Dark Tomorrow: Cult of the Crow

By Jeremiah Franklin

Kill or be killed is the new normal for Sawyer, Sara, and the survivors of the deadly virus that has all but annihilated the human race. With the death of Sara's father and the disappearance of the strange boy known as Mason, the teens are left reeling, but alongside the enigmatic ex-Marine, Edward, they soon forge an alliance with a collection of young survivors led by the sage and charismatic Kai. Nevertheless, when their new companions begin to mysteriously disappear, the group is once again thrown into a desperate struggle for survival, where only the most cunning and relentless will prevail. Ultimately, among whispers of top-secret military bunkers, lost gold, and a shadowy group known as the Cult of the Crow, Sawyer and Sara must face the grim realization that death and betrayal lurks in every corner, and when it comes to the end of the world--nothing is what it seems.

Dark Tomorrow II: Cult of the Crow is an action-packed dystopian novel for fans of Netflix's The Society, CW's The 100, and How it Ends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Independent Publishers Group
• Release date: Nov 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781939765109

Book preview

forgotten.

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

Acknowledgements

About the Author

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Sawyer approached the end of the blufftop trail and crouched down low as he stared at the ground in front of him, green eyes narrowed, mouth curled into an uncharacteristic frown. What he was looking at was obvious enough, a single, size eight boot print outlined in the sandy earth, but he stared at it for a long time before he finally stood and rubbed at the patchy stubble growing on his chin. In the hundreds of days that he had walked these trails, the seventeen-year-old had grown comfortable talking to himself out loud, and as was his habit, he tossed in a few gratuitous swears as he spoke now.

Goddamn it. What am I missing here? Where the hell could that kid have gone?

Sawyer rested the shotgun he was carrying on his shoulder and shook his head as the sound of the surf crashed below. It had been exactly one month since the peculiar boy named Mason had run away from the old Spanish Mission where they lived, his hair singed by fire, face streaked with tears, but now, after finally finding the boy’s trail, Sawyer had come to what looked like a dead end. In every direction, there were steep cliffs made of crumbling sandstone, yet the boy’s tracks stopped at the edge of the bluff. It was almost as if Mason had somehow vanished into the salty air. Sawyer took a step closer to the edge and leaned out. The cliff was at least forty feet high, and besides a few ragged palm trees swaying in the onshore breeze, the bottom was choked with clumps of dead beach grass and ice plant. There was no sign of the boy. It was conceivable that Mason could have climbed down, or even fallen, but Sawyer saw no indication that anyone had attempted to slide down the sandstone, and there was clearly no body lying at the bottom of the cliff.

Sawyer turned around and stared back down the trail he had just come from, not sure what to do next. For the last month, he had spent almost every day searching for the boy, but now it seemed that his trail had finally gone cold. It was time to return home. Sawyer was not accustomed to giving up on anything, but he could not search forever, and with no easy way down the cliff, and nowhere to go but back down the same trail he had just followed, Sawyer shook his head in frustration and sighed a quiet apology.

I’m sorry, Mason. I tried. I doubt that you’re still out there somewhere, but if you are, good luck.

With no reason to stay on the bluff any longer, Sawyer was about to take his first step back toward the Mission when suddenly his ears caught the unmistakable sound of a twig snapping from somewhere in the nearby brush. For the briefest moment, Sawyer’s eyes grew big, and he raised his voice just above the sound of the crashing surf.

Mason? Is that you?

Despite all that had occurred between the two, Sawyer wanted nothing more than for the blond-haired boy to come stepping through the brush, an awkward smile on his pale face. Instead, he was met with an eerie silence. A cold chill ran down the length of his spine, and he gripped the shotgun tight as he spoke again, this time louder.

Is somebody there?

Only a single crow cried out in the distance, and Sawyer slowly raised the shotgun to his shoulder. He had carried his father’s 12-gauge, pump-action Mossberg since the first days after the blackout, but even with the weapon now in hand, he knew that he was in a bad spot. From where he stood on the cliff, there was nowhere to go but down, and he scowled as he heard another twig snap, closer this time. Sawyer knew it could be nothing more than a lone rabbit, or possibly one of the thousands of crows that dominated the landscape, but the boy’s instincts told him to take no chances. He let his finger slide over to the trigger of the shotgun, his voice much calmer than he felt inside.

