Juniper Unraveling

by Keri Lake

  We sprint a short distance, and the sounds of gunfire strangle my breaths as I gasp, and I glance back to see alphas tumbling to the ground with the blasts.

  A flash of blinding headlights accompanies the blare of a horn, and we halt in our tracks, shielding our eyes from the brightness.

  At a green Calico truck idling before us, panic rips through my chest, a steady beat of urgency.

  The growls behind us grow louder, while the few stray alphas close in.

  “’The fuck you waiting for, a red carpet?” Tripp shouts from inside the truck, and the next breath bursts from my lungs on a hysterical laugh.

  We round the vehicle, toward the back, and Rhys throws back the tarp, exposing strange faces crowded inside. Men. Women. Children. Their uniforms and skeletal frames are a dead giveaway that they’re Calico’s survivors.

  Rhys lifts me into the back of the truck, and as soon as I’ve helped pull him inside, the truck lurches forward, kicking up clouds of dust around the alphas left behind.

  With his hands gripping either side of my face, Rhys stares down at me. The corner of his lips kick up to a slight smile before he presses them to mine. “We made it. We’re safe, Wren.”

  I grip his wrists, and with tears in my eyes, I smile, nodding. “Safe.”

  Chapter 43

  With a flaming torch in hand, I glance back toward where Rhys stands behind me, and at his nod, I toss it onto the trail of gasoline ahead we’ve laid down. A ring of fire circles the base of the small building and slithers through the opened door, where all the files sit stacked in boxes on the floor.

  Every file of those who passed through Calico.

  The orange monster swallows the boxes and scattered papers that detail every procedure, every horrific experiment, sending a cloud of ash into the air, purging our species’ darkest moments.

  I reach out and collect the vestiges in my palm.

  Some would say it’s a tragedy to erase the evidence.

  But the evidence will never be erased as long as there are those to tell the stories of the innocent and carry on their memories.

  Epilogue

  Two months later …

  I lounge across the motorcycle, parked just off Route 66 somewhere in New Mexico, tipping my head to the sun and letting the warm desert heat blanket my face. The journal in my lap sits open to a page that I make a point to read daily. A good reminder for my generation, and generations to come.

  You see the world as it is. I see the world as it isn’t. But what we see individually is molded by our past, our experiences, and our hopes of what’s to come. Always remember that everyone has a story, and you’ll never know hate for another human being as long as you live.

  I pray, in time, your generation will heal from our mistakes. Perhaps you’ll come to know the truth that somehow escaped us along the way—there isn’t a vaccine in creation that can cure hatred and indifference to human suffering. They are the most virulent diseases in existence.

  This is your world now, Wren. Live it as you see it.

  The soft brush against my cheek draws my eyes open, to Rhys standing over me, offering a floppy stuffed rabbit, similar to Sarai’s. For as old as it is, it’s surprisingly still intact, and only covered in a small bit of dirt.

  A quick glance toward the building shows the broken window, through which Rhys climbed inside what seemed only seconds before. The faded rainbows and sun painted on the walls hardly give it the appearance of the daycare that once stood there.

  “That was fast.”

  “’Sat what you asked for?”

  “Yes, it’s perfect.” I strap the rabbit to the back of the seat with some twine I already gathered and smile. “He’ll love it.”

  “She,” Rhys corrects, setting his hand against my belly that hasn’t yet begun to show. “She will love it.”

  “You’re hoping she’s a daddy’s girl, but she’ll probably end up like me. Emotionally withdrawn. Wary of men.”

  “Stubborn to a fault,” he adds, and plants a kiss to my lips. “A son wouldn’t fare much better, if he takes after me.”

  I raise my brows and sigh. “True. You’re not exactly good at sharing, and you eat twice your weight in figs.” With a shrug, I smile. “Maybe we’ll have twins. My mother did. I’m pretty sure it’s genetic.”

