by Bobby Adair
Davenport had been built around its remains.
We’re almost there, she thought, as though reaching the village center would somehow erase the chaos. But her body gave away her fear. Her heart slammed against her ribs; heavy gasps burned her throat. She dodged the body of a slain merchant, catching a glimpse of his gouged eyes and the hilt of a knife protruding from his forehead. So it hadn’t been demons. Not all of it.
Men had done this.
She barely had time to register the thought when she’d rounded the next corner. She flew past the worship building, giving way to an open, dirt square about several hundred feet across. Bodies lined the edges, many with spears in their backs. Women and children and the elderly had been killed with equal abandon.
Two heads were in the center on spikes.
The ministers, she thought. As she ran, her mind conjured the images of Father Towson and Father Decker, who’d come to Brighton for visits and guest sermons. She hadn’t particularly liked them, but they didn’t deserve to die. Not like this. None of this made any sense.
Tears spilled down her face.
With William running behind her, she dashed across the square, approaching the slain ministers. The sticks were propped several feet above the ground, displaying the severed, ruined faces for all to see. The alley to her aunt and uncle’s was in view, just past the village center; she’d have to pass the spiked heads to get to it. As she approached, she felt William’s hand go slack in hers, and saw that he was staring at the ministers. Unwittingly, she followed his gaze.
Only the heads didn’t belong to the ministers.
Ella stopped running, an icy numbness working its way through her body. She hadn’t recognized any of the bodies so far. Not through the blood and gore. But she recognized these.
She clasped her hand over her mouth, unable to contain her sickness. Staring at her from the tops of the spikes, their eyes sightless, their faces splashed with blood, were the severed heads of Aunt Jean and Uncle Frederick.
“No!” Ella wailed, collapsing to her knees. She turned her head and heaved into the street. William fell to the ground next to her, grasping her arm. He was crying, too. He would’ve remembered them. They hadn’t visited in five years, but there was no mistaking their relatives.
She closed her eyes and reopened them, hoping to find proof that this was all a dream, but it was real. The death and the destruction of Davenport was total and irrevocable.
Bray drew near, his face sympathetic. His eyes wandered from the spikes and then back to Ella. “Blackthorn,” he said.
“What?” Ella dried her face and looked up at him. She furrowed her brow, as much in disbelief as in mourning.
“Blackthorn did this to get to you. To send a message.”
The words hit her like a punch to the stomach, and the tears were flowing again, and she was powerless to stop them. This was all her fault. She’d avoided The Cleansing; she’d skirted the will of The Word. And now others had paid.
“No,” she managed.
“This wasn’t because of you,” William said next to her. “It was because of me.” He dried his face and got to his feet. She watched him through a veil of tears. His face was contorted in both anguish and anger. How could she comfort him? There was no way to mend what had happened.
To her surprise, he raised his fist in the air and began to shout. “I’ll kill you! Do you hear me?”
“Quiet!” Bray said, grabbing the boy’s arm.
William ignored him. “I’ll kill you, Blackthorn!”
The boy had lost control, and he writhed in Bray’s arms. Ella leapt to her feet. She grabbed hold of William’s other arm, doing her best to hush him. His face was flush and streaked with tears. After a few seconds they were able to settle him down. She looked across the bloodied square, certain she’d find a band of soldiers, but the square was empty. Even still, they needed to get out of here. But not yet.
“I need to check on something else,” Ella said.
“This isn’t wise. We have to—” Bray began.
“Please.” She gave him an insistent stare and then started for the other side of the plaza. Bray and William followed. She scoured the ground as she ran, tracing the faces of the fallen townsfolk again. Soon she’d reached the alley past the square. The buildings were small and close together, and her mind jumped to memories of her youth. She’d played chickenball and rattles in the streets, just like William. She’d had friends. She’d had dreams. The scenery was so familiar, and yet so wrong.
She stepped around the bodies of several women lying facedown in the dirt, their dresses hitched above their waists, made to look indecent even in death. She glanced inside several open doorways, hoping she’d see someone inside, a survivor of the massacre, someone who could explain what had happened. She needed hope now more than ever. But the small houses were dark and empty.
Four doorways further was the entrance to her aunt and uncle’s. She recognized the door even before she was upon it, and she picked up her pace until she’d reached it. Stomach hitching, she crossed the threshold.
The house had been ransacked. Her aunt and uncle’s bedrolls were slashed, their storeroom raided. A sack of grain lay empty in the corner, the contents dumped across the room. The floor was wet and it reeked of urine. If there was any resemblance to the place where Ella had grown up, it was lost in the disorder.