Look, if someone’s there, you’ve got three seconds to come out, or I promise that I’ll start shooting.

Again, there was no answer, but this time the boy could taste the faint, yet familiar tang of adrenaline on the back of his tongue. He knew right then that he was not alone. Part of him still hoped it might be Mason cowering in the bushes, too scared to come out, but deep down Sawyer knew exactly where this was headed. If the end of the world had taught him anything, it was that it was a messy place to conduct business, and he shook his head slowly.

All right, goddamn it. Have it your way. Looks like I’m going to have to count down from three.

Sawyer leveled the shotgun at the nearest set of bushes, but just as he was about to begin the countdown, there was the faintest sound of a gun cocking, and suddenly the thick brush ahead of him erupted in a hail of gunfire. Sawyer had once heard his father say that sometimes in war all you can hope for is to return fire and pray, but with bullets flying only inches past his body, there was no time to talk with God. Instead, he dropped to one knee and squeezed the trigger as fast as he could, pumping three rounds of double-zero buckshot into the brush.

He heard a shriek of pain and a low groan as the last round of buckshot tore through the bushes, but there was no time to breathe easy. The boy looked back at the cliff behind him and grit his teeth. There was no question that Sawyer had been born with luck on his side, but even he knew that he could not hope to survive another volley of gunshots at such close range. He could hear movement in the brush, and with only one bad option left on the table, Sawyer emptied the last three rounds from the shotgun into the bushes, swallowed hard, and leapt off the edge of the cliff.

With his adrenaline at full tilt, and the sound of gunshots ringing in the air above him, Sawyer came flying off the cliff feet first, clawing at the sandstone with one hand, the other hand gripping the Mossberg. He fell a dozen or so feet before his fingers grasped on an exposed tree root. It was just enough to slow his fall as he careened down the cliff’s face before finally slamming into a sandy bed of dry beach grass and ice plant at the bottom of the bluff. The vegetation had broken his fall well enough to spare his life, but every part of his body was screaming out in pain. Sawyer had to fight to stay conscious. Miraculously, the Mossberg had landed only an arm’s length away, and although it took him a moment to gather his senses, as soon as he could breathe, he crawled beneath the shadow of a squat palm tree and reloaded the weapon.

The sounds of the gunfight had sent hundreds of crows into the sky, their cries filling the air as Sawyer looked up through the ragged fronds of the palm tree. The blufftop above was empty, and although he was not surprised that no one had followed him off the edge, he could only imagine they were likely looking for another way down. Sawyer knew that if he wanted to live, he had to get off the beach as soon as possible. With a gasp of pain, he dragged himself to his feet and started moving.

Sawyer was certain he had broken several ribs and possibly dislocated his shoulder, but it was the recent bullet wounds to his side that he was most concerned about. On the same night Mason had disappeared, Sawyer had been shot in a failed attempt on his life, and although the bullet had passed through cleanly, he was concerned that the wounds were once again bleeding.

Even injured as he was, he was able to put one foot in front of the other, and it was not long before he left the beach and disappeared into the brush. From a young age, his father had raised him to be a soldier more than a son, and although the boy had never had the chance to fulfill his father’s dreams, Sawyer had been uniquely prepared for the life he now led. Whether right or wrong, Sawyer’s father had made him strong, and the boy did his best to ignore the pain as he kept moving.

He saw no further signs of his attackers as he neared home, but he took no chances and kept the shotgun in hand, his head on a swivel. Sawyer was angry at himself for walking straight into an ambush, yet more than anything, he recognized the fact that he had barely escaped death once again. There had been a time when he would have called it simple luck, but now he felt differently, and as the whitewashed walls of the Mission finally came into view, Sawyer could not help but smile. The boy knew that it was not just luck that had brought him home this time, and before he took another step forward, he looked up to the sky and whispered quietly.

Thanks again, God. Looks like I owe you another one.

