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Back Yesterday Is History Save as PDF
Chapters (47)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Contents
  5. Part One
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Seven
  13. Eight
  14. Nine
  15. Ten
  16. Part Two
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-One
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. Twenty-Four
  31. Part Three
  32. Twenty-Five
  33. Twenty-Six
  34. Twenty-Seven
  35. Twenty-Eight
  36. Twenty-Nine
  37. Thirty
  38. Thirty-One
  39. Thirty-Two
  40. Acknowledgments
  41. Excerpt from Survive the Dome
  42. Prologue
  43. 6 Months Later
  44. One
  45. About the Author
  47. Back Cover

But most of all, I want to thank the readers who picked up this book. I want to thank those who gave me a second chance, who helped me learn, who challenged me, called me out, and helped put me back together. I’m still learning. I’m still growing. And I hope, with each book, each story, and each character, I continue to earn a bit of your trust back and never hurt you all again.

After all, yesterday is history, but that doesn’t mean we can’t learn from it, am I right?

Onward,

Kosoko

Excerpt from Survive the Dome

Read on for a sneak peek at Kosoko Jackson’s next novel

Survive the Dome

Prologue

Science had never been Governor Ambrose’s forte.

She had a passion for it, though. She loved that others found pleasure in understanding the world at large. But there were too many unknowns, and she wanted answers. To her, science was nothing more than an ocean waiting for the bigger, smarter, more well-funded fish to come around.

Sitting in the governor’s mansion, with the first pink light of summer washing over the hills and illuminating her study, she sipped her tea. One part milk, four parts water, a splash of sugar. Her laptop was pristine, like everything else in her life. The screen flickered once, as if the reception was poor, and then came into focus: video from one of the testing rooms down in Fort Meade, streaming clearly and directly to her computer. To the untrained eye, there wasn’t much to see: simply a thick white ring, roughly twenty feet in diameter, with a bull standing in the center of it.

Outside of the ring, by a panel, stood a man—a scrawny one, with glasses too big for his face and a face too small for glasses—who gave a thumbs-up to the camera.

Governor Ambrose tapped her nude-colored nails against the hardwood desk.

The screen flickered again. The bull seemed agitated. The man seemed unbothered.

Governor Ambrose smiled. Any moment now.

Finally, something happened. The screen filled with blinding white light, like a hundred bulbs had exploded at once. For a moment, everything was out of focus, just white and static.

Governor Ambrose paused mid-sip. Was this it? Had the billions of dollars she had secretly funneled from the Maryland budget over the past four years with the help of several like-minded individuals, been wasted on this? No. That couldn’t be. She had hired the best scientists because she wasn’t a scientist. This had to work. She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—take no for an answer.