The Last Survivors Box Set

by Bobby Adair

  “I am the only child. I had two older brothers, but they both died during infancy.”

  Winthrop watched the fire light dance across Fitzgerald’s pale skin, glimmering in her glossy hair. She was a beauty. “And your father, presumably also Fitzgerald, had the foresight to save the family name for his third child?”

  The girl shook her head. “He named each of the boys Fitzgerald, expecting that each would live. When I was born, my mother died of birthing. Knowing he’d have no more children, he passed his name to me.”

  “And what does your father do?”

  “He cuts wood.”

  “Did he remarry?”

  “No.” The girl smiled as though she were putting on a mask. “His heart was broken—or so he told me when I was a young girl.”

  “Demon, devotion, and seed.” Winthrop shook his head as he said it, thinking of his own grief over Jenny’s death. “The three duties.”

  “Slaughter the demons. Be true to The Word. Bring children into the world.” The chant was ingrained into every child and the girl spoke it as automatically as if she’d been sitting in the pew. But her smile passed behind a cloud of thought.

  Winthrop guessed what had taken away her smile. “Worry not over your father. He sired three children. He did his duty. Luck is not always with a man, though he’d try to make it so.”

  Fitzgerald nodded and the light of her smile shone again.

  “Come closer into the light where I can see you better.”

  “Yes.” The girl crossed the room and stood in front of Winthrop, close enough that he could reach and touch her with the tips of his fingers, close enough that he could smell her. She smelled clean. He preferred women who bathed.

  Winthrop looked at the girl’s skirt, reached out and ran a few fingers down a pleat. “That dress is in a sad state.”

  “I don’t often have it on long enough that men notice, Father.”

  Winthrop ignored her use of the word Father. “How long have you been in The House of Barren Women?”

  “Two years,” she answered.

  “Surely your dress is older than that. How could it have become so threadbare in such a short time?”

  “Neither my father, nor my husband could afford the cloth for a new dress. This was handed down to me by another.” The girl’s face turned from seductive to hopeful. “Men sometimes show their gratitude with a coin. In time, I’ll be able to buy the cloth for a dress of my own.”

  Winthrop’s eyes showed his anger over the veiled request for money and his voice rose to match. “It is the duty and privilege of the barren women to serve the unwed men of the town. The Word says it must be so. Women who cannot have children will be fed and housed. They do not work the field nor do they tend the flocks. They certainly have no children to look after.” Winthrop felt he’d been a little too sharp on that last point. Women’s primary purpose in life was to bear children.

  But he didn’t want the girl frightened of him. That would take all the pleasure out of what was going to occur. Dispassionately, he said, “Barren women contribute to social stability by putting their legs in the air. It is an easy life and it is a sin for a barren woman to ask for payment. She should keep in mind that the town has generously provided for all of her needs already.”

  Despite Winthrop’s attempt to soften the harshness of his rant, half way through, the girl was nearly in tears. “I beg your forgiveness, Father. I…I was not asking for a gift. I…”

  “Speak no more of payments or gifts.” Winthrop turned and watched the fire for a short while, ignoring the girl while his anger faded.

  The red embers and sparse yellow flames of last nights fire radiated comfortable warmth onto Winthrop’s face. The warmth reminded him of Jenny. And thoughts of Jenny hurt. He’d let himself get so attached to her through the years. There were so many good memories, but they were all tarnished with the sound of Jenny’s screams, the crunch of her bone, and the vision of her head on a spike.

  Damn that Blackthorn and his sadistic fetish for spikes. Could the man’s simple mind imagine no other punishment?

  Winthrop’s heart turned soft and it ached. He was afraid he might shame himself by shedding his tears over Jenny while Fitzgerald looked on. Winthrop closed his eyes and tried to make all the hurt go away.

  Eventually, the sound of Fitzgerald’s breathing reminded him that she still stood a pace in front of his chair, waiting to do whatever he bade, in order to cleanse Jenny and her haunting scream from his heart.

  Winthrop turned to the girl and said, “Remove your dress.”

  With a hint of hesitation, Fitzgerald reached around to her back and loosed the lace that held her garment closed. The cloth that stretched tautly over her chest loosened and her breasts fell, but not by much. And that was one of the many reasons Winthrop liked the young girls.

  Winthrop watched the girl’s chest rise and fall with each slow breath. The dress didn’t fall away, though. It seemed to drop just a little with each exhalation, letting just enough of the girl’s breasts to show that Winthrop thought he could see the edge of an areola. The girl did have a tantalizing way about her.

  He said, “You are beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How many men have you been with?”

  The girl’s face showed a moment of shame before she recaptured her hypnotic smile.

  Her shame made Winthrop feel guilty for having asked the question. “I don’t inquire in order to shame you, girl. I merely wish to know that you…ah…have sufficient experience in these matters.”

  Fitzgerald looked at the floor. “Please forgive me, Father, I don’t have my numbers.”

  “You can’t count?” Winthrop asked, watching her grow more embarrassed.

