The Last Survivors Box Set

by Bobby Adair

  Nine out of ten? Rubbish.

  As Evan was standing up to leave, he surprised Oliver by saying, “Franklin, may I ask a favor of you?”

  “Of course,” Franklin answered. Scholar Evan had just done a favor for him.

  “I need to go to visit a merchant and pick up a parcel for Minister Beck, but I’m afraid I injured my back when I slipped on a patch of ice on the way over here.” Scholar Evan pointed at Oliver without looking at him. “Would you be kind enough to let me borrow him for a short while, to carry the parcel back to the academy for me?”

  “Of course,” Franklin said, casting a stern glance at Oliver just as Oliver was opening his mouth to protest.

  Franklin and Evan said their goodbyes. Franklin quietly admonished Oliver, to prevent him from doing something stupid while he was out. Oliver accepted the curt words as part of his daily routine. He knew Franklin was only trying to keep him out of trouble.

  Once outside, bundled up in their cloaks, Oliver found himself almost immediately falling behind Scholar Evan’s quick pace. Oliver protested by saying, “You don’t walk like you hurt your back.”

  “I must apologize,” said Evan.

  Oliver laughed. “Apologize? To me?” He laughed some more. “I’m nobody. You’re in line to be the Minister, should something happen to Minister Beck.”

  Nodding, Evan said, “Most boys your age barely know enough to wipe their fingers on their pants after picking their noses. You seem to have a good understanding of the abstractions that underpin our culture.”

  Oliver nodded, pretending to understand another word he hadn’t heard before. “Things aren’t complicated if you pay attention. What about this apology, then?”

  “In the academy. We don’t treat our students like chattel. Do you know this word?”

  “I know it rhymes with cattle, but I’ve never heard it before. You use lots of words I’m not familiar with.”

  Scholar Evan chuckled in his odd high-pitched way. “Maybe cattle and chattel rhyme for a reason. Chattel is property. It’s something you own, but not land or a house. It mostly means people.”

  “Own?” Oliver asked. “People don’t own people.”

  “No,” Evan agreed. “But sometimes people treat others as though they do.”

  “That’s for certain,” Oliver agreed. “Father Winthrop…” He looked away. He gulped. He wasn’t a hundred steps out of the temple doors, and already, he’d forgotten Franklin’s warning. Already, he was letting his mouth say things that would lead to trouble.

  “It’s okay,” said Evan. “No need to hide your thoughts from me. At least, not while we’re alone. I think the more you pay attention, the more you’ll find that most men grate at pompous authority the same way you do. They resent it, in fact. You resent it, don’t you?”

  Oliver stopped walking and eyed Evan suspiciously, wondering if Evan was setting a trap with his questions.

  Scholar Evan turned and looked down at Oliver with no expression on his face.

  “Franklin was very specific with me when he told me not to speak of certain things,” said Oliver.

  “Oliver, I assure you, I am not going to share what we speak of with anyone else. May I have the same assurance from you?”

  Oliver was confused. “You’re asking me to keep a secret?”

  “I’m asking you to keep everything about you and me secret.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s okay,” said Evan. “Let’s start here. We’ve each seen one another many times. We move in the same circles. Like you, I watch other people to understand them. You can learn a lot by watching people behave as themselves when they don’t think you’re paying attention.”

  Oliver nodded.

  Evan said, “I’ll promise you that from this day forward, every word that passes privately between us will remain private. Every time we see one another privately, that also will remain in just between us.”

  Oliver took a wary step back as he looked Evan up and down. “Men like you should leave boys alone.” He took another step.

  Evan straightened up and laughed out loud. “No, no, Oliver. That’s not what this is about. I assure you.”

  Oliver wasn’t convinced.

  “You decide,” said Evan. “I have favors to ask of you. In turn, I can grant you favors. I assure you, I indulge my carnal pleasures at The House of Barren Women, as do most single men. Boys don’t interest me that way.” Evan leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Novice Franklin has seen me there many times when he fetches barren women for Father Winthrop. You may ask him, if you wish. Run along and perhaps we’ll speak another day.” Evan turned and started to walk away. Without looking back, he repeated, “Perhaps.”

  Oliver was intrigued, cautious, and even flattered. Scholar Evan had talked to him. Had in fact sought him out, and was now intimating that the two could share conspiratorial secrets. Evan was a few house widths up the street when Oliver came to his decision and ran after, telling himself he could check with Franklin later about Scholar Evan’s story about regular visits to The House of Barren Women.

  “I promise,” said Oliver as he came up beside Evan. “You have my word. All that passes between us shall remain secret.”

  Smiling, Evan said, “You have my word as well.”

  “Will we also be truthful with one another?” Oliver asked.

  Evan laughed again. “I think you are much brighter than I suspected. You have a keen instinct for the nuances of social interaction. Yes. I will be truthful with you. Can I expect the same from you?”

  “Yes,” said Oliver. “You told Franklin that you hurt your back.”

  “Novice Franklin and I have no promise between us to speak truthfully,” said Evan. “Nevertheless, he and I are peers of a sort. We like one another. We interact well. We might even be friends. I am honest with him in a general sense. I lied to him about my back, so that I could get some time alone with you. It was a harmless lie, so I don’t have any remorse over it.”