As soon as he came upon the Mission, Sawyer saw Edward near the main entrance, and he raised his one uninjured arm and gave the man a wave. Like the former Marine that he was, Edward was standing ram-rod straight with a steely look in his eye, and he returned the wave with a quick salute. The boy could see that Edward was standing only a few yards from where Sawyer had been shot not long ago, and the events of that fateful night suddenly flashed through his mind like a bad dream. On that night, they had both been betrayed by a woman named Rebekah and her brother, Benjamin, and although it had cost them dearly, in the end it had been Edward who had saved Sawyer’s life by putting a single bullet in the back of Rebekah’s head.

Still, Sawyer had spent enough time thinking about his many brushes with death, and pushed the thoughts out of his mind as he came limping toward Edward. The man took one look at Sawyer, and his mouth fell open.

Good God, Sawyer. What happened to you, son? You look like you got hit by a Mack truck. You need some help?

Sawyer knew exactly what he must look like, but he shook his head and smiled. For better or worse, he had already decided he was not going to tell Edward or Sara what had happened quite yet, and he brushed off the question with a half-truth.

Took a little fall, is all. I’ll be all right, thanks.

Edward ran his fingers through his short, salt and pepper hair and raised one eyebrow. He did not look convinced by Sawyer’s answer, but he was not one to pry.

If you say so. Anyway, when you’re up for it, I could use some help getting the new lights for the workshop hung up. I’ve got them rigged to a few car batteries. I know you and Sara are partial to candlelight, but it will be helpful in the shop.

Sawyer put his hands on the gate.

Sure, maybe tomorrow, if that’s all right? It’s been a rough day. Rough month, really.

Edward placed a hand on Sawyer’s shoulder.

There’s an old saying that goes something like, ‘don’t let yesterday use up too much of today.’ What I’m saying is that the past is behind us. Rebekah is dead and gone. Benjamin and the rest of her flock are dead and gone. They can’t hurt anyone ever again. There’s no sense in dwelling on things that have already come and gone.

Sawyer turned and nodded, but he did not smile.

To be honest, it’s not the past I’m worried about. It’s the future that keeps me up at night. Mostly, I’m worried about Sara. I love her so much, but she’s not the same since her father died and Mason ran away.

Edward had known Sara for only a few months before Rebekah and her men had attacked the Mission and set the fire that had killed the girl’s father, Jacob, but it was obvious there was a change in her.

It’s been a difficult time for everyone I think, but I can only imagine how hard it is for Sara. Having to watch her father burn to death inside that house, then finding out that Rebekah and Benjamin had betrayed us all, and of course, having Mason run away like he did. It must be hard for any teenage girl to deal with. Speaking of Mason, any luck in your search for the boy?

Sawyer could picture the younger boy so clearly from that last night, pale hands clasped tightly together, blue eyes reflecting the flames as he watched Jacob die. He kicked at the ground and sighed.

No, not really. I did find some footprints, but they didn’t lead where I wanted them to go. It’s like he just stepped off the face of the Earth. I don’t know where else to look, or what to do.

Edward could see the pain behind Sawyer’s eyes, and he tried to offer some advice.

I know that it must be hard for you too, Sawyer, with Mason blaming you for Jacob’s death, especially after all that you’ve done for the boy. I’m sure it’s even harder on Sara. Just don’t forget how fortunate you are that someone loves you, even if she doesn’t show it right now.

Sawyer could only nod.

Edward looked into the distance, his voice full of unexpected emotion.

Not everyone gets a chance at love that lasts, no matter how much they may want it. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. One day I’ll tell you about my wife and the love we shared, and what it feels like to have that love taken away. But right now, all you need to know is that what you and Sara have is special. She’ll come around. Everyone deals with heartbreak and loss in different ways. Some people better than others. I should know.

Sawyer did his best to hide the surprise on his face. Edward had never so much as mentioned having a wife, nonetheless how much he loved her, and Sawyer was not sure what to say. He shifted awkwardly and finally replied.

I guess they say time heals all wounds, right?

Edward frowned.

That is what they say, but take it from me, Sawyer, sometimes the deepest wounds of the heart never truly heal. I hate to say it, but the best you can hope for is that Sara proves to be as strong as she seems, and when push comes to shove, she can handle her loss much better than a washed-up Marine like me ever could.