  She held up her fingers. “I can count as high as my fingers but no more. My father is a woodcutter. He has no such knowledge to teach me. I assure you, I will please you.” Feigning a loosening of her dress, the girl put a hand on her breast to keep it from falling further.

  Looking at those breasts, Winthrop’s doubts disappeared. “I am sure of it.”

  Chapter 31: Ella

  Ella stared at the dead soldier William had slain. Through the moonlight, she could see the handle of her knife protruding from the back of the man’s neck. She pulled herself to her feet. Several hundred yards upslope, the faint glow of torches lit the mountain, splashing light on the fallen bodies of the others.

  Nothing up there moved.

  She approached the soldier her son had killed and grabbed the hilt of her knife. The smell of blood was overbearing, and she covered her mouth to reduce the stench. She steadied herself, then tugged, listening to the sickening sound of metal separating from flesh.

  She retrieved the dead soldier’s knife and handed it to William. He took it in silence. Since killing the soldier, he’d hardly spoken a word.

  “It’s okay, honey,” she whispered.

  William didn’t answer. She grabbed hold of him, squeezing him tight.

  “Did I really…? Is he…?”

  “It’s over now, William. It wasn’t your fault.”

  She stared back up at the flickering torches on the mountainside, trying to determine their next move. The soldiers were dead. And by the looks of it, so was Bray. For a moment, she convinced herself that she didn’t care about the Warden. He’d betrayed their trust. He’d robbed them and left them to die.

  But he’d also come back to save them. She felt a shimmer of sorrow.

  She started back up the hill, bringing William at her side. After some searching, they were able to locate the bags they’d dropped. Thankfully, the flaps were still closed and the possessions were still inside. But Bray still had her food and her silver.

  She walked up the remainder of the hill, approaching the torch-lit s
cene. With each step, she made out more details of the slain soldiers in the dark. Their mouths hung agape, their eyes stared into the night. Bray lay beside them on his stomach, a blood-soaked sword at his side. His pack still hung on his shoulders.

  She crept over to him. Dead or not, he had her possessions. She reached for his bag. His head was turned in the opposite direction; his hair was caked with blood. Without him, they wouldn’t have gotten this far.

  They would’ve died at the river.

  William stood several feet away, watching her. She caught a glimpse of his eyes in the torch’s glow. She could still see the fright in them, but there was something else, too. It looked like he was in shock.

  There was no time to worry over it. She turned her attention back to the bag and eased it off Bray’s shoulders, then slung it onto her arm. She’d take the whole thing. He wouldn’t need it now, anyway.

  When she’d finished, she scavenged the dead soldiers. None of them had any silver, but they had some food and water. She laid claim to all of it and stuck it in her bag. Then she picked up one of the soldier’s swords.

  She’d never used one before. She hefted it in the air, examining the sword by the firelight. If she wanted to survive, she’d better learn how. She pried a sheath from one of the dead soldiers and put it on.

  The torches flickered. After a few seconds, one of them went out, pitching the hillside into semi-darkness.

  “Where are we going to go, Mom?” William asked, breaking the silence.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Ella hadn’t thought that far ahead. With her adrenaline flowing, all she’d thought to do was to reclaim her possessions. She glanced down the mountainside. The forest was thick and menacing, as if it hosted a single mass of living things. They couldn’t go out there. Not tonight.

  “Let’s go back to the cave,” she said.

  “Okay,” William said, but she could sense his fear.

  She wasn’t keen on the idea, but at the moment, she couldn’t think of a better plan. It was still dark, after all, and the forest wasn’t safe. They walked back up the incline. They’d only taken a few steps when a groan whispered out over the rocks from behind them. Ella paused, her heart skipping a beat.

  She swiveled. The three bodies near them remained motionless. Rodrigo was out of sight, but she was sure he was dead. Her eyes flitted between the soldiers and Bray. She waited for what felt like an eternity, thinking she was imagining things, but she couldn’t be: William had heard it, too. He was stock-still, listening as intently as she was.

  Somewhere in the distance, an animal cried, but the moan didn’t repeat. She’d been certain the men were dead. She contemplated pulling the sword, but clutched her knife instead. After a minute of silence, she took a step toward the nearest dead soldier. In the absence of one of the torches, his face hung in shadow, but she could see the outline of his features. Nothing seemed to have changed.

  The groan came again. This time she pinpointed the source.

  It was coming from Bray.

  “Wait here,” she hissed at William.

  She stepped closer to the fallen man, maneuvering until she could see his face. The Warden’s eyes had opened.

  “Bray?”

  He parted his lips, letting out another moan. A stripe of blood ran from his temple to his chin. Ella remained in place for a moment, unsure of what to do, when she heard a crackle from down the mountainside.

  “What was that?” William asked, his eyes darting down the slope.

  Ella followed his gaze. Something was making its way through the forest. Not just one thing, but multiple things. The forest came alive with crunches—sticks and brush being trampled by footsteps. Demons. Ella backed up a step, glancing back at the cave.

  “Are we going to leave him?” William asked, incredulous.

  “No,” she answered. “We can’t do that. We need to move him. Help me!”

