The Last Survivors Box Set

by Bobby Adair

  Whether they were truly Davenport survivors, or a band of people seeking refuge from a burning, Ivory didn’t know. But he didn’t care.

  He wasn’t especially worried about William. Maybe Ivory would talk with Jingo about William when he saw him again.

  He took a few furtive looks at Ella as he chatted with the others, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  Ivory vowed to keep his discovery quiet. When the time was right, he’d broach the subject with Melora. He’d just have to make it clear that he meant the family no harm.

  Chapter 33: Winthrop

  Winthrop, a war god, marched along with his malevolent swarm, men and women thriving in the maw of the demon, fearlessly ignoring the wails of those too weak to stand against the onslaught of bloody steel and bared teeth. These few, these thousands, were his dark disciples, his hunters, his killers, his children, the invincible, the immortals.

  The demons feared the war god and his people.

  No longer did they attack in twos and threes, not even in packs of a few dozen. They ran when they heard the chanting and saw Winthrop’s blood army marching through the seemingly endless maze of ruins, always toward the crumbling spires, the heart of the Ancient City, still in the distance but getting closer.

  When the demons did fight, they rushed out of crumbled old buildings in mobs of hundreds, and they died, just as they’d perished by the thousands on that hill below the mountains with the Ancient City—a tall temptation—far down the coast. Their bodies lay in piles, and their blood flowed into creeks and stained the water red.

  “Father.” The tall, nameless priest was now spattered in new blood.

  Winthrop reached out and ran his fingers through the splatters, pulled his hands away, and reveled for a moment at the feel of the demon blood rubbing between his fingertips.

  “Father,” the priest asked again, looking to catch Winthrop’s attention.

  Winthrop looked at his red fingers. So many pleasures were his for the taking. No trembling virgin, no hungry harlot could compare to the simple pleasure of blood. The former were mere delights of dirty men. Winthrop had transcended that mortal plain. He was a god as surely as any had ever been. He had godly desires and godly ambitions.

  “The day is getting late, Father,” the nameless priest told him. He pointed at the far-off towers. “Shall we march on to the spires? Or shall we sleep tonight? The men are tired. Not all are gods like you. We need rest.”

  Winthrop looked up at his brother, the sun god in the sky, and tried to put together in his mind whether it was late, early, or midday. He didn’t know anymore. Time was a concept that enslaved mortal men. Winthrop had no need of it, and so he had forgotten all he had once known. Still, the nameless priest was right. Mortal men needed to sleep.

  Winthrop made an effort to speak the mortal tongue. “Find them a place to rest.”

  Chapter 34: Franklin

  The early morning sun glanced off Franklin’s face, filling him with warmth that matched the hope in his heart. Under his arms were several reference books and notes that he’d tailored to the sermon. Fitz, Joseph, and several clergymen strode next to him again, looking slightly less nervous than they had the day before. Franklin had slept only a little, but that sleep was better than none.

  “Still no sign of the soldiers,” Franklin said, looking around the empty street. He knew they’d be back. But he didn’t want to dampen the mood. “We’ll have more time to preach to Henrietta and her clan today. An early start will allow us to visit a few more farms. Maybe we can even hit the larger ones.”

  “I think that’s our best bet,” Fitz suggested.

  They passed several large, old buildings that preceded the neighborhood of farms they’d visited yesterday. The day before, Franklin had barely glanced at the buildings. His fear of Tenbrook had ruled his thoughts. His neck craned upward as he took in the crumbling balconies and the withered peaks, enjoying the architecture.

  “I don’t think I’ve appreciated the beauty of these buildings in a while,” Franklin said. “They’re a sight to behold.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Fitz said. Pointing to a few that had been broken down and scavenged to fix other buildings, she said, “It’d be great to restore them and turn them into meeting houses one day.”

  “I like that idea,” Franklin said with a smile.

  His optimism was contagious as they passed the old buildings and the other clergymen smiled and chatted. Soon they neared the small cluster of farms where they’d preached the day before. In the distance, Franklin spotted the farm belonging to the heavyset woman and her family.

  “We’ll cut through and say hello,” Franklin suggested.

  They cut across a barren patch of dirt, heading for the simple stone structure that stood in the middle of the property. Behind it were the family’s fields.

  Franklin gazed through the windowless openings on the side of the modest building. Did the entire family live in one room? His most recent memories were of days spent surrounded by treasures and wealth. The meals he ate—if not wholly satisfying—were at least given out regularly. He made a note to incorporate his observation into his next sermon.

  He’d only walked a few more steps when Fitz screamed. Fitz and Joseph broke into a run. They headed toward something in the middle of the field.

  Franklin followed, heart hammering. His robe blew in the wind as he struggled to catch up. The clergymen panted and ran behind. When he reached Fitz’s and Joseph’s side, Franklin recoiled.

  Lying on her back, a pitchfork shoved into her belly, was the heavyset woman with the red cheeks with whom he’d spoken the day before. Next to her was the old man, a hoe buried in the back of his neck. Their relatives lay in dead heaps around them.

