The Last Survivors Box Set

by Bobby Adair

  “A place where the Ancients stored things of value. They put things into glass cases so they could admire them without ruining them.”

  “William guessed that,” Melora said, her eyes filling with wonder. “How do you know? Did your uncle tell you?”

  Ivory smiled. “I’m good at figuring things out.”

  “You still need to tell me about floating on the water.”

  “I will,” Ivory said. “In time. But why don’t we try the bow first?”

  Melora’s excitement made it easy to change the subject. Ivory halted next to an enormous ancient building with a roof so collapsed that it hung diagonally from the structure it used to protect. Mounds of rubble had collected at the bottom. Seeing the giant, sloping building reminded him of some of the sharp hills on the outskirts of Brighton. On the side of the slope were several soggy, weather-beaten boards, propped at angles to protect against the weather. It looked like settlers had used them at some point as shelters.

  “What do you think about shooting here?” Ivory asked Melora. “We might have luck getting the arrows to stick.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Melora agreed.

  Without another word, Ivory readied the bow and nocked an arrow. He aimed at one of the boards about twenty yards away, focusing on his target. Melora watched in awe as he pulled back the string, the wheels of the bow turning as they complemented his force.

  “You hardly have to pull it back,” he told her. “And it shoots much faster. Watch.”

  He let go of the arrow. It flew through the air, thunking into the target, splintering the wet wood. He smiled with confidence. Melora studied the landed arrow. She looked at Ivory.

  “You’re already quite good. I’ll have to see how I do,” she said.

  “Okay.” Ivory smiled and handed her the bow, guiding her hands over the metal. He saw excitement pass through her face as he gave her an arrow. For a moment, the dangers of the Ancient City and the slaughter of Davenport faded for both of them.

  “Much of it works the same as what you’re used to,” Ivory explained. “But it might take a few shots to get the hang of it.”

  Melora drew back the arrow.

  “I can’t believe I’m holding Tech Magic,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Ivory affirmed, unable to resist a smile. “A real weapon of the Ancients.”

  She smiled back and looked away, concentrating on Ivory’s arrow. She let go. Her arrow whisked through the air, grazing the end of Ivory’s and landing in the wood just above it. Ivory watched her with astonishment.

  “You’re better than—”

  “Any girl you’ve met?” she finished for him.

  “No. Anyone I’ve met.” Ivory’s eyes were wide.

  He saw Melora watching his face for insincerity, but Ivory had only true admiration. She smiled and lowered the bow. Watching the two arrows hanging from the wood, Ivory recalled afternoons spent in the woods outside Brighton, shooting bundles of grass with his uncle, or practicing in the Ancient City with Jingo.

  “Do you want to get back to the building?” Ivory asked.

  “No,” Melora said with a full smile. “I’d rather shoot some more.”

  “Okay,” Ivory said, reaching down to his quiver.

  “I’ll split your arrow with my next shot.” Melora grinned.

  Chapter 18: Melora

  Ivory and Melora smiled and joked as they made their way back to the ancient building, skirting around several flattened, dried animal carcasses that had become little more than landmarks, watching for demons. Melora was becoming more accustomed to the Ancient City, so much so she envisioned it becoming her home, with Davenport gone.

  When they reached the building, Melora found Bray sitting on the steps, several dead rabbits next to him. There was no sign of Ella or William.

  “You shot the bow,” Bray guessed, disappointment coloring his face as he watched them approach.

  “I didn’t know when you’d be back,” Melora answered.

  “You were asleep when I left.” Bray grunted and nodded at the bounty he’d brought back. “I was waiting.”

  “Maybe we can shoot later.” Ivory shrugged.

  Bray contorted his face, trying to think of an argument. Before he could say anything further, Ella appeared at the doorway. “You have lunch?”

  “Yep, I got some rabbits,” Bray said, motioning with his chin toward the rabbits on the step next to him.

  “I’m starving,” Ella admitted.

  “Okay,” Bray said. “I’ll cook them.” Grabbing the rabbits, he started toward the back of the building.

  Melora and Ivory followed.

  Chapter 19: Melora

  “Melora!” William hissed.

  Melora stopped and peered out over the balcony of the ancient building, certain a band of demons were breaking through the door downstairs. Instead, she saw her brother lurking behind one of the stone platforms. Her intent had been to sneak down and relieve herself. She hadn’t expected to find William. She peeked behind her, listening to the hushed voices of Ella, Bray, and Ivory as they ate their meal. No one must’ve seen him leave.

  William waved her down the stairs.

  She kept quiet as she walked down to join him. William watched the staircase, his face pale and suspicious. For a second, Melora envisioned him as one of the demons, wart-covered and swaying, ready to pounce. She shuddered as she reached his side.

  “Is everything all right, William?” she asked.

  William nodded and swallowed hard. He was nervous.

  “I saw something before you left to shoot the bow,” he whispered, his eyes wide. He watched her with an expression that she couldn’t interpret.