  “And what you told him about the number of men devoted to The Word?”

  Evan stopped and took a moment to scrutinize Oliver. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, making an effort to keep his face free of anything that might give his thoughts away. “Already, we are at a place where we must test my promise. Oliver, may I say again, as a substantial compliment, this time, you do surprise me. You may be one of the brightest boys I’ve come across. I don’t know that I can make this happen, but I’ll ask you: if I could arrange for you to enter the academy with the possibility of one day becoming a scholar like myself, would that interest you?”

  Oliver looked back toward Father Winthrop’s temple. “To use your word, I am chattel to Father Winthrop. He beats me. He talks down to me. He doesn’t feed me enough, and I have to empty his chamber pot and wash his clothes as punishment. To him, I am nothing but a servant. Is that what I’d be in the academy?”

  “No, no.” Evan laughed. “If we can make it happen, you’d find life there much more to your liking. We have girls that handle such duties as you describe. In the academy, your primary responsibility would be to learn.”

  Oliver nodded and smiled. That sounded attractive, indeed. “I do like the idea of becoming a student, but you’ve avoided the question.”

  “Only in the sense that something more important occurred to me as I considered sharing the answer.”

  “You were going to lie?” Oliver asked.

  “No.” Evan shook his head decisively. “I was not. If I had chosen not to give you that answer, I would have simply said that. We made a promise to one another. I won’t lie, but there will come times when I am unable to share with you something you ask. I will tell you that when the time comes. On this question of the proportion of men who are wholly devoted to The Word, I had to choo
se whether to answer your question, or to tell you that I have to withhold that answer. I honestly must tell you that I prefer to withhold it.”

  Oliver frowned.

  “That is only my preference,” said Evan, “I will, however, answer. You see, to give you the answer might cause some risk to me, others at the academy, and my relationship with your friend, Franklin. All of those things are valuable to me. Any damage caused, should you choose to break your promise of discretion, would take a very long time to repair. So, you see, I am risking a great deal by choosing to believe in our new relationship. Please respect that.” Evan took a deep breath before proceeding. “The numbers I provided to Franklin are incorrect. With the help of another, I made them up.”

  “Why?” asked Oliver.

  “To start with, the numbers Franklin requested are nearly unknowable without spending a great deal of time—perhaps years—studying the problem. Secondly, it is not Franklin who wishes to know these numbers. It is Father Winthrop. Let’s just say that Father Winthrop doesn’t deserve accurate numbers. The ones we provided will help his simple mind sleep better at night. And I’m sure you’d agree he’s an easier man to deal with when he’s had his sleep.”

  Oliver laughed and rubbed some welts on his backside. “Yes, he is.”

  Chapter 44: Melora

  The snarl of demons laced the air.

  Melora broke through the weeds and thicket, pulling her friend along with her. Her heart slammed against her ribcage, each thud a reminder of the danger that followed.

  “Rowan! Stay with me!” she hissed.

  Her best friend groaned, but didn’t reply. She couldn’t stop to check on him. She didn’t have time. She knew he was in bad shape. Rowan’s foot had been mangled, his clothes shredded. She’d barely been able to pull him to his feet before the demons tried to drag him away.

  They’d already taken Cooley. That was heartache enough. But she had no time to process her friend’s death, just as she’d had no time to process the slaughter of Davenport.

  Run. Run.

  The three beasts broke from a copse of trees a few hundred feet behind them. Melora glanced over her shoulder, just long enough to see where they were. Branches clawed at her face and arms, trying to restrain her. She pushed them away and clung to her friend. Rowan was the closest thing she had to a brother. He was as much a part of her household as her parents had been. A slew of emotions and memories ran through her mind, colored by the frightful red of the massacre.

  She couldn’t lose him, too.

  The demons grunted and screeched, closing the gap. Their stench was as terrifying as their appearance. The horrific tales of the townsfolk—stories that’d given her nightmares as a child—were true. The odor of the monsters was always in her nostrils now, refusing to fade, growing stronger when the demons were near.

  “It’ll be all right, Rowan,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as her friend.

  “How will we get away?” he asked, his voice filled with quiet terror.

  “I don’t know.”

  Melora had never been this far from home. Frederick and Jean had only begun letting her hunt a few months ago, and only under the strict orders that Rowan and Cooley would watch over her.

  She’d never imagined watching over them.

  Rowan stumbled, and she lost her hold. He screamed in pain as his full weight went onto his foot. Frantic, she threw his arm over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of his tear-stricken face as she took hold of him. Rowan had always been the leader, the one kids turned to for courage and advice. That strong boy was gone. The new boy looked at her with panic-soaked eyes.

  “Don’t leave me,” he said.

  She wouldn’t. The demons were getting closer. To let Rowan go would be the same as killing him herself. And so Melora muscled him along, her shoulders and back aching from the weight of supporting someone twice her size. Her hair was caught in the crook of his arm; the pain tore at her scalp. There was no time to readjust. She scanned the area ahead for somewhere—anywhere—they could go. The forest looked the same as the one behind—dense and tangled, devoid of refuge.