  “No!” Fitz sobbed.

  Scratch marks and bruises showed the family had struggled. Pitchforks and shovels protruded from their bodies. Soldiers’ boot prints littered the ground. Fitz checked the family members for signs of life, even though she knew they were dead.

  “The children?” Franklin asked, hardly able to breathe.

  Another scream gave him the answer he dreaded. One of the clergymen found them near the house, tossed into a heap and burned. Franklin sank to his knees, dropping his books and his notes. This was his fault. He’d caused this.

  “Franklin, we need to get out of here,” Fitz said, tugging on his arm.

  Franklin’s guilt was a crashing wave, sapping him of strength and leaving him motionless. The clergymen looked in all directions, as if soldiers were waiting to finish them off. They chattered in nervous bursts.

  “We have to get out of here,” one of them echoed.

  “Tenbrook will kill us.”

  Another voice interrupted them.

  “Get out of here! Leave!” someone shouted.

  Franklin’s head snapped up to find a woman running into the yard. Her long, scraggly hair fell over her face as she frantically waved her arms.

  “We don’t want your sermon!” the woman shrieked. “Get out of here! All of you!”

  Henrietta, Franklin thought numbly, the woman whose family they were supposed to speak with.

  Franklin barely registered what she was saying.

  “Get out of here, before my family dies like the others!”

  “What happened?” Fitz called between sobs.

  “The soldiers!” the woman screamed. “They came and butchered them!”

  “We didn’t know this would happen,” Franklin said hopelessly, wringing his hands. “We didn’t intend this.”

  “Get out of here, before my children are killed! Please!”

  Before they could ask the woman anything further, she turned and ran. Her nervous gasps faded from earshot as she reached a dwelling in the distance and slammed the door. Franklin forced himself to his feet, h
eeding Fitz’s frantic warnings. They collected the others.

  “We have to go, before the soldiers return,” he heard Fitz say.

  “Someone should bury these people,” Joseph sobbed.

  “We’ll send someone back for them,” Fitz whispered. “I promise.”

  Chapter 35: Ella

  “What’s wrong?” Bray asked, looking at Ella’s hand on his sleeve. “Are you trying to lure me in for another kiss?”

  “No.” Ella’s eyes were wide and terrified. She’d barely slept the night before, watching over William more than sleeping. “We need to talk.”

  “What about?”

  “Ivory.” Ella looked all around. “Where are Ivory and Melora?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “William?”

  “He’s still behind you, in the building.”

  Ella looked over her shoulder into the building, verifying that William was still wandering among the pedestals. He didn’t appear to be listening.

  “William, stay down here,” she called behind her.

  “Okay, Mom,” he called back.

  She tugged Bray out onto the steps, sucking in a nervous breath.

  Keeping her voice low, she said, “Ivory saw the lump on William’s neck.”

  Bray’s expression turned serious as the statement sunk in. “How do you know?”

  Ella ignored the question. Her thoughts ran away from her as her panic grew. “I told William to hide his condition. I shouldn’t have let him shoot that bow. But he was so excited.”

  “Ella, slow down. How do you know Ivory found out?”

  “When we were in the building yesterday, Ivory dropped an arrow. William picked it up. Do you remember?”

  “I think so. But that doesn’t mean he saw.”

  “Ivory saw the lump. I saw his face change.”

  “Are you sure?” Bray asked, stroking his chin.

  “I’m sure,” Ella whispered. Even as the words left her mouth, she found herself questioning what she had seen, replaying the moment in her head. Even if she hadn’t been certain, she would’ve said she was. She needed to protect William.

  “He didn’t seem any different on the walk back,” Bray noted. “At least, not that I noticed.”

  “We need to talk to him and find out what his motives are.”

  “We might have to do more than that,” Bray said with a grim shrug, looking down at his sword. “If he goes back to Brighton and tells someone where we are, the soldiers might come.”

  Wrapping her mind around the idea as she spoke, Ella said, “What will we do, then?”

  Bray bit his lip. “Let’s start out by talking to him. Maybe it will go no further.”

  Chapter 36: Franklin

  “Tenbrook is an invisible snake, coiled at our heels,” Fitzgerald said, drying her tears. “Striking when our backs are turned.”

  Franklin bowed his head and stared at the floor in his room. He nodded. Hours of mourning and regret had segued into a defeated silence. After returning to the Sanctuary, Franklin had dismissed Joseph and the clergymen. He imagined they were huddled somewhere in the Sanctuary, discussing Tenbrook’s brutality with anyone who would listen. The story would spread around the Temple and make its way into town, undermining any authority Franklin had left.

  That was Tenbrook’s intention.

  How long until Franklin’s sermons were completely empty? How long until he was sitting in a vacant room, waiting for the sword to strike him down?

  Tenbrook’s game would end in his death.

  “We need to do something,” Fitz tried, but even her voice sounded hopeless.

  “We can’t go out there again,” Franklin said simply. “I won’t have others killed for my actions. Not again.”