  Melora felt a surge of dread. Was William having delusions again? She tapped the handle of her sword, wondering if this was the moment she’d have to draw it and call for the others. “What did you see, William?”

  “Bray kissed Mom.”

  Melora’s fear found a new source. “What do you mean?”

  “They were sitting on the steps outside the building, talking. I was practicing with the sword I found. I came to ask Mom a question and saw what happened.”

  “What did Mom do?”

  “She pulled away. When she saw me, she whispered something and came inside. I think she told Bray to leave her alone.”

  Melora bit her lip and clenched the handle of her sword, wanting to run upstairs and confront the Warden, to stick her sword under his chin and threaten him. Maybe she’d do worse than that. Ella had been right. They couldn’t trust Bray. He wasn’t here to help them. He was here for his own lascivious purposes.

  I knew he was bothering her the other night.

  He probably meant to rob them after he was done wiping his dirty paws on Ella.

  Her anger flared. She took a step toward the stairs, but William halted her. She flinched at his touch.

  “It wouldn’t be smart to do anything,” William said, his face suddenly stoic.

  “Why not?”

  “The commotion might raise the demons. Talking might be one thing, but a battle can grow loud quickly. We’ve seen that in the woods.”

  “Who cares about the demons when the danger is among us?”

  “He won’t try it again.”

  “How can you know that, William?” Melora flung up her hands in frustration. “Men like him don’t stop until they get what they want. Surely, you understand that.”

  William’s face grew hard as he appraised her. He patted the sword at his side. “Trust me, Melora, he won’t do it again. Because if he does, I’ll kill him in his sleep.”

  Chapter 20: Franklin

  Morning light peeled through one of the high windows, casting bands of brilliance on the Sanctuary floor. Franklin steel
ed his nerves as he prepared for his sermon. What Fitzgerald had told him made the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach more pronounced.

  This will be your most important sermon yet.

  Regardless of Franklin’s anxiety, he needed every advantage to gain safety from Tenbrook. Franklin straightened his robe and looked around at the other clergymen. Novice Joseph waited by the door, taking up a position that was becoming a little more comfortable. Deacon Abbot nodded, forcing himself to smile through some of the fear on his face. The clergymen were more confident in Franklin’s abilities than they had been before, though they still seemed afraid after what he’d done to Father Nelson.

  Franklin was surprised to find himself just as anxious for his second sermon as his first.

  Did Father Winthrop feel the way I do now? Winthrop never seemed nervous. He was too busy barking orders and looking down his nose at everyone to seem frightened.

  Perhaps presiding over the congregation is a skill much like learning recitations, Franklin thought. Perhaps it will get better over time.

  Thinking of Winthrop sleeping in a ditch, Franklin smiled. At least he was in a better place than that. He let that thought soothe him as the harps and woodwinds started playing. The soothing melody meant mass was about to begin. If Fitz were to be believed, he needed a succinct sermon. That meant Franklin had to focus.

  He smiled as he thought about Fitzgerald, waiting in one of the pews to support him.

  The doors opened.

  The music grew louder.

  Franklin walked across the threshold, leading his procession of clergymen. He was halfway to the pulpit when he realized something was different than his last sermon.

  The usual rows of filled pews were mostly empty. A few clusters of women sat spaced out from one another, looking at each other, strange expressions on their faces. Several old codgers were hunched over in the back. One of the clergymen coughed. Another cleared his throat.

  Franklin kept walking, having no choice but to keep going. He studied the mostly vacant church as he made his way to the pulpit. What was going on?

  Where was everyone?

  He’d spoken to twice this many people last time. And he was sure he’d won them over. He recalled the congratulations he’d received.

  Had those been lies? Maybe he wasn’t as successful as he’d thought.

  Franklin caught a glimpse of Fitz’s downcast face as she watched him from the back. The disappointment in her eyes was enough to make him want to retreat for the door. Forcing himself to speak, Franklin said, “Good morning, people of Brighton.”

  A few half-hearted responses floated up to the pulpit.

  “We are gathered here because of our devotion to The Word, our devotion to each other, and our devotion to Brighton. The spirit of faith is strong in each of your hearts.”

  “So sayeth The Word,” a few women mumbled.

  Franklin’s heart sank. One of the old codgers in the back row sneezed.

  Chapter 21: Melora

  When Melora awoke, William was standing over her. She instinctively reached for her sword. Her heart pounded as she tried to discern what was happening.

  “We’re trying Ivory’s bow!” he said, his face lit with a smile.

  Melora blinked herself awake and blew a calming breath. After what William had told her about Ella and Bray, she’d barely slept. She’d moved her blanket close to the archway to keep an eye on what was going on, though she hadn’t heard anything. Ivory walked past, shouldering his bag and his weapon. William scurried away with a smile on his face.

  “How’d you sleep?” Ivory asked.

  “Okay,” she lied, still feeling unsettled.

  She rubbed her eyes and watched the daylight through one of the cracks in the ceiling. To her right, she saw Ella and Bray waiting in the next room. Melora got to her feet, threw on her boots, and strapped her sword to her waist.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Don’t you want to eat first?” Ivory asked her.