  Ella grabbed Bray under the armpit, then directed William to take his other arm. The man seemed semi-conscious. They were fifteen feet from the opening of the cave—a short distance, without a body to pull. Ella tugged and strained, but could barely move him.

  “Pull harder!” she urged William.

  William strained. The noises from down the mountain were getting closer. It sounded like they’d transitioned from the forest to the rocky part of the slope. The Warden slid a few inches, moving toward the cave, but they were fighting against the incline and the weight of his body. Bray groaned softly. Ella wasn’t sure how injured he was, but one thing was clear: if they didn’t get to the cave soon, they’d all be eaten alive.

  “Hold on,” she whispered. Ella gritted her teeth, bracing herself on the mountain, and instructed William to pull again.

  This time they were able to move the man, and they began dragging him over rocks and stone.

  The footsteps hastened. The demons were gaining ground.

  Ella tugged with all her might, ignoring the aches and pains of her battered body, sliding the Warden up the slope. Before she knew it, they’d reached the mouth of the cave. She heard inhuman grunts wafting up the mountain, the rattle of loose stones.

  Bray moaned louder, as if to spur them on. Ella and William slid him into the cave. There was barely enough room for Ella and William to fit next to each other, but somehow they managed. When they’d gotten inside, Ella stared nervously at the entrance.

  The remaining torch outside was still lit. What if the light exposed the cave’s opening? What if the demons looked inside? She had the sudden, frantic thought that she needed to douse it.

  “Wait here!” she whispered.

  She crawled on hands and knees to the entrance and burst into the open. Her dress blew behind her. When she reached the torch, she began rolling it on the rocks and stone, but the flames continued to burn. The noises on the mountainside were closer—a march of the damned coming to take her. She changed tactics, stamping the torch with her boots. If she couldn’t put the damn thing out, she’d have to leave it burning.

  The things were getting closer.

  Finally the torch went out, releasing a cloud of smoke, and Ella darted back to the cave. She scampered through the opening and toward William, positioning herself next to Bray’s motionless figure. She could hear the boy’s unsteady breath.

  She peered at the entrance. With the torch extinguished, the opening revealed little of the world outside. But she could hear noises—grunts and growls that were no more than thirty feet away. The demons had reached the dead soldiers. She clutched onto William, fear ramming her chest like a stake. Although she couldn’t see the demons, she could envision them feeling their way around, exploring the scene outside. She held her breath, as if the mere exhalation of air would alert them. After a few moments, she heard the rabid tearing of flesh, then the sounds of slurping and gorging, sounds that were worse than any nightmare she’d had.

  She covered her son’s ears and prayed. Though she wasn’t sure what God she believed in, anything was better than listening to this. No higher power could condone this savagery.

  The feasting lasted for a nearly unbearable amount of time. Each crunch of teeth against bone made her skin prickle. It was as if the soldiers’ entrails were her own, their flesh, her flesh.

  It was hard to fathom that the demons had once been human, too.

  Bray let out a quiet moan, and Ella clamped her hand over his mouth, dampening the sound. The creatures paused in their feeding. After a few seconds of listening, they resumed.

  When the last limb had been cracked and the final bones had been licked clean, the demons continued up the mountainside. She listened to their footsteps recede, her breaths still violent and uneven. Soon, the wind blew across the landscape again, as if the world itself had deemed it safe to exhale.

  **

 
Ella didn’t remember falling asleep. When she awoke, there was a triangle of light on the cave floor and William was cradled in her arms. The boy was still clutching the knife she’d given him.

  She studied her surroundings. Having arrived in the dark, she’d barely noticed the color of the walls and ceiling. The cave was comprised of a deep, dark stone, and she found herself thinking it was beautiful, unlike anything she’d ever seen. Her eyes wandered. She almost jumped when she found Bray staring at her. The Warden was leaning against the far wall, his face caked with blood. His features were barely recognizable. He was sipping a flask of water, and he greeted her when she made eye contact.

  “Good morning.”

  He smiled nonchalantly, as if they’d awakened in a Brighton house instead of a dank hole in the earth. It looked like he’d been waiting for her to arise.

  “How’re you feeling?” she asked, momentarily forgetting the anger of the night before.

  “One of them did a number on my head.” He tilted his skull to prove it, displaying the gash in the side of his temple. “So I’ve been better.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “So did I. Considering I was up against three soldiers, I did pretty damn well,” he mused.

  She scanned the rest of his body, expecting to find him wounded, but he was surprisingly intact. “Well, I’m glad you’re alive.”

  “Are you sure? That’s not what you said last night.”

  Ella ignored the statement and looked down at William, who was starting to stir. The boy’s eyes fluttered open. After a brief pause, he sat upright, his eyes roving the room.

  “It’s all right, honey. The demons are gone,” Ella assured him.

  The boy continued looking, as if he didn’t believe her, then sat up on his haunches and stared at the entrance.

  “I wouldn’t go out there, if I were you,” Bray said. “It’s a mess. The demons are good at feeding, but they aren’t so good at cleaning up after themselves.”