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The Wolves of Winter

The story of a woman's survival in Yukon's wilderness, Tyrell Johnson's novel attests to the power of the human spirit.

Tyrell Johnson

Station Eleven meets The Hunger Games in this ruthless, captivating story of a young woman's survival in the frozen wilderness of Yukon after the rest of the world has collapsed.

As the old world dies, we all must choose to become predators. Or become prey.

The old world has been ravaged by war and disease, and as far as Lynn McBride is concerned, her family could be the last one left on Earth. For seven years, the McBrides have eked out a meagre existence in the still, white wilderness of Yukon. But this is not living. This is survival on the brink.

Into this fragile community walk new threats, including the enigmatic fugitive, Jax, who holds secrets about the past and, possibly, keys to a better future. And then there's Immunity, the pre‑war organization that was supposed to save humankind from the flu. They're still out there, enforcing order and conducting experiments, but is their work for the good of humankind or is something much more sinister at play? In the face of almost certain extinction, Lynn and her family must learn to hunt as a pack or die alone in the cold.

Breakout debut novelist Tyrell Johnson weaves a captivating tale of humanity stretched far beyond its breaking point, of family and the bonds of love forged when everything else is lost. Reminiscent of Station Eleven and The Hunger Games, this is a classic and enthralling post‑apocalyptic adventure and a celebration of the human spirit. (From Simon & Schuster Canada)

From the book

I adjusted my compound bow under my arm and the rope over my left shoulder. The rope was attached to my sled. My uncle Jeryl — Dad's brother — had made the sled for me four years earlier. About three feet wide, six feet long. It carried small game no problem, a deer was tough for me but manageable, and an elk, caribou, or moose I had to butcher first and carry just the meat. The sled was made from spruce and had bloodstains from past kills splattered about the wood, but it was sturdy. I always dragged it along with me to check the traps.

A slight easterly wind stung my nose and cracked lips. The sun was gray and bored in the hazy sky, but the fresh fallen snow was still blinding. Sunglasses. I missed sunglasses. I headed southeast, into the wind. It was less than a mile to Conrad's place. Dragging the sled made it tough going, but I didn't care. No way in hell was I going to let him keep my kill. He was a big man, though, and he was stronger than me.


From The Wolves of Winter by Tyrell Johnson ©2018. Published by Simon & Schuster Canada

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The author of "The Wolves of Winter" on why he rereads Patrick Rothfuss's fantasy novel "The Name of the Wind." 1:35

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