  His eyes widen at that, as if he never gave thought to the possibility. “I don’t know if the world’s ready for that.”

  “The world? Or you?”

  “Both.” He chuckles and, hooking his finger beneath my chin, presses his lips to mine again. “I love you, little bird. Always have. Always will.”

  “I love you, too.” I don’t hesitate to say it aloud. Pain be damned.

  “Are you ready?” he asks, brows winged up.

  Nodding, I smile and tuck Papa’s journal away into my satchel. “Let’s burn rubber.”

  When I twist back around, Rhys is knelt beside the bike, holding something between his fingers. I stare down at the bronze twisted metal he’s holding up in offering, and blink hard, unsure if I’m understanding what’s going on. An old fashioned skeleton key bent into a ring sits between his thumb and forefinger.

  “I remember you used to collect keys. Found this in your bag.” Rubbing the metal, he anchors his stare from mine. “I know you’re not one for tradition, but I wanted to make it official. As official as it can be. I love you, Wren. You’re the only one who’s ever unlocked my heart.” He slips the metal over my finger, and it’s the perfect fit. “I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never leave you. I’ll never want anyone else. May I have the honor of calling you mine?”

  I stare down at the ring spiraling up my finger and blink away the tears. “I liked to dream that one day I’d find the key that opened some hidden treasure somewhere. Something important, or valuable. As if I held the key to someone’s whole life story.” I spin the key around my finger and let the smooth steel pass over my skin. It seems so silly that a bent piece of metal could mean so much to me. That it could only add to the brimming love I feel for him. So frivolous and perfect at the same time.

  Raising my gaze to his, I smile and stroke his cheek. “You’re my story, Rhys. My most important thing. The answer’s yes.”

  He pushes to his feet, and his kiss is as reverent as his words, silently professing his love and devotion. He kisses me like the world’s about to end, and we’re all that’s left. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “Hey! Romeo and Juliet! We goin’, or not?” I twist around toward where Rigs is revving his bike, behind him, two lines of bikers and two green trucks bringing up the rear.

  The new members of our caravan are those who were released from Calico by Tripp, Tinker and Rigs. And although Legion soldiers did show up at the mine that day, they were met with evacuated tunnels lined with explosives set by Tinker.

  As far as we know, there hasn’t been a raid since.

  The wall is still guarded by Legion, and with their reduced numbers, we could fight them, maybe even bring down the barriers and seize the community. But that would make us no better than them.

  Besides that, none of the other survivors care to live so close to a place that will forever remain in our nightmares and symbolizes humanity’s darkest, most ruthless nature. One that could someday breach those sealed doors and infect a whole new generation.

  I pray that’s never the case, but to be safe, we decided to move on.

  Rhys groans, climbing onto the bike, and I lean forward, wrapping my arms around him, resting my chin on his back. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t ride off with you alone,” he says over his shoulder.

  I smirk at the comment.

  There was a time I believed that surviving on my own was the only way to survive, at all. That by severing the threads that bind them to others, a person becomes indifferent. Invincible. Liberated from the obligations of love.

  I also believed that love was nothing more than a precursor for pain.

  After all, this world ha
s no room for love. It’s harsh and violent and thrives from taking, but still we seek it out, because the will to live and love is the only universal thing that binds us as a species and ensures our viability—an ever-constant pulse that drives us, in spite of the pain and hate that seeks to destroy us along the way.

  When the world is at its darkest, somehow love still carries the light.

  Love is strength and weakness. A crutch and a sword. It can leave a person hollow and heal their wounds. It’s a friend to the stars, with pain as its shadow. A dichotomy whose time is uncertain.

  But above all things, love is necessary.

  “We could,” I tell him. “And we’d definitely make it on our own. But I’ve found it’s better to survive with others. It’s that whole … biological imperative thing.”

  “Then, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll survive together.”

  Rhys leads the others back onto the highway, and we head east, where the next chapter of my life begs to be written.

