Insurrection (Nevermore #1)(2)

No one got the better of them.

One voice could change the course of history, forever. No matter how small the Who in Whoville.

It was never about the size of the dog in the fight, but all about the size of the bite in the dog.

Too bad the Drabs had burned all human literature and history books instead of reading some.

Now they were about to get schooled at the University of Serious Bell Ringing by Dr. Crow and his elite faculty of kick-your-ass-and-make-it-count.

Because Josiah had no intention of stopping until he hand-delivered the bill that was long past due, and shoved it down their gray, Drab throats and made them choke on it.

This was personal. They had made it so.

His gaze fell to the latest report that had finally prompted his declaration of war. And his throat tightened around the bile that rose up in angry indignation. He was through watching his people die.

“Did you hear? They burned the Phoenix colony last night.”

Anjelica winced. “I saw the footage. Did anyone escape?”

He forced himself to mask the kick-in-the-gut he felt over her question. “If they did, they haven’t surfaced yet. No doubt they’re in hiding. Afraid of being caught and exterminated.”

“Yeah. I’d dig in deep, too. And pray hard for the hand of death to pass me by.” She jerked her chin toward his secured laptop that he’d used to post his message on the Drab’s network. “That the real reason for your declaration of war?”

He nodded even as disgust, fear and hopelessness threatened to overwhelm him. The human race couldn’t afford such significant strikes against them. It’d taken a hundred years of hiding from the Drab tracesakers who’d been assigned to hunt them down, to rebuild their underground population back from the near-extinction levels that had almost wiped them off the planet.

Their planet.

Another hit like this and they might become history, after all.

“My little tantrum should get the heat off the survivors. ... If there are any. The tracesakers will start looking for me now.” It was what the Drabs always did whenever they sensed a threat.

Any action required a swift and direct overreaction.

Anjelica tsked at him. “Boy, you’re insane. You done bought yourself all kinds of hurt.”

“Perhaps, but remember what William Blake said. The eagle never lost so much time, as when he submitted to learn of the crow. If I can buy them even an hour of peace, I will give up my life for it.”

Josiah meant that. Yet he had no intention of dying. Not to today.

Not tomorrow.

Not ever.

He was, after all, a crow. And crows were sacred to his people. They were messengers and harbingers. A gateway from this world to the next.

As his mother used to say ...

One crow caws for sorrow.

Two crows sing of joy.

Three crows fly to borrow.

Four crows are a ploy.

Five crows warn of tomorrow.

Six crows bring much gold.

And seven crows caution you of all the stories left untold.





Beware the seventh crow. It could bring prosperity or death. Its choice. But until it sung its tale, no one knew which way it’d fly or where it’d go to roost.

Josiah had been the seventh crow born in his family. His mother’s youngest.

Her deadliest and most unpredictable.

“I swear, Joey, you came into this world backwards and you’ve been that way ever since. Cantankerous and stubborn as the day is long. Ain’t no one ever been born what could tell you what to do.”

But then that, too, ran deep in his blood. Deeper still in his people and his Southern family.

Again, the Drabs should have learned something of the culture they sought to override and destroy. It was easy to hate without context. To destroy without understanding how difficult it was to build something.

Unlike them, he’d taken his time to carefully study his enemies. Intimately. He knew how they thought. How they lived and how they’d developed into their current hive mind-set.

Now he was going to use that to annihilate them.

Once and for all.

Starting with the one who’d delivered the deepest blow to his heart.

Without a word, his gaze fell to the poem he’d written just before his declaration. This particular bit of his writing, he would forever keep to himself.

A silent promise. Just between the two of them.

Her name, he didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

She knew who she was.

He knew who she was. What she’d done. And so did she. That was all that mattered.

And he would have her throat for it all. Come hell or high water. Come nuclear devastation. Even if he had to fight his way back from death again.

Josiah would bathe in her blood and he would feast on her black heart. After all, that was where his middle name had come from. His mother’s original maiden name.

Allred.

Given to their ancestor who’d been known for coating himself in the blood of his slain enemies and reveling in the violence of war. Her entire family had been peace-loving until crossed. Then it was on to such an extent that his father used to joke their unwritten family motto was: I’ll kill you.

And Josiah wouldn’t rest until he saw this through...

Tick tock rang the clock. The talons of death came nearer nigh.

In the dark, all was stark. And only your breath was heard as a wretched sigh.