Sara stared down at the blank pages of the journal in her hands and sighed. It had been exactly thirty days since her father had died. Exactly thirty days since Mason had run away. And it had been exactly thirty days since she had written down a single word. Her last journal had been nearly full, but it had burned up in the same fire that had taken her father’s life, and although Sawyer had given her a new book within days, she was simply not ready to express her emotions on paper, or in any other way for that matter. Instead, for the past month she had cloistered herself away from everyone, revisiting both her own life and the night her father died over and over in her mind as she tried to put the pieces together.

Today was no different, and as Sara closed the journal, she let her thoughts fall back to how it had all begun. How the virus had spread like wildfire from city to city, how the world had fallen apart before her eyes. It had been her father’s decision to ignore the evacuations, and while Sara and Jacob had found themselves among the minute few who were immune to the virus, the girl’s mother had no such protection. With no means to save her, Sara had watched in horror as the virus had swiftly taken her mother’s life, and she had blamed her father ever since. From that point on, it was only a matter of time before they had run low on food and water, and Sara and Jacob had been forced to travel south in search of supplies, scavenging what they could along the way. It was also during that time that they had rescued the strange and stuttering boy named Mason. Sara pictured his skinny frame standing silently in the morning sun, his back scarred with lash marks, arms tracked with cigarette burns. At the time, she had no way of knowing that the boy had been kept against his will by a shadowy group of death-worshipping survivors, known as the Cult of the Crow, or that the man she had killed in self-defense that day was a homicidal maniac of the highest order.

From the very beginning, Sara had treated the boy like a brother, taking him under her wing as they traveled. For several months, they survived like scavengers as they made their way south, until finally her father grew suddenly ill and they were forced to stop. On that rainy day, they had made camp just outside of the window she was now staring out of, in the courtyard of the old Mission, and although she had been certain that her father would die, it was not meant to be. Instead, she ended up coming face-to-face with a green-eyed boy named Sawyer, and with his help, it was not long before her father was back on his feet and the girl had fallen in love.

For a short time, they had lived in relative comfort and safety inside the walls of the Mission, with Sawyer and Sara falling deeper in love with each passing day. Still, her father wanted something more than what they had settled upon, and against all advice, it had been he who had set the signal fire that had brought Rebekah, her brother Benjamin, and Edward to the Mission. And, while Edward was friendly, if not somewhat aloof, the siblings were something altogether unique. From the beginning, Rebekah and Benjamin made it clear that they believed they had been specifically chosen by God to survive the apocalypse and that a war between good and evil was both imminent and inevitable.

Despite their professions of faith, they were both full of dark secrets, and Rebekah had come to the Mission to either convert, conscript, or kill anyone who stood in her path. Jacob had been mesmerized by the younger woman, and although he had done his best to play the role of the true believer, the moment Rebekah realized his faith was counterfeit, she had summoned her followers and ordered the death of everyone inside the Mission. Nevertheless, they had not counted on Sawyer, or the fact that Edward would come to his aid, and when the smoke finally settled, it was Rebekah and her disciples who all lay dead.

Now, as Sara looked out of the window at the charred remains of the house where her father had died, she knew it had come at a great cost. She leaned forward and put her palm on the window as she went back to that fateful night, the images flashing through her mind like a slide show. She could see Jacob standing on the roof of the house, the space around him engulfed in flames, a single, smoking leather satchel in his hands. She saw Mason standing beside her, the boy screaming her father’s name, his face a mask of confusion and fear. She could see Sawyer a step ahead of her, frantically yelling for Jacob to jump. In the end, only the satchel filled with gold bars came flying through the wall of flames, and Sara had watched as the house collapsed upon itself, Mason’s shrill screams echoing in her head as her father was lost somewhere beneath the wreckage.

Sara pulled her hand away from the window and twisted her long, brown hair between her fingers, the suffocating feeling of loss weighing down on her like an anchor. Truth was she had not only lost her father that night, but also Mason, and while she could not understand why the boy had blamed both her and Sawyer for Jacob’s death, it did not change the fact that now, thirty days later, she held little hope for his safe return. As if to prove the point, Sawyer returned through the main gate, and even at a distance, she could see there was no blond-haired boy trailing behind him.

Even though she had not seen Sawyer in several days, she was in no hurry to welcome him home. It was not that she blamed Sawyer for what had happened, but she could not deny that every time she looked into his eyes she was reminded of that night, and for that reason alone they