"This action-packed novel (with YA crossover appeal) combines adventure with extreme violence and concerns a young boxer sent to a very special youth boot camp.... When things come to a head, Carl finds that all of his suspicions about the island prove even worse than he thought in this crisply written and imaginative effort. Dixons page-turner will keep readers of all ages enthralled. A fast-paced, exciting novel with the promise of future installments." (Kirkus)100% great! (Cemetery Dance Magazine)"An unusual premise makes Dixons thriller debut a welcome series kickoff... the pacing and smooth prose will have suspense fans waiting for the next book, as well as the upcoming CBS adaptation, Intelligence." (Publishers Weekly)"Filled with both menace and heart, Phoenix Island stands out in all the right ways." (New York Times bestselling author Melissa Marr)"Lord of the Flies meets Wolverine and Cool Hand Luke. A tribute to the indomitable human spirit that challenges the mob and chooses values over expediency." (F. Paul Wilson, New York Times bestselling creator of Repairman Jack)Fast-paced and thoroughly engrossing I could not put it down! (Lissa Price, international bestselling author of Starters)About the AuthorJohn Dixon is a former Golden Gloves boxer, youth services caseworker, prison tutor, and middle school English teacher. You can visit his blog at JohnDixonBooks.com.Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.Phoenix IsLand WEARING A STIFF BLUE JUMPSUIT and handcuffs, Carl sat with no expression on his face and waited to see what they were going to do to him this time. They were going to come down hard on him. The judge might even dismiss the case straight to adult court, and then Carl would be looking at jail time, as in real jail, no more juvie, no more boys. Men. Thieves and rapists and murderers. Shanks and gangs. Everything. Hed be lucky to survive a month. The Dale County Juvenile Court didnt look like a courtroom. It was just a narrow room with two folding tables set end to end. No judges dais, no jury box, no spectators gallery. Just the tables and a dozen or so uncomfortable metal chairs flanking them. Carl smelled new carpet and coffee. Fluorescent lights buzzed in the drop ceiling overhead. A furled American flag leaned in one corner, pinned to the wall by a podium pushed up against it to make room. He avoided eye contact with his foster parents, who sat at the other end of the table, next to Ms. Snyder, the probation officer, and stared instead at his bruised and swollen handsthe scars on his knuckles reading like a twisted road map of the great lengths hed traveled to arrive here. Out in the hall, somebody laughed in passing. Carl heard keys jingle. A cop, probably. The cop in this room looked bored. His leather gun belt creaked as he shifted his weight, watching the judge shuffle through a tall stack of papers. Carls mouth was dry and sour with the waiting. Directly across the table, the judge picked up a white Styrofoam cup. Then he put it down and set some papers to one side of the others. Then he looked up. He had watery eyes and deep lines in his face. His hair was a gray mess, and he needed a shave. Despite his robe, he looked more like a burned-out math teacher than a judge. Looking again at the white cup, he finally spoke. Could somebody please get me another cup of coffee? Velma? Would you mind? A tall woman said okay and stood up and left the room. You are an orphan, the judge said, turning his attention to Carl. Yes, sir. It says here your father was a police officer? Yes, sir. And what does that make you? Sir? The sheriff? Chief Watkins snorted. Im the damned sheriff. Language, Chief. Id hate to have to find you in contempt of court. Carl read the mens voices: just a pair of good old boys, having a little fun while they sat one more case together. Chief Watkins nodded. Sorry, Your Honor. Thats all right. Then, looking up at Carl, he said, Youre kind of a hard-ass, arent you, son? Chief Watkins cleared his throat. Its all right, Chief. Its my court. Ill be in contempt if I see fit. Answer the question, son. You fashion yourself a hard-ass? Carl shrugged. I dont mean to be. You dont mean to be. No, sir. And you know what that sounds like to me? No, sir. That sounds like every kid who comes in here. He looked at the paper. It says here youre a boxer? Carl nodded. I was. Chief Watkins used to box a little, didnt you, Chief? A few smokers back in the navy. Nothing official. The judge said, Our friend here had more than a few fights. How many was it altogether, son? Eighty-seven, Carl said. And out of those eighty-seven matches, how many did you win? Eighty-five. The judge raised his shaggy brows. That is a good record. Were you a champion? Yes, sir. What sort of champion? Seventy-five, ninety, and one fourteen. The judge tilted his head, then grinned a little. No, son, Im not talking weight classes. I meant what level of champion. City? State? National? Carl nodded. All three? Yes, sir. Junior Golden Gloves, PAL, and AAU. Officer Watkinss gun belt creaked as he leaned back. Thats pretty good. Carl relaxed a little. Talking boxing did that, made him feel like more than just a throwaway kid awaiting sentencing. Still, he could tell this judge viewed himself as a shoot-from-the-hip kind of guy. A judge like