Cult of the Crow by Jeremiah Franklin

Author:Jeremiah Franklin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: YA, teen, apocalypse, post-apocalypse, action, survival, dystopian
Publisher: Month9Books, LLC
Published: 2019-11-12T08:00:00+00:00

The next month crept by without incident, and although there was still no sign of their missing comrades, life inside the compound went on nonetheless. The familiar routine of constant work and repair was good for the group, and with spring on the horizon, there was reason to be optimistic. It had taken weeks and the full effort of everyone in the compound, but the break in the wall had been fully repaired, along with the chicken coop and rabbit hutch. Impressively, the garden looked to be coming back in surprisingly good health, and tiny, green seedlings were already stretching toward the sky.

There had been no sign of the Crows, or any other humans for that matter, yet, despite the majority of the group’s guarded hopefulness, Hope had taken the loss of Santiago and Jayce especially hard, and she seemed to exist in a state of muted depression. It was not uncommon for her to spend her spare time sitting alone in the far corner of the Mission, wringing her hands and crying softly. Haven and Sara did their best to console her, but Hope was unmoved, and they had agreed to give her the space they felt she needed. In their place, Edward had made his own attempts to raise Hope’s spirits, but no number of flowers, gifts, or kind words seemed to hearten the young woman.

Surprisingly, Sawyer was also having trouble adjusting after the disappearance of Jayce and Santiago, but for reasons much more selfish than Hope’s. The truth was that Sawyer had grown accustomed to having complete freedom of movement at all times, and the new rules that he had proposed were driving him stir-crazy. Even though he enjoyed hunting with Gavin, he had not realized how much he wanted just a few minutes to himself, and at night, he paced the compound like a caged animal, unable to sleep for more than a few hours, a reoccurring dream waking him each night.

In the dream, he was walking through a thick grove of trees at night, the Mossberg in his hands, Apache leading the way. The coyote’s coat shimmered in the dark, giving off a bright white light of its own, and Sawyer followed closely behind, making certain to stay near the animal at all times. As they came out of the trees, Apache suddenly vanished, the trail going black as Sawyer stumbled forward and fell to the ground, his backpack tearing open as he toppled over, the shotgun shells inside the pack spilling into the darkness. As he rose to his feet, he could suddenly see the familiar landscape of the airstrip at Camp Pendleton glowing green in front of him, a lone figure standing in the center of the runway. Some nights the figure had the face of Jayce, other times it was Santiago, but what frightened Sawyer most of all, and what woke him up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, was when the face was his very own.

Sawyer knew

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