Page 1 of Juniper Unraveling

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.