The Diversion (Animorphs)

The Diversion (Animorphs)

Katherine A. Applegate

Language: English

Pages: 164

ISBN: 043911523X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Everything the Animorphs have ever known is about to change... The Yeerks suspect that the socalled "Andalite Bandits" are human after all. And the Animorphs know it's just a matter of time before the Yeerks learn their identities and infest them...and their families. Something major has to be done fast. Because now, the Animorphs can tell you who they are--and that changes everything.

Il Cardinale Nero











from the Chee, an android race hardwired against violence. They can't fight, but they've infiltrated the Yeerk organization and feed us information when they can. And, of course, morphing. An Andalite technology. Though it seems unbelievable, the Yeerks still think we're Andalites. Morphing is a powerful weapon, but it has rules. 1) You can't change directly from one morph to another without first returning to your natural body. 2) You have to acquire DNA directly from an animal. You can't

computer bank and leveled the Dracon. Thwwwap! Ax's tail struck. Once. Side of his blade to the side of her head. The Controller dropped to the floor, unconscious. The remaining Blue Bands lunged at Ax. "GrrrrrrrOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWR!" Rachel batted them with her mammoth grizzly paws. I lifted Marco. Jake and I hauled him through the front of the forklift. I leaped up after him, turned, and caught a glimpse of the" map. The orange light was still blinking. I pulled Marco out of the

Ax-man. That'll look real convincing on the surveillance tapes." We jostled past Loren and Champ. "Man, take your dog outside," Marco drawled. "He stinks." Loren didn't say a word. Just kept her steady pace. She felt along the top shelf till her fingers touched a box of Raisin Bran. She picked it up, shook it, and placed it in the shopping basket on her arm. I watched her. My mother. She did her grocery shopping at a convenience store. But I guess she didn't have much choice. The neighborhood

Closets. Kitchen cabinets. Medicine chest. Refrigerator. Purse. I told myself I was still looking for signs of Yeerks. And I was. But the truth is, I wanted more than that. I wanted an explanation. An explanation of her life. An explanation of why I wasn't in it. And at the bottom of a desk drawer, tucked under a row of hanging folders, I found it. A fat brown envelope. I pulled it out. Blew the dust off. Opened it. It was full of medical reports, doctor bills, invoices from a lawyer. And a

curdled milk and moldy pizza boxes. Four other flies darted around me, savoring the stench and the rot. Rachel called. My compound eyes pieced together her huge gray face, peering down into the Dumpster. Rachel cried.

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