Zoje Stage is continuing her run as the master of the psychological thriller.
But she’s not done yet on Aug. 17, Stage’s latest thrillerGetawaywill hit shelves.
EW has the exclusive first look at the book’s cover and a peek inside the pages.
Credit: Little, Brown
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Hands on her knees, Imogen stood hunched for a moment, her legs like crab claws.
Standing upright would shatter the clawssend pink shards everywherethat was how tight her muscles felt.
But slowly she straightened.
Limped a few feet.
Greeted Tilda, who was attempting a Sun Salutation on her stripped-down mattress pad.
The sun hadn’t warmed the air yet, so Imogen layered up with clothing from her pillow.
A canyon wren trilled its little song, an almost melancholy series of notes, dropping in pitch.
The breeze took a more tactile approach and caressed her cheek"Hello dear, welcome back."
Back home, there was nothing and no one to acknowledge her upon awakening.
In the Canyon, she was part of something elemental, returning to consciousness to resume being alive.
“Head to the loo?”
she said to Tilda, by way of invitation, as she shook out her boots.
“What if we run out of toilet paper?”
“That would suck.
Don’t overuse the toilet paper.”
“Get the food bag on your way back?”
“You got it,” said Imogen.
Beck already had the mugs lined up.
She was a Coffee Person of the First Order, Tilda of the Second Order.
At home, Beck’s standards for the pop in and strength of that coffee were quite high.
Was this what it would be like to live with someone?
A boyfriend, in Tilda’s case.
A wife, in Beck’s.
Someone to brighten your day with companionship?
Help you with ordinary tasks?
A few years later, with her dad’s help, she’d gotten her own small apartment.
She’d lived alone since then.
It was hard sometimes, having to handle every single contingency by herself.
Laundry, meal prep, paying the bills.
Walking to Rite Aid for ibuprofen in the middle of a migraine.
Sitting in the dark alone when the electricity went out.
Joining the synagogue was meant to be a beginning.
After their pit stop they headed toward where they’d hung the food the previous evening.
Even a short walk helped to loosen Imogen’s cranky legs.
“Did you sleep well?”
Better than I expected."
Imogen beamed; Tilda might be a full-on outdoor enthusiast by the end of the week.
She could already hear her exclaiming, “Why didn’t you make me do this sooner?”
“F—.”
They hurried to the bag.
It lay open, on its side.
“I knew I didn’t get it high enough off the ground.
Beck’s gonna kill me.”
In a panic, Imogen dropped to her knees and sorted through the contents, taking a quick inventory.
And she wasn’t ready to go.
If one day in the Canyon could do so much, who would she be after seven days?
She wanted the chance to find out.
Imogen looked for signs of gnawingtooth marks or ragged holes.
She expected to find the spilled contents of instant oatmeal or gorp.
But she didn’t.
And then she realized the drawstring bag had been opened, not chewed.
Tilda’s voiceuncertain, borderline alarmedinstantly drew Imogen’s attention.
She held the end of the thin rope that still hung from the tree.
“I’m not an expert.
I’m not anything…But this looks cut to me.
Cut with a knife.”
“That’s…” Imogen wanted to say impossible.
But there were no teeth marks on the food or the bag.
And the rope…had clearly been sliced at an angle.
Had they been robbed?
Excerpted fromGetawayby Zoje Stage.
Available from Mulholland Books an imprint of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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