Against The Darkness (Cimmerian Moon) Read online

  Cimmerian Moon

  Against The Darkness

  A.M. Griffin

  Copyright © 2014 A.M. Griffin

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the copyright owners.

  Journeyed (from Hell to hope) is a copyrighted work of Diana Wimbish and is used in this work with expressed permission.

  Editing services were provided by Anya Richards, http://grammargoggles.blogspot.com/

  Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc., http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com/

  Formatting by Stacey Price [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  About A.M. Griffin

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my loving family; Ryan, Jori, Myles and Mia Loren. Finally a book the kids can read! And also to my number one supporters; my mom and my little sister.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my beta readers; Jennifer, Christina, Tasha and Bridget – you ladies have really helped me shape the characters. A big thank you to my editor extraordinaire Anya Richards who agreed to take on a YA first person story (even after I told her it was my first attempt at both). And last but not least, thank you to Danica Avet for giving me the extra reassurance that every author needs.

  journeyed

  (from Hell to hope)

  when I was lost and couldn’t find my way

  through the thicket of life’s events

  and I lacked the strength to face another day

  in the merry-go-round of experience

  …when life kissed me on one cheek

  and hurt me on the other

  and left me dangling at the end of my rope

  exhausted, unsheltered, frightened and alone

  …I found myself through a ray of hope

  when things were dark and foreboding

  and joy was divorced from light

  and the presence of absence was all around

  through the dark and perilous night

  when I was weaponless against the weight of the world

  …struggling for reason from dusk to dawn

  and my journey was tiresome and blue

  it was faith that led me on

  …and hope that brought me through

  -Diana Wimbish

  Prologue

  Ann Arbor, MI

  March 19th, 2012

  “So,” my mom says, elongating the word for way too long. “You’re going to keep giving me the silent treatment, huh?”

  I don’t even turn to look at her but, because of the blue-hued light created by the gadgets on the console of the car, I see her reflection in the passenger-side window. She takes a quick glance in my direction before turning back to look at the road.

  “Such a shame,” she continues. “You’re seventeen going on nine.”

  This time I do turn, only to give her my best ‘not impressed’ expression ever.

  “Don’t look at me that way, Sinta Marie Allen. I call it like I see it.”

  I roll my eyes and go back to leaning my forehead against the window, pretending to ignore her. As she maneuvers through the early morning traffic, I watch the scenery as it whizzes by. If it were any later, cars would practically be bumper to bumper on Plymouth Road but, as early as it is, traffic is pretty light.

  The street lights lead the way as we pass by apartment buildings. Some of the windows have light shining through the curtains, but most are darkened. I imagine the occupants living behind those windows to be in bed, asleep, as I wish I were. Through the reflection I see how sleepy my eyes appear. They’re hazel, but the blue lighting makes them look much lighter than they really are. My wild hair is pulled back into a ponytail that still reaches way past my shoulders. Plentiful, curly frizzes frame my small oval face. I don’t act like a little girl, but I could surely pass for one. In the process of picking apart my looks, I catch a glimpse of my watch and wait for my brain to work out the numbers, which are inverted in the window. Two-thirty in the morning. Ugh. It should be a crime to be up this early.

  “Think about how good this experience will look on your college applications,” she says, trying to sound bright and cheery.

  “I already filled out my application, turned it in and was accepted,” I say, unamused, as if she doesn’t already know any of this.

  “Oh! It speaks.”

  I clamp my mouth shut, realizing she just tricked me into talking.

  “Come on, Shu-Shu,” she says, speaking in her baby voice, which I could ignore, but I won’t let her call me by the name she used when I was a little girl.

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Why? Because you’re too old for me to call you Shu-Shu?” She snorts. “Well, you’re sure not acting like it.”

  “I’m not acting like a baby. I’m acting like someone who doesn’t want to go to band camp.”

  “I don’t see why not. You’ve gone for the past three years and always loved it.”

  “I only went so I could add the extracurricular activity to my college application. I don’t need to anymore—mission accomplished.”

  “But say, just a hypothetical here, but say something awful happened and the University of Michigan couldn’t take you anymore. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to go this time, to be able to put this experience down too?”

  I glare at her.

  Getting into Michigan has been my dream since I was in elementary. Our third grade class had gone to the University for a play, which one, I can’t remember. But it wasn’t the play that held my attention; it had been all the students walking around with backpacks slung over their shoulders and all the tall buildings. The campus had a larger-than-life feel. I knew, right then, that Michigan was where I wanted to be.

  If the University of Michigan had been a guy, I would have been arrested for stalking him. I spent all my time on their website, looking up majors, statistics on their graduation rates and acceptance rates. I kept track of the required courses needed and I made sure to take all of them and more. I wrote letters to the Undergraduate Chair for the past five years, letting him know I was going to apply to his program. I wanted him to remember my name when my application came across his desk. At this point, maize and azure is practically running through my veins.

