks be, she asks Mr Whitaker, that Dr Caldwell mentioned? Why did she mention them right then, on the day when she took Marcia and Liam away?

The caller calls out numbers at random, and the first player to have all their numbers called wins a prize. Every number has a special phrase or group of words attached to it. Two little ducks is twenty-two, because of the shapes the numbers make on the page. So all Dr Caldwell was doing was saying twenty-two twice, once in ordinary numbers and once in this code.

Saying two times over that she was choosing Liam instead of someone else. Melanie thinks about numbers. Her secret language uses numbers—different numbers of fingers held up with your right hand and your left hand, or your right hand twice, if your left hand is still tied to the chair.

Maybe Miss Justineau will bring the world into the classroom again—will show them what summer looks like, the way she did with spring. She reads from books a lot more, and organises games and sing-songs a lot less. Maybe Miss Justineau is sad for some reason. That thought makes Melanie both desperate and angry.

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And here he is walking into the classroom now, at the head of half a dozen of his people, his scowling face half crossed out by the wobbly diagonal of his scar. He does it really fast and jerky, the way he does most things. They stand to attention and wait until Sergeant nods permission. One of them covers Melanie with his handgun while the other starts to undo the straps, the neck strap first and from behind. Jesus Christ!

Melanie scowls at him, as fierce as she can get. Melanie is outraged that he took the biggest insult she could think of and laughed it off. She casts around desperately for a way to raise the stakes. Because she loves me and wants to be with me! And all you do is make her sad, so she hates you!

She hates you as bad as if you were a hungry! Sergeant stares at her, and something happens in his face. The fingers of his big hands pull back slowly into fists. He puts his hands on the arms of the chair and slams it back against the wall.

He throws the door open and waits for them to move, looking at one of them and then the other until they give up and leave Melanie where she is and go out through the door. He slams the door shut behind him, and she hears the bolts shoot home. Justineau still says nothing, and Caldwell seems to feel a need to fill the vacuum. Maybe to overfill it.

Our survival, Helen. Some hope of a future. Some way out of this mess.

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This base and this mission may both be under military jurisdiction, but Caldwell is still her boss, and when that call comes, she has to answer. Has to leave the classroom and visit the torture chamber. Brains in jars. Tissue cultures in which recognisably human limbs and organs spawn lumpy cloudscapes of grey fungal matter. A hand and forearm—child-sized, of course—flayed and opened, the flesh pinned back and slivers of yellow plastic inserted to prise apart muscle and leave interior structures open to examination.

The room is cluttered and claustrophobic, the blinds always drawn down to keep the outside world at a clinically optimum distance. The light—pure white, unforgivingly intense—comes from fluorescent tubes that lie flush with the ceiling. Caldwell is preparing microscope slides, using a razor blade to take slivers of tissue from what looks like a tongue. Pretending not to see would, she believes, take her past some point of no return, past the event horizon of hypocrisy into a black hole of solipsism.

Who almost got to be part of the great big save-the-humanrace think tank, back in the early days of what came to be called the Breakdown. A couple of dozen scientists, secret mission, secret government training—the biggest deal in a rapidly shrinking world. Many were called, and few were chosen. Caldwell was one of the ones at the front of the line when the doors closed in her face.

Does that still sting, all these years later? Is that what drove her crazy? It was so long ago now that Justineau has forgotten most of the details. Three years after the first wave of infections, when the freefalling societies of the developed world hit what they mistakenly thought was bottom.

In the UK the numbers of infected appeared briefly to have stabilised, and a hundred initiatives were discussed.