Juniper Unraveling Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  Juniper Unraveling

  Keri Lake

  JUNIPER UNRAVELING

  Published by KERI LAKE

  www.KeriLake.com

  Copyright © 2017 Keri Lake

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, locations, or any other element is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by Okay Creations

  Editing: Julie Belfield

  Warning: This book contains explicit sexual content, and violent scenes that some readers may find disturbing.

  Humankind cannot bear very much reality.

  -T.S. Eliot

  For those who are brave enough to love in spite of the pain.

  Contents

  VIP Email List

  Other Books By Keri Lake

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Eight Years Later …

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books By Keri Lake

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  Other Books By Keri Lake

  CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  RICOCHET

  BACKFIRE

  BALLISTIC (coming soon)

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  RIPPLE EFFECT

  PARANORMAL ROMANCE

  SOUL AVENGED

  SOUL RESURRECTED

  SOUL ENSLAVED

  SOUL REDEEMED

  THE FALLEN (A SONS OF WRATH SPINOFF)

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  Introduction

  Dear Readers,

  I took a chance and wrote something different. I’ve had this book on the backburner for a while, and decided, between deadlines, to give it a shot. I’ll caution, this is not a light and fluffy read. The first half carries a dark, oppressive tone, but if you stay in the story, I promise a sliver of light.

  This book would not have been written, if not for the amazing talent of Ruelle, whose haunting voice and lyrics inspired a number of scenes. The playlist very closely reflects the tone of the story and adds to the reading experience.

  You can find the playlist for Juniper Unraveling HERE.

  Thank you for reading my stories ❤️

  Keri

  JUNIPER UNRAVELING

  Into the ruined twists of bark,

  Where time and weather left its mark,

  Through battering winds and torrid heat

  Each day a measure of defeat,

  The children whisper of their pain

  Their secrets spilled, but not in vain.

  For every one that fills the tree,

  That coils tight and can’t break free.

  Becomes a song of vindication.

  Of absolution, liberation.

  Upon the wind that shakes its leaves

  The pattering raindrops when it grieves.

  That should you hear while on your travels,

  Reveals the truth when Juniper unravels.

  Chapter 1

  Dani

  “They only take boys.” My mother’s hands tremble, drumming against the top of my closely shorn head, as she snips scissors over the few stray hairs she missed. “Only boys.”

  Asking her what that means is pointless. She’s said nothing else since an hour ago, when she dragged my two siblings and me into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

  My three-year-old brother, Abel, stands on tiptoes, with his hands over the sink, catching the fallen hairs in his tiny palm.

  I try not to look down into the bowl, where the last of my long brown locks lay in a heap, waiting for her to burn them. I’ll cry if I do, and that’ll only incite her to keep on with her mumbling.

  For some stupid reason, the only thing that comes to mind is the barrette my father gave me for my birthday, one he made of feathers and twine, that I’ll no longer be able to clip into my hair. He always brought the best gifts home from his travels, his visits to the ruins of nearby cities, where he foraged whatever hadn’t been destroyed by the bombs.

  I miss my father.

  He would’ve known the exact right thing to say to snap her out of this spell, but he’s dead. Killed by the Ragers while scavenging food farther out from our community.

  Groups of survivors, like ours, are situated in what are known as hives. Small communities that continue to function independently with the resources we have. My father, who was always a whiz at navigation and geography, possessed a pretty good lay of the land, and led expeditions for supplies and food that often kept him away from us for days at a time.

  I was told he fought like a lion and took down a Rager himself, before they swarmed him like a
colony of fire ants. In my mind, I imagine only his bones were left. Though even those, the Ragers sometimes collect as trophies.

  I only know all of this because one of the men in their camp got away, somehow. He returned here, covered in blood and bites. Doc had to put him down, of course, because once they’re bitten, it’s too late. No going back after that.

  My mother tips the candle, allowing the flame to catch the snipped hairs until they ignite into a small fire, contained by the porcelain of the sink. Aside from catching my hair, the sink is pointless, much like the lamps, the dishwasher, and the television propped in the corner of the living room. They’re all props that give an impression of normalcy. Of life before the outbreak—a life I don’t know, myself, but these frivolous objects seem to bring my mother comfort.

  My dad said they once provided water and entertainment to the people who lived here. I find that odd, considering they sit so silently throughout our home—objects as meaningless as the rubble in the streets.

  At a muffled popping noise that sounds like it’s coming from outside our apartment building, my mother’s eyes widen. If possible, her hands tremble even more, as she gathers up the snippers, the brush, and stores them away in the cabinet below the sink.

  A thud swings my attention toward the bathroom door. Beyond it, I can hear a pounding that rattles the knickknacks my mother plasters to the walls in the living room—gifts from my father’s travels.

  She pulls my youngest sister, Sarai, my brother’s twin, before the mirror, brushing her fingers through the baby silk curls of her hair as if she’s in another world. Her eyes are lost to the act, looking down at her the way she did when she used to rock the twins to sleep. “No time. They only take boys.” My mother’s whispers hardly carry over the noise on the other side of the bathroom door.

  “Mom, what is it? Who only takes boys?” I finally muster the courage to ask.

  She directs her eyes to mine, and for the first time in the last hour, I see something in them—shadows that lurk behind the morning blue. My eyes are green, but not a bright spring green, more like a dull lackluster green that naturally darken in certain light. Nothing like my mother’s. Hers are bright enough to see the worry in them. They shine with tears, and her lips purse and quiver, like they do before she cries. I know, because it’s all she’s done in the six months my father’s been gone.

  Snagging my arm, she shuffles my twin siblings out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, dragging me behind the three of them, until we come to a stop behind the door. She tugs me inside, locking the door behind her, and twists around to face me.