this, he might throw you in a dungeon for life or let you go scot-free, either way, just to see the look on your face. The judge said, When I asked if you were a boxer, you said was rather than is. Is that correct? Yes, sir. Was. Was, then. Have you retired? Its just, I keep moving so much. I havent been able to fightboxfor a while. Indeed. Velma returned and handed the judge his coffee. Thank you, dear, he said. Mr. and Mrs. Rhoades, are you sure you wouldnt like some coffee? All right, then. Do you all have anything youd like to say? Carls new foster parents looked nervous. He wondered if they had ever been in a courtroom before. Probably not. He felt bad, dragging them in. Mr. Rhoades had almost certainly missed work, and Carl could see Mrs. Rhoades had been crying. She told the judge they hadnt known Carl long, but hed been a good boy, very respectful, and Mr. Rhoades nodded. Listening to them, Carl felt a renewed pang of loss. Things could have been good here. Really good. The judge thanked them, riffled through his papers, and said, Carl, why did you hurt those boys? Carl cleared his throat before saying, They wouldnt stop. Could you elaborate, please? Im trying to decide your fate right now, and Id like to think I gave you a chance to share your side of the story. I dont know how it is back in Philadelphia, but its not every day I deal with a kid whos beaten up half the football team. Wouldnt you agree, Chief Watkins? Yes, Your Honor. Id say this is downright idiosyncratic. Idiosyncratic, yes. So, Carl, do you mind telling me a little more about whatever it was that led up to this unfortunate incident? I was just sitting there, eating my lunch, and then I heard them laughing, and I looked over, and I saw this one kidI think his name is Bradpicking on this little kid. Eli something. Yes, the judge said. Eli Barringer and Brad Templeton. Brads home from the hospital now, in case you were wondering. His jaws wired shut. Hell be sipping breakfast, lunch, and dinner through a straw for the next six months, according to his father. Did you know them? Sir? This judge asked questions like a slick boxer used a jab. You never saw them coming, and just when you thought youd found your rhythm, he knocked you off-balance again. This boy, Eli, for instance. Was he a friend of yours? No, sir. You just decided to defend him, then. And did you know Brad Templeton? No, sir. What Im trying to comprehend is why you would do something like this. No grudge to settle; no attachment to the victim. Why dont you tell me a little more about how it all happened? Maybe even why. I dont know. Carl remembered Elis thick glasses, his hunched body, and worst of all, his smilehis braces full of white bread and peanut butter. I just... I dont like bullies. I mean, I cant stand them. They were making fun of this kid, and he was sitting there, laughing, because he didnt know what was going on, and everybody kept laughing at him, so I got up and walked over and told them to stop. By them you are referring to Brad Templeton? Yes, sir. An interesting choice of words, them. This is not the first time something like this has happened. Carl shook his head. Ive read your records, son. It took me a good portion of yesterday evening. I must say, to employ Chief Watkinss terminology, that I found your history rather idiosyncratic. They looked at each other for a second, and the judge said, Carl, youve been in eighteen different placements in the last four years, and thats not counting short stays like the place where you got that jumpsuit youre wearing. Eighteen. A dozen and a half foster homes, group homes, and juvenile detention facilities in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Ohio, andhe glanced down at the papersIdaho. How was Idaho? Cold, sir. Cold, yes. Id imagine. Youve accumulated one of the longest rap sheets Ive ever seen for a juvenile, and youve only just turned sixteen. And yet something stands out to me. Theyre all, every last one of them, the same chargeassaulteach stemming from the same sort of situation that brought you before me. Someone gave someone else a hard time, and you took it upon yourself to teach him a lesson. Good God, son, I lost track of how many people you have assaulted. And its not just other children. Oh no. Youve punched foster parents and teachers and mall security and even a police officer. A police officer? Son, dont you have a brain? Carl looked down. He had some skateboarder up against the monkey bars, and he kept yelling at the kid and slamming him into the bars, so Stop, the judge said. There is no so when you dont like something a police officer is doing. You had no role in that situation. Youre lucky he didnt shoot you. I would have shot you. Chief, wouldnt you have shot him? Hands like that? Yeah, Id have shot him. Carl wished these two would drop the cutesy act and get down to business. The longer he sat here, the more it felt like disaster brewing. The judge said, I dont know whose decision it was to move you all the way down here to North Carolina and drop you into Jessup High, but I intend to find out, and I further intend to have his hide nailed to my shed by sundown. He glanced at Velma, and she nodded and made a note on a clipboard. You are a rare person, Carl Freeman. Other than fighting, your record is absolutely