  Melora shook her head insistently. “I’m fine. I’ll have something later.”

  She walked with Ivory into the other room, said good morning to her mother, and shot daggers with her eyes at Bray. Bray didn’t seem to notice. His pants were stained with the remnants of the rabbits he’d skinned the night before. She couldn’t help picturing him pawing at Ella, finding the best way into her dress. A filthy pig. That’s what he was.

  Taking up next to her mother, Melora engaged her in conversation, keeping Ella and William close as Bray and Ivory led the way downstairs. Together they moved the stones and exited the building.

  Outside, the sun lanced over the early morning dew that had settled over the ruined buildings and the rubble in the street. The air was cold, but several degrees warmer than when Melora had pulled the blanket over her body the night before.

  “Where are we going?” she asked the group.

  Bray took the lead next to Ivory, admiring his bow. “What do you think, Ivory?” he asked, looking around for demons.

  Melora huffed in a breath. She half expected to smell the fetid odor of the twisted men, but the area was clear.

  Ivory bit his lip. “We could go to the place where Melora and I shot yesterday.” He paused. “Or, I know of a place that might be better.”

  “Where?” Bray asked.

  “A few streets east,” Ivory said, pointing. “It’s worth the trip. I’ll take you.”

  Bray watched Ivory curiously. “Lead the way.”

  As they continued walking, William scooted up near Bray and Ivory. Melora hung back next to Ella. They skirted past brown, faltering weeds and crushed rubble, cutting through areas they hadn’t traveled before. Many-windowed buildings sat on either side of the road, each the same height and shape.

  William and Bray chatted with Ivory in anticipation of using the bow. Melora slowed her pace, letting them get further ahead so she could speak with Ella.

  “I talked with William last night,” she said, watching her mother.

  Ella bit her lip. “About Bray?”

  “Yes,” Melora said, surprised.

  “I knew he’d speak to you about it.”

  “I heard what Bray was trying to do. I heard you pushed him off.”

  Ella sighed and lowered her head. “You don’t have to worry about him.”

  “Why not? We’re in danger, Mom. We should threaten him to leave. We shouldn’t be traveling with him anymore.”

  Ella watched Bray, William, and Ivory in the distance. She sighed again as she thought through an answer. “He’s a Warden, Melora. They operate under different rules than the men in Brighton.” She looked at the ground.

  “Really? Because I don’t think he acted differently at all,” Melora countered, getting frustrated. “The women in Brighton and Davenport might be stuck with the men they marry. They might not have a choice about the company they keep, but we do. Out here, we can make him go.”

  “There’s more to it than that, Melora.”

  “Like what?”

  Ella watched Melora in silence for a minute before answering. “He’s been good to William.”

  “I know he helped you get to Davenport, and here to the Ancient City, but we can take care of ourselves,” Melora said. “We don’t owe him anything.”

  Ella sighed. “What I’m trying to say is, you don’t need to worry about me.” She reached over, putting a hand on Melora’s shoulder. “I was a little harsh on you and William yesterday. I know you can take care of yourselves. I need you to believe that I can, too.” Ella smiled and met Melora’s eyes. “I already had words with Bray. He won’t try anything again.”

  “I still don’t trust him.”

  “If I thought we were in danger, I’d tell you,” Ella said. “I promise.”

  Ch
apter 22: Oliver

  After staying another night in the cylinders and traveling most of the day, Oliver and Beck finally got close to the ocean. Once they got through the dunes, the beach was wide and flat, stretching for a hundred yards down to the water. The mist turned everything gray, making the beach and the ocean disappear in the distance.

  Oliver said, “It feels like I’m living in a cloud.”

  “Except cloud people wouldn’t have sand in their shoes,” said Beck with a chuckle.

  “I’m going to the ocean,” Oliver announced, running across the sand toward the water. A flock of white birds with black-tipped wings—a hundred or more—took flight in front of him, squawking loudly and floating on the wind that carried them down the beach.

  The rolling water fascinated Oliver. He’d never seen or suspected anything like it. The intermittent, crashing water rumbled like thunder as it rolled on and off the beach, washing over all the land on the great flat earth, pulling back into itself before the ocean ate it with another crash.

  Once on the edge of the dry sand, Oliver watched the water come and go a few times before he sprinted forward to kneel down, cup his hand, and scoop a palm full of water into his mouth. He immediately spit it out as he ran away from the rolling water.

  Beck looked up and down the beach as he laughed and proceeded toward Oliver. “Salty?”

  Drinking from his canteen to rinse out his mouth, happy that he’d filled it earlier from a stream they’d crossed, Oliver said, “Terrible. Saltier than you’d think.”

  “I don’t think I’ll try it,” said Beck. “I don’t mind learning from the experiences of others.”

  “You should taste it, just the same,” said Oliver. “Hearing about something can never be as powerful as experiencing it.” Oliver gazed up and down the beach again. “How will either of us ever describe this place in words? How will anyone understand what it’s like to be here?”