Her eyes flitted across the ruined room. She walked inside and picked up the blankets and bedrolls. Then she went to the storeroom and peered inside. The shelves were barren, the contents either stolen or destroyed.
“What are you looking for?” Bray asked from the doorway, his sword at the ready.
Ella didn’t answer. Her heart was pumping furiously.
“Take some supplies, if you must,” Bray added. “But be quick about it. They’ll be back looking for you. We can’t stay.”
Ella ignored him, growing nauseous again. She walked to the entrance, pushing by Bray, and scanned up and down the alley. But there was no sign of what she was looking for. She turned around to find both Bray and William watching her.
“What are you doing?” Bray asked.
“I was hoping she was still here,” Ella said, tears in her eyes.
“Who?”
“I was hoping I’d find my daughter.”
Blatantly Begging for Reviews
We are really hoping you enjoyed our first collaboration, and hoping that you can help out a couple of indie authors by giving a few minutes of your time for a quick review.
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About the Authors
T.W. Piperbrook
T.W. Piperbrook was born and raised in Connecticut, where he can still be found today. He is the author of OUTAGE and the best-selling CONTAMINATION series. In addition to writing, the author has also spent time as a full-time touring musician, traveling throughout the US, Europe, and Canada. He lives with his wife, a son, and the spirit of his Boston Terrier.
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Email: [email protected]
Other Works by T.W. Piperbrook:
CONTAMINATION SERIES:
CONTAMINATION PREQUEL
CONTAMINATION 1: THE ONSET
CONTAMINATION 2: CROSSROADS
CONTAMINATION 3: WASTELAND
CONTAMINATION 4: ESCAPE
CONTAMINATION 5: SURVIVAL
Save money and start with the Contamination Boxed Set (Books 0-3) at a discounted price!
GET IT HERE!
OTHER WORKS:
OUTAGE
Bobby Adair
Where I’m from and who I was isn’t important except to say that I’m pretty much just like you. I worked lots of years in shit jobs (actually most of them paid pretty well) that I hated. But it finally occurred to me one day that it wasn’t the jobs that were bad, it was me. I did my time at the widget factory because I was too lazy to chase my dreams.
Well, one day, I got off my ass and I finally did chase them.
Now, after a lot of work (still going on) here I am. I’m a writer. I don’t say that to brag. I only say it as proof that if I can go over the wall and follow my dreams, you can too. It ain’t easy, but it’s worth it.
My Website
http://bobbyadair.com/subscribe/
Facebook
https://www.facebook.com/BobbyAdairAuthor
Pinterest
http://www.pinterest.com/bobbyadairbooks/
Twitter
https://twitter.com/BobbyAdairBooks
Other Books by Bobby Adair
Thriller
Ebola K
Horror
Slow Burn: Zero Day, book 1
Slow Burn: Infected, book 2
Slow Burn: Destroyer, book 3
Slow Burn: Dead Fire, book 4
Slow Burn: Torrent, book 5
Slow Burn Box Set: Destroyer and Dead Fire
Satire
Flying Soup
Text copyright © 2014, Bobby Adair & T.W. Piperbrook
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
The Last Survivors
default label
Preface
Prologue
Chapter 1: Ella
Chapter 2: Father Winthrop
Chapter 3: Ella
Chapter 4: Minister Beck
Chapter 5: Ella
Chapter 6: Minister Beck
Chapter 7: Muldoon
Chapter 8: Oliver
Chapter 9: Ella
Chapter 10: General Blackthorn
Chapter 11: Ella
Chapter 12: Oliver
Chapter 13: Bray
Chapter 14: Ella
Chapter 15: Oliver
Chapter 16: Ella
Chapter 17: Oliver
Chapter 18: Ella
Chapter 19: Minister Beck
Chapter 20: Ella
Chapter 21: Ella
Chapter 22: Minister Beck
Chapter 23: Bray
Chapter 24: Minister Beck
Chapter 25: Ella
Chapter 26: Bray
Chapter 27: Father Winthrop
Chapter 28: Bray
Chapter 29: Ella
Chapter 30: Father Winthrop
Chapter 31: Ella
Chapter 32: Ivory
Chapter 33: Ella
Chapter 34: Ella
Chapter 35: Ella
Chapter 36: Ivory
Chapter 37: Ella
Chapter 38: Ella
Chapter 39: Ivory
Chapter 40: Ella
PREVIEW: The Last Survivors (Book 2) Chapter One: Ella
Blatantly Begging for Reviews
About the AuthorsT.W. Piperbrook
Bobby Adair