spotless. No theft, no drugs, no underage drinking. If it werent for the fighting, youd look like a candidate for the glee club. Carl had heard all of this before. I dont look for trouble.... If they would just stop. The judge tented his fingers and narrowed his eyes. Very interesting, Carl. Very interesting, indeed. You said it again. They. Do you feel these peopleBrad, the policeman in Ohioare all in on this together? Part of some club or something? Im not crazy. The judge tapped the stack of papers before him. Your record implies otherwise, Im afraid. Either you are insane or, at the very least, downright idiosyncratic. Its like you have a superhero complex or something. Mild-mannered schoolboy by day, raging lunatic by night. Heat rose through Carls chest and into his face, and his knuckles began to ache again. Why didnt anybody understand? If I dont stop them, nobody will. Not the kids, not the teachers, nobody. Everybody just sits back and watches. The kids pretend they think its funny, because theyre too scared to say anything, and the teachers pretend they dont see it because theyre too lazy to do anything. What am I supposed to do? Lower your voice, Chief Watkins said. He was still leaned back with his big forearms crossed over his chest, but his eyes bore hard into Carls. The judge patted the air. Thats okay, Chief. Im glad the boys letting his hair down. Then, to Carl, he said, Now, these boys you attacked, Brad Templeton and the others, theyre well known in the community. Put on car washes, sell candy bars door-to-door, you might know the type. Their mothers and fathers, I see them at the Elks Club on Friday evenings. In the fall, we show up a bit later on Friday nights. See, football is quite popular here in our little corner of the world. Disturbingly so, in fact. It approaches religion at times. You can see the sort of trouble youve caused me? Carl nodded, thinking, Here it comes. The jabbings over; here comes the KO punch. The judge continued. Jessups football season is over before it even got going. The boys with broken noses will be okay, but the ones with busted ribs and wired jaws are out for the season. There are on that team other kids, good kids counting on football scholarships. Who will even scout a team with the record Jessups going to have this year? No one, thats who. So these boys, instead of going on to college, theyll just mow lawns and load cases of beer into peoples trunks for the rest of their lives. The judge stared directly into Carls eyes, and for the first time, Carl saw anger there. These are the real victims of your crime. They might not even know it, but I know it, and you know it, and their parents know it. The town is screaming for your blood, son. Theyd like to string you up on the fifty-yard line and then feed whats left to the pigs. Im sorry about those other kids. Carl lowered his head. He was sorry. They had never crossed his mind. Worse still, he wasnt sure he could have stopped himself even if they had. I believe you aresorry about them, I meanbut what interests me is, are you sorry about the other boys, too, the ones you hurt? Carl remembered the deep green mountainside beyond the cafeteria windows, rags of fog lifting away like departing ghosts. A strange world far from home, everything darkness and void. Remembered the boys, their cruelty, their laughter when hed told them to stop. Remembered the fight, all of them coming at him, and then... kids on the floor, bleeding, Carl turning himself in. He raised his eyes and shook his head. The judges mouth went thin. I didnt think so. While I commend your honesty, I must publicly acknowledge that a criminal who shows no remorse for his crimes is, of course, a criminal likely to perpetrate those same crimes in the future. With those hands of yours, I could charge you with assault with a deadly weapon. Eight counts. Forget the juvenile detention center. Chief Watkins would drive you straight to the state penitentiary, where you could serve out a sentence of, oh, a decade or two, right alongside full-grown men. Does that sound good to you? No, sir. Or I could hand you over to Windy Pines. Theyd put you in a padded cell and drug you up so heavily you wouldnt be able to tie your own shoes. Do you like the sound of that? No, sir. The trouble is, I have to live with whatever decision I make here today, and despite your singular idiosyncrasy, I believe you have the potential to become a good man someday. Your father was killed in the line of duty? He died as a result of wounds sustained in the line of duty. If it sounded like a line Carl had said before, it was. Many times. The judge sighed. Carl, it is my belief that you are at the present time, regardless of your potential, incapable of controlling your temper should the aforementioned situation arise again. Carl nodded. Judges in the past have taken every approach, from absolute leniency to draconian severity. Nothing has worked. And yet, you have within you this potential. Even your criminal acts have a certain nobility about them, as if you ascribe to a higher code than the rest of humanity. But make no mistake; they are crimes. In light of these factorsthe nature and number of your crimes, your seeming inability to control your temper, and the positive potential I see in every other aspect of your character