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Once the sunlight goes to bed, that's when darkness wakes the dead.
When a series of grisly deaths devastate 19th-century New England, sixteen-year-old farm girl Faith must outsmart the Undead to ke...
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Like long, blazing tongues, flames lick at the sides of the farmhouse and sweep across the roof, shattering my insides until there's nothing left but tiny pieces. Windows explode, beams cave in. Floorboards on the porch groaning as they curl up in the heat.
I don't have much time.
My gaze darts to the road, my armpits sliding with sweat. The townspeople will be here soon, hauling their torches and wielding their knives. There's a dagger in the barn; the one Papa used to disembowel livestock. Where I'm going, I'll need it.
Gasping for breath, I crash through the snow as beads of perspiration rise along my forehead. Wind lashes at my clothing and pulls at my hair, but my legs pump harder beneath my skirts. When I reach the barn, I release the latch and a gust of wind wrenches the doors wide open. They smash against the building with a deafening crack. I go straight for Papa's tools, my fingers trailing over every piece of equipment, tossing aside smaller blades meant for smaller tasks.
A sob rips through my chest. It has to be here somewhere!
I whip around in a circle, scanning the building. The animals are on edge. Their hackles raised, ears pushed back against their skulls. They're smart. They know something's wrong. There's no time to comfort them, but the least I can do is set them free.
I hurry to each stall and fling open the gates. At first, they're hesitant, not knowing what to do. Then one by one, they scamper out of their pens and into the cold, never once looking back.
As the last horse leaves, a table off to the side catches my attention. The remnants from Papa's last kill still scatters across the surface. Beaked head, round torso, clawed feet. Half-frozen blood and feathers sit in a bucket nearby.
Pushing the mutilated parts around the table, I search through the snake-like guts and gelatinous organs until I spy a wooden handle. Blood smears along the blade.
Voices. Out front, on the road. The townspeople are here. I need to find a different way out. One where they won't see me.
Gripping the wooden shaft in my clammy palm, I kick out broken boards at the back corner of the barn and squeeze through the jagged opening, my legs catching in the folds of my skirts. I tumble face-first into the snow. I'm on my feet in an instant, a scream clawing at the back of my throat. I can't get to the woods fast enough.
Tears blur my vision, but I push forward, my eyes fixed on the tree-line ahead. The forest tilts in front of me like a seesaw, the garlic necklace thrashing against my chest. Shouts from the townspeople whip around in the breeze.
I'm almost in the clear; just a little further to go. When the forest finally swallows me, my boots slip on the needle-covered floor. My knees slam into the earth as the sting of vomit rises in my throat. I try to swallow past it, but it rages in my stomach and erupts from my mouth like a volcano until nothing's left.