  She knows I’m dead serious about Michigan, so her joking about me not getting in is a big no-no.

  She shakes her head. Her dark-brown, wavy hair bounces on her shoulders. She’s wearing sweats, and the outfit makes her look more like my sister rather than my mother. People say we look just alike, except that I’m light-skinned and she’s darker. I can’t complain being compared to my mother; she’s beautiful and I’ve always thought so.r />
  “Okay, okay,” she says. “I’ll stop talking about Michigan. You got in. Great job.”

  Great job? I want to laugh. It had been a lot of hard work. I devoted most of my short life to getting in.

  She turns to look at me quickly. “You know I’m so proud of you, baby. You knew what you wanted and stuck with it. I’m just…” She takes a deep, somehow defeated-sounding breath. “I’m afraid that you spent all this time trying to attain this goal and now that you’ve done it…” She shrugs. “Now what Sinta? Now will you start having some fun?”

  I frown. “What are you talking about? I do have fun—all the time.”

  “Name one fun thing you’ve done recently.”

  I open my mouth to answer but, before I can say anything, she interrupts me. “That doesn’t have anything to do with you trying to get into the University of Michigan.”

  Whatever I was going to say is lost. I close my mouth and try to think.

  One thing… One thing. There has to be plenty things that I do. Hmm…

  “See,” she says. “Sin, let this be your fun thing. You’re right, you don’t need this to go on your college application. In fact, you don’t need it for anything. Just go and have fun, enjoy yourself. You and Mia can sit around and talk about boys and about your favorite singer, rapper or whatever you girls feel like talking about. It’ll be fun.”

  Oh my God. How torturous will that be?

  “Mia and I don’t sit around talking about those things. I have way more important things to discuss than boy bands or anything else juvenile. Give me a break.”

  “What do you usually talk about then?”

  “Me getting into Mi…”

  She makes a right on Huron River Drive and lifts her brow in the process.

  “We talk about other things,” I add quickly. “She talks about her boyfriend Ian all the time.” I grimace. “Too much actually.”

  “Wonderful!” she exclaims, as if she hadn’t heard me just complaining. ”You’ll go to camp and enjoy yourself and you and Mia can talk about her boyfriend. You’ll see, you’ll enjoy yourself.”

  I put my hands on my head, feeling a headache coming on. “Why are you doing this me? I don’t want to go to camp. I shouldn’t be forced into it like I’m some baby. Urgh.”

  “Sometimes a mother does what she thinks is best, for the good of her child. It’s only a week, it’s not the end of the world. When you come back you’ll see things differently.”

  “No I won’t. I’ll be madder than ever that I had to endure a week of torturous punishment.”

  “Spending a week hanging out with your best friend shouldn’t be a punishment.”

  “Mom, Mia doesn’t give a lick about camp. She wasn’t even going to go this year either. She’s only going because Ian joined band and he thought they should go so they could spend some “alone” time together. I highly doubt I’ll be seeing much of Mia outside of the mandatory activities and, even then, her and Ian will be all hugged up and pawing at each other like lustful teenagers. I’ll be the uncomfortable third wheel—as always.”

  “Umm.”

  As she clears her throat, I settle back into my seat, letting what I just told her sink in.

  “Well, um, you’ll have to make a new friend.”

  I groan at the thought of trying to make a new friend. “I don’t need any new friends. One is fine with me.”

  “Well, you can’t back out now. Your dad already paid for this trip.”

  I squint at her. Talking about my dad was just as bad as joking about me not getting into Michigan.

  She waves her hand through the air. “Whatever the case, the trip is paid for and it’s too late to cancel, so you might as well make the best of it.”

  “What’s so wrong with me wanting to stay home with you?” I ask desperately, as we turn up the driveway leading to the back parking lot of our school. “I can help you out in the clinic this week. Wouldn’t that be fun? We can just turn around right here. We don’t even have to pull all the way in.”

  As we draw nearer to the charter coach that members of the band spent most of the first semester fund-raising to get, my heart flutters. If I can't convince her now, I’ll be stuck on that bus for sixteen hours singing songs like Kum ba yah and being forced to watch Mia and Ian make out.

  “Please mom,” I say, whining. “I really don’t want to go.”

  “Sinta, you know I love it when you help me out, but this conversation is getting old. We’ve been going round and round like this for months. You’re going, end of story.” She pulls into an empty parking space and turns off the car. “I’ll help you with your things,” she says, popping the trunk.

