The Swarm Descends. Jacob Grey

      

      

       Copyright

      First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2015

      HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

      HarperCollins Publishers

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      London SE1 9GF

      The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is www.harpercollins.co.uk

      Ferals: The Swarm Descends

      Text © Working Partners Ltd 2015

      Covert art © Jeff Nentrup, 2015

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

      Source ISBN: 9780007578542

      Ebook Edition © 2015 ISBN: 9780007578559

      Version: 2015-07-30

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Chapter 21

       Chapter 22

       Chapter 23

       Acknowledgements

       Also Available

       About the Publisher

      

      here are ghosts in this place, thought Caw. Perhaps not the kind that swooped through empty rooms, banging doors and howling, but sadder spirits. Sorrow lingered here, silent, and lost from the memories of the living.

      He checked the watch Crumb had given him – 2am.

      This is a bad idea, said Glum. He was perched on a branch ten feet above, beak resting in the thick plumage of his chest feathers. I’m older than you. Why does no one ever listen to the voice of experience?

      “I did listen,” said Caw. “I just chose to ignore you.”

      He tried to sound confident, but his mouth was dry as he crouched, shivering, in the bushes. The house in front of him was abandoned, its walls flaking and covered in graffiti. He counted two intact windows, while the rest were either cracked or boarded up. The front lawn was so overgrown there wasn’t even a path to the door. One of the trees that grew beside the house had blown over in a storm and its branches, which had crushed a section of the roof, now appeared to be growing into the building.

      Home sweet home, muttered Screech, hopping nervously along Caw’s shoulder. The young crow’s claws pricked Caw’s skin, even through the leather of his coat.

      Home? thought Caw. It didn’t feel like it. Not at all.

      He searched his memories, but couldn’t find this place among them. He’d been five years old when the crows had carried him away, and nothing about the building in front of him was familiar. Except the unsettling feeling of dread he felt as he looked at it; the same feeling he had in his dreams.

      Not too late to go back to the church, Caw, said Glum. We could have those leftover sweet potato pancakes from dinner. Besides, how do we even know this is the right place?

      “I just know,” said Caw, feeling cold certainty in his gut.

      A snap of fluttering wings sounded at his back and a third crow alighted on the ground. Wiry and sleek, she stabbed a slender beak into the earth and prised up a wriggling worm. The slimy creature squirmed and coiled as the crow tossed back her head and gobbled it down.

      Hey, Shimmer! said Screech, puffing out his chest.

      Coast’s clear, the female crow said, loose crumbs of earth dropping from her beak. What are you all waiting for?

      For this young man to see sense, said Glum. To let history lie.

      Don’t be such a killjoy, said Shimmer, stretching her wings. They were sheened with blues and reds like spilt oil on wet tarmac. It took me four weeks to find this place. If Caw’s not going in, I am.

      “Can you all stop talking about me as if I’m not here?” said Caw. For once, the crows ceased their bickering. It was a rare occurrence since Shimmer had joined the group. Crows were stubborn. They liked to argue, and they liked having the last word even more. All except Milky, the white crow that Caw had grown up with. In all the years in the nest, he’d spoken less than twenty words. Caw wished the old crow was still with them.

      He stood up, stretching his lower back and casting a glance back along the street. None of the buildings in this part of town was inhabited any more. The families had all moved out when the jobs dried up after the Dark Summer – the secret war between ferals that had broken out eight years ago. A broken and rusted scooter lay in a gutter full of leaves, and below, in a tree in a front garden, hung a lopsided swing, its cords frayed.

      Caw wondered for a moment what it had been like growing up here. Had he played with other children from these now-abandoned houses? It was hard to imagine sounds of laughter in a place so dismal and heavy with silence. He began to make his way up the driveway towards the house, heart thumping. The front door was boarded up, but he could climb in through a