  “You take the name of your father. Not Danielle. You’re Daniel. Take care of your brother. Don’t forget what your father taught you about surviving. You must stay alive.” Tears leak down her cheeks as she caresses the short crop of my hair. “No matter what.”

  Those words skate across my skin, leaving goosebumps, and I want to ask her why she’s talking to me as if she’s going somewhere I’m not.

  But I don’t.

  Her lip trembles before she pulls me to her chest, and her warm breath peppers the exposed skin at the top of my head. “You must, Dani. And know that you, all of you, are the most important thing to me. I love you,” she whispers. Abandoning the hug, she leans down to Abel and kisses his cheek. “Listen to your sister. Do everything she tells you.”

  Abel nods and wipes a tear from her cheek. “I will, Momma.”

  “Mom—”

  A thunderous boom snaps my focus to the bedroom door behind me, before I glance back to my mother. Her trembling fingers slide into mine, and she backs us toward the bed.

  The panic rises to my throat and the first tingle of fear ripples down my spine. “Mom, who’s outside the door?”

  The crack from behind bounces against the bedroom wall, and three figures, dressed in the same black uniform, stand in the doorway. Masks cover their faces, with canisters sticking out at both sides, and an accordion tube that connects to a box at their hips. Two deep black lenses completely hide their eyes.

  I can’t see an inch of their skin to know if they’re even human, and cold branches seep through my veins, locking me in place.

  Whispers drift through my mind, tales I’ve heard of the men in black suits who steal away children and kill their mothers, and I realize I’m staring at a nightmare I’ve thought as nothing but a campfire story.

  They step toward my brother and me, grabbing our elbows much harder than even our father did whenever we disobeyed.

  “Mom!” I twist out of the grip, and my brother lets out a wail, when one of the soldiers lifts him.

  Spinning on my heel, I turn to my mother, who’s backed herself and Sarai into the corner of the room. She crosses her arms over the front of my sister and closes her eyes. I recognize the movement of her lips as the Lord’s Prayer from the many time’s she’s mouthed it in silence.

  “Mom!” My muscles lurch with the yearning to run to her and get caught in that embrace alongside my sister, but another grip, much harder than before, bands around my neck, and I gasp as it yanks me backward.

  My hands fly to my throat, and pressure builds in my head and nose, banishing the air in my lungs. Scratchy material scrapes against my chin, as the soldier drags me across the room by my neck, leaving one soldier in the bedroom with my mother and sister.

  My sister’s cries are wild and throaty, not like a whine, but when she’s really scared.

  Once, she dreamed of monsters, and woke with that same scream in her throat. Only my father could calm her, when he promised her he’d never let a monster hurt her.

  I thought it odd at the time that he never said they weren’t real.

  We come to a stop just outside the bathroom, and the same pop I heard before is much louder, bouncing against the walls. Another.

  My brother’s cry fractures into a screech beside me, and I still in my captor’s arm, double-blinking.

  It doesn’t even register at first that they’ve shot my mother, not until I see the red spill across the wooden planks like a river, moving toward me as if reaching out for me.

  A third pop.

  A narrower stream of blood trickles alongside the first as the two race toward me.

  A sharp pain hits my chest, which is cold and tight, the air thick in my lungs. I open my mouth to nothing. Nothing but silence and the tug of my throat that begs me to cry.

  Why can’t I cry?

  My mother and sister lie in a heap on the floor. The way they’ve fallen, they almost seem curled into each other, peacefully asleep. An eternal embrace.

  And that’s how I know that my mother’s gone, because she’d never let anything happen to the twins. She was as protective as a mother could possibly be.

  Their forms blur behind my tears, and the cry that erupts from my chest isn’t my own. It sounds foreign to me. Weak. Scared. The most painful sound I’ve ever heard crashing inside my head.

  The noise around me shrinks away to echoes bouncing against my skull.

  I reach out my hands for my mother, hoping there’s one glimmer left, one small movement that tells me she’s still alive. That she and my sister are playing.

  Nothing.

  My mother drifts away from me, as I’m dragged through the room, but I don’t take my eyes off her. I kick and dig my heels into the hardwood. The arm banded around my neck is close enough to my mouth, and I clamp my teeth down on it, surprised when they merely slide off the impenetrable fabric. I fight for one more moment with my mother. One more look to remember her eyes, the same bright blue as my sister, Sarai’s.

  “Let me go!” I hear myself scream, but everything is distant, like someone else speaking.

  Around the corner, both my mother and sister disappear from my view, and my brother’s cries bring me back to focus. The living room slips past my periphery, and my mind begs me to take something. Anything.

  On the coffee table is the book my mother often read to us before bed. Harry Potter And The Sorce
rer’s Stone. In her time, it was a favorite, so when my father pulled it from his satchel after one of his excursions, she danced through the house with excitement.

  Against the pressure across my throat, I reach out for the book and clutch it tight to my chest.

  The monster holding me pries at it, but I wrap my arms tighter until the fight relents.

  And perhaps the other monsters catch on, because one of them offers my brother a stuffed rabbit lying on the floor. It belongs to his now murdered twin, Sarai, and though it tones down his screaming some, his body still jerks with hard sniffles and sobs.

  A tight fist of shock twists in my stomach, as the monsters march us down the stairs of the apartment where we live, farther away from my mother and sister.

  I look over the rail at where there’s a line of boys—some older, some very young, like Abel, making their way down the spiraling stairwell of our apartments, the occasional black uniform breaking up the familiar faces I’ve grown up with.

  We step outside into the light and are forced shoulder-to-shoulder, until standing in a straight line. As I turn my head to the left, then right, I notice I’m the only girl in line. Every head sporting a short crop belongs to a boy, or a man.