Fences Audiobook Novels & Stories

“Listen, sweetheart, if you cut my family tree it would bleed the sap of this fucking county and all the years we worked the land here. I’ll show you, if you like? Agriculture runs all the way back through my bloodline on the very same soil my house rests on now. I belong in a city no more than you do, I’m just better at blending in.” “So why are you so fucking useless with the gifts you have, then?” she asks, and it takes me aback. “Why didn’t I fix a fucking fence, you mean? I have hundreds of fences. Miles of hedgerows and brooks and ditches. You think I’m going to keep an eye on every part of it all the time?” “You should,” she snaps, and I laugh. “If you’re so bothered about my fences,

"What do we talk about then? If we aren't talking about the business of being married?" There was a long pause. I expected him to snap, to tell me I was being difficult or "sensitive" again. Instead, I heard the soft click of a lighter. A small, orange flame bloomed between us, illuminating the sharp angles of his face. He lit a candle he’d pulled from the hutch, its light casting long, flickering shadows against the cabinets. "Tell me about the fence," he said. I blinked. "What?" "The fence in Linden Row," Gideon said, leaning back. "You mentioned it once. Something about the way the light hit a broken fence in your old neighborhood".

“Listen, sweetheart, if you cut my family tree it would bleed the sap of this fucking county and all the years we worked the land here. I’ll show you, if you like? Agriculture runs all the way back through my bloodline on the very same soil my house rests on now. I belong in a city no more than you do, I’m just better at blending in.” “So why are you so fucking useless with the gifts you have, then?” she asks, and it takes me aback. “Why didn’t I fix a fucking fence, you mean? I have hundreds of fences. Miles of hedgerows and brooks and ditches. You think I’m going to keep an eye on every part of it all the time?” “You should,” she snaps, and I laugh. “If you’re so bothered about my fences,

The attack reached the fence before anyone finished deciding what to do about it. One moment, the infected were only shapes moving through the fog below the ridge. The next, they slammed into the eastern perimeter hard enough to shake the entire structure. Metal screamed beneath the impact. The rope anchors snapped tight, dragging against the stump Rowan had secured them to days before. Mud shifted beneath the support posts, and the whole fence bowed inward with a low, awful groan that carried across the compound. People ran from the cabins. Some toward weapons, some toward the fence, some only far enough to realize they had no idea where they were supposed to go.

It looked like it was about to flip but somehow didn’t. ‎ ‎“Are these people possessed?” I muttered. ‎ ‎Zayden didn’t answer. But he sped harder — until the farm faded and an old, rusted metal gate came into view. ‎ ‎“No, no, no Zayden, there’s a fence!” ‎ ‎He didn’t slow down. ‎ ‎“ZAYDEN THERE’S A FENCE!” ‎ ‎“Hold on.” ‎ ‎“No” ‎ ‎There was a loud BANG as he rammed through the gate like it was nothing but aluminum foil. The metal clattered behind us and I just squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for bones to break.

False Guide (Vera's POV) The fence sagged inward like it had given up. Rust flaked under my fingers when I pushed it aside. The metal groaned, loud in the quiet. Too loud. “This place is dead,” Dax muttered behind me. “Dead doesn’t mean empty,” Jace said. I didn’t answer. My skin prickled. The compound sat low and wide, half swallowed by vines and pine needles. Broken satellite dishes leaned at odd angles, like snapped wings. Windows were boarded up, but not carefully. Someone had left in a hurry.

No one even looked up when they passed. She saw it, then—the adjustment. The flickers of self-policing, the way two teens stepped aside with the least possible rudeness, the way even the hungriest faces managed to never meet her gaze. All the aggression turned inward, like a kind of prayer. At the north end of the train yard, past the booths where Nana’s prophecies had come true, the way forward was blocked by what looked like a wall of chain-link and razor wire. It glinted in the new sun, twenty feet tall and layered in sheeting, as if it had grown, layer by hungry layer, from the bones of all the failed fences before it.

I locked the gates and leaned against the cherry-red fence. The rumbling got louder and louder and I looked back to Gerard and Marie and nodded to them. In case something went wrong, they guarded the house. I just prayed Rebecca didn't have the child already. If they came back, while mother didn't know they were here, then it would make this situation a lot more harder. The black Audi finally rolled up with its black tainted windows. My reflection met my eyes, with the ruffled hair and worn clothes I always wore around summer time in Ghordes.

"Fences have gates." "Fences don't make my skin feel like static," Sage snaps back, and the two of them lock into the low, bristling argument that's been simmering between them since they learned to talk. "Both of you, quiet." Wren doesn't raise her voice. She doesn't need to.

"I can hear them coming up the ridge." "I’m trying," I cry, my breath hitching as I fight to keep my balance. "My leg—" "Forget it," he snaps, reaching back to hoist me up. He doesn't look back, his eyes fixed on the darkness ahead. "We’re almost there. The fence is just past the ridge." We crest the rise, the iron bars of the outer fence looming ahead like the ribs of a cage. Liam slams his shoulder into the gate, but it’s locked, welded shut for the night.