96 Miles
ISBN10: 1250192285
ISBN13: 9781250192288
Trade Paperback
272 Pages
$10.99
CA$14.99
The Lockwood brothers are supposed to be able to survive anything. Their dad, a hardcore believer in self-reliance, has stockpiled enough food and water at their isolated Nevada home to last for months. But when they are robbed of all their supplies during a massive blackout while their dad is out of town, John and Stew must walk 96 miles in the stark desert sun to get help. Along the way, they’re forced to question their dad’s insistence on self-reliance and ask just what it is that we owe to our neighbors, to our kin, and to ourselves.
From talented newcomer J. L. Esplin comes this story of survival and determination as two young brothers confront the unpredictability of human nature in the face of desperate circumstances.
Reviews
Praise for 96 Miles
“A suspense thriller, survival story, and a story of the love between brothers. You'll turn the pages and be surprised again and again.”—Gary D. Schmidt, Newbery Honor Award-winning author of The Wednesday Wars
“Fast-paced, believable, funny, and poignant. 96 Miles is a great read from the first sentence to the surprising and satisfying ending. I give Esplin’s debut novel 100%. Don't miss it!”—Roland Smith, New York Times bestselling author of Peak
“For readers thirsting for a fresh survival story.”—Kirkus Reviews
“Readers who enjoy realistic survival stories will not be able to put down Esplin’s debut . . . Filled with survival techniques, danger, and overcoming realistic obstacles, this story will have readers turning pages. A great choice for lovers of Gary Paulsen’s Hatchet or Roland Smith’s Peak.”—School Library Journal
“Esplin offers a richly layered look at the frustrations of sibling rivalry, the depths of family loyalty, and the challenges of forgiveness.”—Publishers Weekly
Reviews from Goodreads
BOOK EXCERPTS
Read an Excerpt
1
DAD ALWAYS SAID if things get desperate, it’s okay to drink the water in the toilet bowl. I never thought it would come to that. I thought I’d sooner die than let one drop of toilet water touch my lips. Yet here I am, kneeling...