  Feeling defiant, and with nothing else to lose, I cross my arms and don’t move. She opens her door and gets out. I hear her saying good morning to some of the other parents and kids, but I don’t budge.

  I recognize the kids passing my car with their bags either in their hands or over their shoulders. Some look my way and smile. Some even wave enthusiastically. All are in grades below mine. With this being my senior year, I don’t expect many others from my class to be here. Like I told my mom, band camp isn’t needed for anyone’s college application, especially since most of us seniors applied for college last summer or during the beginning of first semester. Besides Mia and Ian, I expect to be hanging around a bunch of younger kids.

  Through the side mirror I see my mom coming up to my door. I quickly lock it. Childish? Yes.

  She raps on the window and, when I don’t answer, she raps again, this time faster and harder. When I still ignore her she leans closer to the window. “For the love of God, if you keep it up I will unlock this door and drag your skinny tail out and strangle you in front of everyone here and still make you get on that bus.”

  My mom has never hit me before, she’s full of threats and they usually prove empty. I turn to see her glaring daggers at me.

  The look on her face says that she intends to do as she said and more. I open the door and step out and around her. I grab my duffle and sleeping bag from the trunk and head to the bus.

  “Aren’t you going to at least kiss me goodbye?” she yells out after me.

  “I can’t. I need to hurry. I don’t want the fun to start without me.”

  “Sinta!”

  Without turning I raise my hand in the air, saying bye. Of course she’ll be mad for a little while, but then she’ll start missing me. I’m her only daughter and she forced me to go on a trip I didn’t want to take. I think by tomorrow afternoon she’ll be calling the camp to check up on me.

  I set my things next to the other bags on the ground by the side of the bus and climb the stairs. I only stop briefly to see if Mia has made it yet.

  Yep.

  She and Ian are huddled in a back seat, kissing.

  Lovely. The fun is starting already.

  I walk down the aisle, passing ninth and tenth graders. Closer to the back are the eleventh graders and, taking up the last three rows, the twelfth graders. Myles Jackson or MJ as he’s called and Shayla Day have a seat across from Mia and Ian. Seeing MJ surprises me, because he’s a jock and the number one football prospect from Michigan. He doesn’t need band camp to go on any application. Michael and Aaron take up another seat, with MJ’s best friend Eric and his girlfriend Melissa across from them. Then there’s Daniel and Andrew taking up a seat, and across from them is an empty one.

  “We saved you a seat,” Mia says, pulling her mouth away from Ian’s long enough to talk and breathe.

  “Thanks,” I say sliding into it. I put my ear buds in and pull the hood of my Huron Band sweatshirt over my head.

  Just as soon as I close my eyes I feel the dip in my seat. Opening one, I peek to catch a glimpse of Wade Hill squeezing into the seat next to me.

  “Sorry, Sinta,” he says, after settling in. “I asked Mrs. Franklin for my own seat but she told me there wasn’t enough room. Mrs. Burgess told me to sit next to you, since you’re so skinny.”

&n
bsp; I close my eyes. This is a punishment.

  I hear the creak of the door closing and, after a few minutes, the bus begins to move.

  “Testing, testing,” Ms. Burgess’ voice projects over the loud speaker. She’s the new young teacher who just started teaching at our school this year. “How about I sing everyone a nice little lullaby to get you all to sleep, hmm?

  Oh. My. God.

  “Can someone please tell her she isn’t auditioning for American Idol,” I mutter.

  Wade laughs. His meaty arm brushes up against mine as he does.

  Let the fun begin.

  Chapter One

  Somewhere in Buford, Georgia

  April 14th, 2012: Day 23

  F’ing alien invasion.

  I couldn’t have made this up in my worst nightmare.

  The sound of metal against metal causes me to glance up. There’s an old billboard, with a picture of a woman wearing a suit standing next to a red car on it, being battered by the wind and rain. She has her hands on her hips and wears a broad smile. “Wouldn’t you like to own one of these?” is written across the top. And I can’t help but wonder if that woman is still alive. I can only guess that from the way the billboard is moving it has to be hanging on by just a couple of screws. One good gust and it’ll fall to the ground. Because I don’t want it to fall on me, I step to the side, making sure that I’m no longer directly under it.

  In the distance dogs bark and howl. Since their owners aren’t around to take care of them anymore, they’ve formed packs. Their owners aren’t around for a number of reasons. One could be that they’ve left, gone into hiding from the aliens or, two, the aliens had killed them. The streets are practically littered with bodies. Sometimes when we pass these dogs, a couple of them stop and assess us, and I swear they have a look of sadness in their eyes. And those times I don’t know who I feel sorrier for, the dogs or the people who left them. But I can’t blame anyone for taking off and leaving as soon as the aliens had come. It wasn’t like there was much planning that could have been done when they showed up.