and behaviorI hereby sentence you to Phoenix Island, a military-style boot camp, the term of confinement to begin immediately and to end at the date of your eighteenth birthday, at which point in time you will either return to North Carolina to serve out the remainder of your sentence, a term of six months to three years, at the state penitentiary, or you will earn placement through Phoenix Island, at which time this court will declare your debt paid in full and will furthermore expunge your juvenile record. Carl swallowed with difficulty. Jail or freedom. Nothing in between. There is no parole from Phoenix Island. It is a terminal facility, meaning you will remain there until you are legally an adult. Fail to learn from this opportunity, and I predict you will spend the rest of your life in and out of prison. If, however, you make the most out of this situation, and you learn to give others a second chance, just as I have given you here today, you will be able to lead a good life as a productive member of our society. You get control of that temper of yours, and I think youd make one hell of a cop. Thank you, sir. The judge looked Carl dead in the eyes. There will come a day, son, when you will need to determine exactly who it is you intend to be. Yes, sir. The judge finished his coffee, set the empty cup on Carls file, and turned to the others. Questions? Ms. Snyder asked for the location and visiting hours. Yeah, right, Carl thought. If there were two things you learned as an orphan, they were endings and beginnings. Mr. and Mrs. Rhoades were no more likely to visit than were Carls dead parents. The judge closed the matter. Im afraid thats confidential, Ms. Snyder, and irrelevant, as well. Phoenix Island allows no contact with the outside world. what is the #1 best selling book Phoenix Island (Bram Stoker Award for Young Adults)
24 of 24 people found the following review helpful. THE FIRST BOOK FROM A VERY PROMISING NEW AUTHORBy KEBLAABI was pleasantly surprised by this imaginative new novel. Published by one of Simon Schuster's subsidiaries, I believe the publishers may be very pleased with this book's impending success. Suitable for both adults and young adults, it is a fast-paced fantasy thriller with a very original plot and interesting subplots. A midst the tense action and explosive violence there are also sound moral implications and lessons to consider as well as the potential brutality of modern urban life for the apathetic and directionless. But with the right attitude there is also hope. This book does a good job of exposing both sides.1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. ...A bully wants to beat somebody; he doesn't want to fight somebody. - Andrew VachssBy Cheryl StoutCarl Freeman is an orphan. He is also a championship boxer - at 16 years old. But he has a problem with his temper, going after bullies that prey on weaker people, and he's already put several people in the hospital. Finally, he beats up one bully too many and ends up being sent to Phoenix Island, a boot camp for wayward orphan teens, located in the Pacific off the coast of Mexico.It doesn't take Carl long to make friends, especially the attractive Octavia, and it doesn't take long for all the teens to figure out this isn't a regular boot camp.Fast paced with some great fight scenes, this book is a cross between LORD OF THE FLIES; the ESCAPE FROM FURNACE series; and THE ISLAND OF DOCTOR MOREAU. The author did a good job of combining all these different ideas into a cohesive, very readable book.I'm glad that this is a series so I get to read more about the adventures of Phoenix Island. There was no huge cliffhanger ending in this tale, which I am glad about, and I'm also glad I have the next book in the series - DEVIL'S POCKET - that I will be reading next.There were a couple of scenes that caused my stomach to roll (and I read some pretty gritty books) so be forewarned.0 of 0 people found the following review helpful. haunted 16 year old boy with a good heart, and filled with a sense of justice ...By Ariana FaeIn PHOENIX ISLAND, John Dixon creates a brutal world where boot camp and prison are twisted into an amalgam where there is no hope, justice, or mercy.Carl is a wounded, haunted 16 year old boy with a good heart, and filled with a sense of justice and rightnesswhich is his strength and downfall. Even though Carl has a short temper and acts first without thinking, I liked him. Who doesnt admire a person that stands up to bullies, no matter how the odds are stacked against him.There was a lot I liked about this book. First there is there is the mystery of Phoenix Island and what its true purpose is. Carls backstory about his parents was heartrending and Dixon did a wonderful job conveying that. Theres a touch of romance giving Carl a little hope and something possibly to look forward to. Then theres his first fight at the boot camp which gripped me. I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until it was over. I was impressed how Dixon wrote fight scenes, they were realistic, brutal, and you really couldnt tell if Carl would win them.PHOENIX ISLAND is a well plotted thriller that delves into self discovery and the coming of age a young man who is searching for his purpose in life. I enjoyed reading it and look forward to the sequel.