  The cries behind them grew louder.

  She glanced over her shoulder to find a screaming, bulbous-headed monster careening toward them. It’d broken from the pack.

  Perhaps it sensed an opportunity.

  Its knobby, wart-covered arms swung at its side as it narrowed the gap. Melora couldn’t even tell if it was male or female. Tattered long hair hung over its face, obscuring its features, making it even more frightening.

  “Come on, Rowan!” Melora cried in desperation. But the boy was running as fast as he was able. Their pace wouldn’t save them from the sprinting monster. Rowan slipped from her arms. Terrified, she let him go.

  Melora spun and raised her knife.

  The creature kept charging, unfazed by the weapon, and suddenly it was on top of her, bowling her over in a tangle of limbs. Melora stabbed as she fell, wet fluid spraying her eyes and clothing. She didn’t even know what she was cutting. She couldn’t see. She choked and gagged, but kept jabbing. The creature reeked of blood and dirt, years of unwashed sweat. It fell on top of her, writhing.

  And then, miraculously, it went limp.

  She cried out and pushed it off of her. She stared at it for a second, but it remained still. She’d killed it.

  I killed it.

  All at once she was on her feet and staring at Rowan. She blinked the blood from her eyes, her body shaking, barely keeping hold of the knife.

  “Are you all right?” Rowan asked.

  “Yes. But more are coming. We have to go!”

  Two remaining creatures burst through the trees. Rowan struggled to stand, but collapsed on his injured foot, wincing. He’d lost his bow and bags. So had she. The only weapon they had was her knife.

  She’d have to fend the things off by herself.

  She smeared the blood from her face and tried to harden her heart. This is it. This is what the soldiers must feel as they face the hordes. She’d heard stories, but until this journey, she’d never witnessed an attack, much less fought in one. She screamed and raised her knife, her voice high-pitched and hardly her own. In her peripheral vision, she saw Rowan waving his arms. This is it, Melora. It’s over.

  It took her a second to realize Rowan was shouting. “Over there!”

  She followed his finger. A hundred feet away, tucked between two oaks, was a house covered in a layer of weeds. Melora hadn’t even noticed it. The demons shrieked, closing in. Maybe there was a way out.

  Maybe there was hope.

  “Get up, Rowan!” she cried.

  They clung to each other and made for the house, their heavy breaths spurring them on. Rowan hopped on his good foot. The house wouldn’t provide permanent refuge, but it’d give them time to regroup. She couldn’t fathom facing two of the creatures at once. Not with her small hunting knife. She couldn’t believe she’d been able to fend off one as it was. She kept her eyes on the house, afraid to look away. Her body felt like it was moving through mud.

  They’d made it halfway to the structure when underbrush crackled to their right. Melora spun, sighting movement through the trees. More demons?

  But it wasn’t demons.

  It was people.

  A gaunt, bearded man sprang from the trees, carrying a sword. His clothes were so dirty they were almost black. Behind him were two children carrying sharp sticks. Instead of charging at Melora and Rowan, they blew right past them, darting for the demons. She spun and watched them in awe. The man sliced the beasts’ heads from their bodies with a practiced hand, and the children, a boy and a girl, stabbed at their carcasses, weaving the sticks in and out of their bodies long after they were dead.

  When they were finished, the ragged people scanned the forest
for several seconds, holding their weapons, watching for signs of danger. Then they cleaned their swords and sticks on the grass, watching Melora and Rowan. Without the shrieks of demons, the forest resumed its silence, quiet save the occasional flap of wings overhead.

  Melora and Rowan stared. Stunned.

  The two parties eyed each other for several moments before anyone spoke. Melora held up her knife, making a show of bravery.

  “Thanks,” she said, keeping a wary eye on their rescuers.

  “Where are you from?” the man asked.

  “Davenport,” Melora answered.

  The man scrutinized her face, as if she might be lying. “What are you doing this far into the wild?”

  She swallowed. Her instincts told her to lie, but a larger part of her was afraid he might discover the truth. She drew a deep breath before answering.

  “Our village was slaughtered,” Melora said, the words making her eyes water. “My friend is injured. We’ve been running for over a day; we need help.”

  The man stared at them in silence while the children whispered. Melora caught bits and pieces of what they were saying.

  “Do you think they’re telling the truth?”

  “They’re too young to be Wardens. And one of them is a girl.”

  The man drew his children behind him as he studied Melora and Rowan. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes,” Melora said.

  “No soldiers followed you?”

  “We aren’t sure,” Rowan admitted.

  The man frowned at her, then motioned them toward the house. “Follow us inside. Be quick about it, before you bring any more trouble.”

  Chapter 45: Oliver

  Evan led Oliver down some alleyways and generally away from any well-traveled street. They came to a row of small buildings, all ancient, all on the verge of collapsing. They went through a doorway of a squat building that had three walls and nothing else—no roof, no windows, no floor, just dirt and grass. Evan leaned himself against a wall near a corner and asked, “Do you know where we are?”