  There are those who’ll never know what awaits them, for fear of losing the illusion of safety they’ve created in their minds.

  I chose this side of that wall, where survival is harder, but real.

  Because it’s like Papa said in his journal.

  We don’t see the real world. We only see our world.

  Please consider leaving a review. Long or short, your review is always appreciated, and along with telling a friend about the book, it is the most wonderful gift you can give an author ❤️

  I am planning another book, set in the Juniper Unraveling world, so be sure to sign up for my newsletter to find out when it’ll be available! In the meantime, keep scrolling to check out my other stories.

  Thank you for reading.

  Acknowledgments

  I always thought of writing as a solitary thing, until I actually started publishing my books and realized how far from the truth that is. There are a few people who have not only encouraged this little addiction of mine, but have been very instrumental in making sure other aspects of my life continue to function normally while I’m locked away in these fictional worlds.

  My husband, Trent, who is incredibly forgiving when we’re having a conversation and I totally blank out on him, then immediately scramble for one of my (many) notebooks. Or the times I’ll have dinner cooking on the stove, get caught up in a scene, and he swoops in just before the smoke detectors go off and the food boils over. He also helps with the laundry, dishes and keeping the kiddos occupied when I’m on a tight deadline, which pretty much qualifies him as a superhero. Thanks for the saves, tallboy. I love you.

  My daughters, who are growing up to be pretty damn good kids considering they have a mother who hears voices all day long. Thank you for inspiring me, encouraging me, and giving me a reason to get up every morning and do my best. I love you both ‘infinity’.

  To my mom, dad and siblings, thank you so much for believing in me and giving me a push when I need it (and not judging me, ha!). No matter what I do in life, I know you’ll always have my back. Love you all.

  My editor and friend, Julie Belfield, I cannot believe I’ve not met you in person yet. I’ve known you for six years. Six. And in that time, you’ve been such an amazing mentor. This book is better because of you—because of the heart you put into my stories while whipping them into shape. Tough love, but I’m a much more confident writer because of you.

  To Terri R., my beta reader extraordinaire. Another one I’ve known since the days of Scribophile, when I hid behind an alias because I didn’t know if my writing was good enough to post. Thank you for believing in my work and making my stories better.

  Lana from Dirty Girl Romance Blog. Thank you for offering immoral support when I need it (and for catching any and all meat references). Also, thank you for beta reading my books, for being there when I have inappropriate questions while sitting in church, and for being the amazing support that you are for indie authors. I adore you, woman!

  To my Vigilante Vixens – I love you all! Thank you so much for giving me a place to go—a happy place—when I need it, and for keeping my stories alive when I’m locked away in the writing cave. To name a few: Lisa V., Timitra, Analia, Kelly, Diane, Eliza, Astrid, Courtney, Loyda, Agnese and Angela - thank you for the encouragement and support. I know I say this every time, but I truly don’t know what I’d do without all of you!

  My insanely talented cover designer, Sarah Hansen, who took bits and pieces of ideas that probably didn’t make any sense and somehow created a masterpiece out of them.

  To all of the bloggers who were willing to take a chance on my stories and share the love with other readers through reviews and promoting my work – thank you so much. I appreciate each and every one of you.

  And finally, my readers—none of this would be possible without you. Thank you for picking up my books, for sharing, pimping, recommending, messaging me, and leaving reviews. Whatever I write here will never truly capture how grateful I am to be able to share my crazy head with all of you. Thank you for reading my stories. ❤️

  About the Author

  Keri Lake is a dark romance writer who specializes in demon wrangling, vengeance dealing and wicked twists. Her stories are gritty, with antiheroes that walk the line of good and bad, and feisty heroines who bring them to their knees. When not penning books, she enjoys spending time with her husband, daughters, and their rebellious Labrador (who doesn’t retrieve a damn thing). She runs on strong coffee and alternative music, loves a good red wine, and has a slight addiction to dark chocolate.

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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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