Read Online Everwinter: The Forerunner Archives by J. Rock - Free Book Online

Juno. It was confirmed at the Krakelyn Hospice about a week ago. Unless we find a way to reverse the condition, humanity as we know it will cease to exist within a century." It's my turn for my jaw to drop. Father pulls his eyes away from me when he sees the shocked expression. "Now you know why you and Traylor are so important," he says.
    Because we're not sterile , I realize. "But... We're siblings," I interject. "Traylor and I can't breed..."
    Father laughs, almost hysterically. "Gods, no!" he replies. "But this Ursa woman I am sending you to can study your genes and compare them to mutant ones in the hope of finding a reversal switch, so to speak."
    I nod with my head hanging to my chest. Everything has just crashed home. Everything is now real.
    My brother and I are the last hope for humanity.
    When I finally look up, it's not at my Father, but at Altair, his henchman. I know most of my Father's men, but I've never seen this one before in my life. Where had he come from? He doesn't have the look of a southerner. He looks like a cold, hard killer. And I'm supposed to trust this guy with my life? I haven't even heard him speak yet.
    "I guess we better move," I finally say, seeing a look of relief explode onto my Father's face.
    "The sooner the better," Father agrees. "I've already had the servants pack some gear for–"
    BAABOOOOM!!
    The entire Manse shakes, seeming to twist on its foundations. Smoke, debris, and the telltale glow of blooming fire emanates from the front of the house. Most of us have ducked for cover, but Altair is already moving, lithely sneaking toward the source of the explosion. He returns less than a minute later.
    "Children of Mutanity," he says without preamble. It's the first thing I ’ve heard him speak. I'm surprised to find that his voice is soft though, almost tender. "They're at the front of the house but moving to surround us."
    "Altair, get my children out of here," Father orders. Altair simply nods. The young man gestures for Traylor and I to move when–
    "HIGH DEACON, JONATHAN QUINN!" an amplified voice calls out from the back of the house. "WE KNOW YOUR DAUGHTER IS PURE! WE KNOW YOU HAVE THE LAST HUMAN!"
    Altair curses and I look out the patio doors to see the Children of Mutanity are now in the backyard. The entire house is surrounded. Altair tells us to stay where we are then starts m oving from window to window. By the time he comes back to the kitchen, the backyard is full of Children and a man I'd hoped to never see again so long as I live.
    The slave trader.
    The fat man is standing next to another man who seems to be calling the shots, brandishing a shooting iron. I shudder in revulsion. The man in charge is holding a cone shaped object I've seen used at the docks before. An amp , they call it.
    "YOUR HOUSE IS SURROUNDED, DEACON QUINN. SURRENDER PEACEFULLY, AND THIS WON'T HAVE TO COME TO VIOLENCE. ALL WE WANT IS YOUR DAUGHTER."
    Father grits his teeth. I can almost hear them grinding. "Blaine," he says. 
    The name registers instantly in my mind. Blaine is said to be my Father's 'Third', under Thomas Whiskeyjack, though no such position actually exists. He’s rumored to be a zealous man, fervent to the point of extremism. But that’s about all I'd heard about him. Blaine is hard looking, with a square jaw, black hair peppered with gray and equally graying stubble. One of his eyes is nearly squeezed shut by a bulbous tumor growing over it.
    "YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE TO COMPLY," he announces over the amp.
    I watch my Father turn to Altair, a desperate look on his face. "I'll need less than that," Altair states coldly, gesturing for us to follow him through the house. As we move, a servant arrives with something I'd only seen once before in my life until today: a shooting iron. The servant hands the weapon to my Father.
    "Thank you, Asha," Father says, giving the iron a quick once over.
    "What in bloody ashes is that?" I ask, Father’s own immortal words echoing in my mind: The ways of