  Fitz opened her mouth, but her protest died.

  “Those farmers were killed because we were there,” he continued. “That was the only reason.”

  “They didn’t break his guideline,” Fitz said, as if she might argue them back to life. “Neither did we.”

  “Tenbrook doesn’t need a reason to kill,” Franklin said. “He makes up reasons. How can we fight brutality like that with words?” Thinking of the butchered children, Franklin shook his head. “If I could do it again, I’d spend years training as a soldier instead of praying in the Sanctuary. I’d stick a blade in his neck.”

  Fitz grabbed his arm, but she didn’t disagree.

  Franklin sighed. He closed his eyes. What would they do? He hugged her even as his thoughts roamed to the dead people in the field, for whose deaths he was responsible.

  “We need to find another way,” Fitz whispered. Franklin sighed and embraced her, inhaling the scent of her hair and drawing comfort in her presence, trying to think of one.

  But he couldn’t.

  Instead he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if their time together was running out.

  Chapter 37: Ella

  “William, can you stay downstairs for a minute?” Ella asked, taking hold of his arm.

  “Why? What’s going on, Mom?”

  “We have to talk upstairs. We’ll send Melora down to keep you company.”

  William’s face wandered from Ella’s to Bray’s. Bray reinforced the statement with a firm nod.

  “Why are you talking without me?” William asked.

  Realizing the implication behind that question, Ella projected as much honesty as she could into her answer. “We’re trying to protect you, William.” Ella looked up the stairs, afraid that the voices would cease and someone would be listening. “It’s Ivory. We need to make sure he’s trustworthy.”

  “But he was so nice to me when he showed me the bow,” William argued.

  “We’re just talking, that’s all,” Ella reinforced. “Stay here and we’ll come get you when we’re done.”

  Ella swallowed as she said the words. One day, they’d be having a different discussion, but not now. She hugged William tightly, kissed him on the head, and followed Bray up the stairs. The voices in the upstairs room continued. She heard Melora laughing as Ivory told a joke. Her heart pounded as she kept walking. She noticed Bray occasionally running a hand over his sword.

  “Call Melora out first,” he whispered.

  Ella nodded. When they crossed the threshold of the first room, Ivory and Melora were sitting with their backs against one of the walls, holding their knees, smiling.

  “Melora, can you watch William downstairs for a moment?”

  Melora sat up straight. “Sure. Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine. William wanted to stay there while we came upstairs to check on something. We’ll be back down in a few minutes.”

  Ella put on the most harmless expression she could convey. Melora got to her feet, giving a quick glance at Ivory.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told Ivory.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Ella replied, as Melora walked past her and out into the hallway.

  Ella waited until Melora descended the stairs before she looked back at Ivory, who was sitting against the wall, waiting. He looked down at his bow for a moment, running his hands across the smooth metal. He looked back when he realized Ella and Bray were still watching him.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  “No,” Ella said, hoping to prevent a bad situation. “We just want to ask you some things.”

  Ivory tensed. “What things?”

  “We want to make sure you’re being honest with us.”

  Ivory’s eyes narrowed as the discussion took a turn he didn’t like. He slowly got to his feet, watching Bray and Ella, clutching his bow. “Everything I’ve said is the truth,” he said. “I’m a rabbit hunter from Brighton. Sometimes I come to the Ancient City.”


  He watched Bray, as if Bray might correct him, but he didn’t.

  “Did you really come across Melora by accident?” Ella asked.

  Ivory looked at the empty doorway, as if Melora might have something to do with the line of questioning. “I saw Melora in danger. I helped.”

  Bray frowned.

  “I don’t understand what this is about,” Ivory said, watching all of them. “If you want me to leave, I’ll go. I appreciate you letting me stay for a while. But if your kindness ends here, so be it.”

  Ella swallowed, wishing it were that easy. After a long pause, she said, “I know what you saw at the Ancient marketplace.”

  Ivory said nothing.

  “I saw you looking at William’s neck,” Ella said, removing any doubt as to the subject of the discussion.

  Ivory paused, thinking about his answer. Deciding on something, he admitted, “Yes, I saw something when he bent down to pick up an arrow.”

  “What?” Bray asked.

  “A lump.” Ivory stuck a thumb over his shoulder. “On the back of William’s neck. I know he’s infected.”

  Hearing the words filled Ella with the same dread she’d had in the woods in Brighton all those days ago, when she’d first discovered William’s condition herself. Her arms and legs went weak.

  “I’m not going to tell anyone,” Ivory added hastily. “I don’t care about that.”

  “How can we trust you’re not going to tell someone?” Bray asked.

  “I’m not supposed to be in the Ancient City. I could be killed for admitting it.”

  “Most people would be tempted to say something when they got back to town. They’d tell a friend. Or maybe a soldier.”

  “Not me. I have no reason to give you up. My father was infected. If I had been in Brighton before he confessed, I would’ve persuaded him to keep his secret.” Ivory shook his head. “I don’t believe in Brighton’s methods. They’re unnecessarily cruel.”