Wolf Song (Wolf Singer Prophecies Book 1)

an herb witch and renowned scientist. I was a burgeoning track star when things like school still mattered. And I was a crack shot, and not embarrassed to admit it.
But what else? It wasn’t like I’d been able to finish my formal schooling, so I couldn’t take after the science stuff that my mother did so well. Nor could I do the herbology stuff, though I’d done my fair bit of coaxing and pleading with the plants so they wouldn’t die on me. Sometimes that worked.
I should be more concerned that none of my talents had manifested even though they should have by now. I’d be in the last years of college if the world hadn’t crumbled apart on me. My talents should have already been apparent.
I figured that since I was still standing and alive, that should count for something.
The next morning during chores, I noticed a pungent smell as I was reinforcing the circle, especially back by the chicken coop. I decided not to worry about it, since the scent was familiar—but I couldn't quite put a finger on it.
The fencing here was still nice and strong, but I didn't like that something was trying the little hole on another part of my fence line. Something that had tried to wear down these wards from the outside.
I squelched down the bit of panic that threatened to overwhelm me and reminded myself that I was here and alive.
At least there wasn't a breach.
I didn’t have to worry about people scavenging or poaching my property. Not yet.
But what would happen if people did finally manage to get onto the property? What would I do?
This was what the media had feared and were now too dead to the world to finish broadcasting. This was it. That there would always be a bunch of people who would want more and more regardless of the lack.
I headed into town again after my chores, leaving as early as possible to make the most out of the daylight. I brought my pack this time, even wrapping Dad’s scriptures in an oiled cloth and slipping it inside.
I had protein bars and med kits. That was good enough for now. I was coming back.
I didn't expect a welcome, but all the same, the town seemed awfully quiet and empty. Chills crept along my skin. I meandered through the market and most of the stalls were ransacked.
I started to see people as I neared the square. Injured bodies and desperately fearful, tear-streaked faces gathered here. Babies were inconsolable against their mothers’ grief.
What the fuck? This place was supposed to be so happy. It was happy. The entire time I was here yesterday, there were jovial people in the streets, some passionately so.
And now...
It was as if death had come calling.
Reapers. I was sure of it. Reapers had come, and without my dad to preach them away, they had been able to cull the town.
But how?
"What happened?" I looked at one blank face after another, but words didn’t seem to register through to their skull.
These townsfolk were lulled into a sense of security. They were used to a preacher predicting trouble in time to call off any Hellfire that could come our way. But nope. Not this time.
Damn.
I ran toward the church, desperate to see my dad. I nearly stumbled into Ms. Zorah sitting on the front walk, silently rocking a child.
"What's happened to my dad? Any change?" I asked her.
Surprisingly, she heard me and responded. “No, no change or movement at all,” she began in her faraway voice. “Well, not until he got violently ill in the middle of the night.”
Why would he get violently ill? Poisons? I kept my thoughts to myself, not wanting to break the spell of a shell-shocked Ms. Zorah.
“I couldn’t say why. As immediately as it happened, it stopped. And then they came.”
“Who came? Reapers?” I asked.
“No. A pack of Skolls. Someone left the gates open…” Her voice trailed off and she stopped talking. From one breath to the other, she continued her rocking and humming again. There was something about the way she held the child, the way the child was not moving, that sent chills raking down my body.
Skolls. I was surprised there was anybody left alive. They ate anything in their path. Maybe they had help from that wolf pack Mayor St. Clair had mentioned. The ones they paid tithes to.
I slowly backed away from that haunted sight, not brave enough to face it, and ran to the church. I didn’t stop running until I was by my father's side. "I did it, Dad. I found that missing page. But you're gonna need to wake up. I can't figure this out on my own."
I pleaded with him, but he still didn't stir. I didn't know what to do. I unfurled the piece of paper, staring between it and my father, trying to make sense out of both.
Someone came out of the wing below the church, bounding toward me. His name leapt to mind finally. Kirby St. Clair was oddly jovial, a mood that clashed with what I’d just waded through at the town square. He saw the piece of paper and pointed to it saying, "Oh, fun!"
I blinked at him as if he were a little unstable, fluttering the paper between my fingers. "This is fun?"
Kirby blinked. "Oh, I guess you don’t know Morse code?"
I blinked at him. "Is that some sort of secret code or something?"
"Yup, one of the most popular in the twentieth century. It's a series of dashes and dots to make up letters and therefore words."
I blinked, fascinated by this system of communication. "What would be the point of Morse code, though? Seems a trifle tedious to just talk in dashes and dots."
Kirby smiled. "Here, let me show you." He curled his fingers into a fist and rapped his knuckle against the floor of the stage, a couple of feet from my dad’s head. He tapped out a syncopated rhythm that was kind