The Last Refuge: A Dystopian Society in a Post Apocalyptic World (The Last Survivors Book 5)

by Bobby Adair

  "Are you a Warden?" Bray asked.

  "No, a rabbit hunter."

  "He's from Brighton," Melora clarified, shooting Bray a look in hopes he wouldn't give away Ella and William's secret.

  "A rabbit hunter roaming the Ancient City?" Bray frowned, as he looked Ivory up and down.

  "Yes," Ivory said.

  "Rabbit hunters don't come to the Ancient City." Bray cocked his head with a smile, studying Ivory. He looked from his clothes to his bag. "You're a metal smuggler."

  Ivory swallowed but didn't answer.

  Bray nodded, reinforcing his proclamation. "Definitely a metal smuggler."

  "No, I'm not," Ivory said, but his face betrayed his secret.

  They fell into silence, scrutinizing each other. After a moment, Bray's face softened and he looked at the bow again. "Whoever you are, we could use someone with a weapon like that around. And Melora's obviously taken a liking to you. Why don't you come inside and have some breakfast?"

  Ivory looked from Bray to Melora, hesitating.

  "Do you have somewhere else to be?" Bray asked.

  "No," Ivory said after a pause. "I guess I can come in."

  Chapter 9: Fitzgerald

  The streets reeked of sweat and ash as Fitz opened the door of the Sanctuary and looked around. Or maybe it was the memory of the burnings. She held her breath and looked in all directions for soldiers, worried she might have been wrong about what she told Franklin, fearing someone might race up and grab her. Instead, she noticed only a few passersby walking with their heads bowed. Thrusting the awful details of the burnings from her mind, Fitz departed into the streets with a basket in her hand.

  She thought of the words Franklin had spoken in his room. He doubted the women in Brighton could make a difference. But that was the way with most in Brighton. She couldn't fault him for it. Still, if she could find a way to rally those women and ensure they went to the sermons, maybe she could use that power.

  She just wasn't sure how to do it yet.

  She walked past a cluster of tall, stone buildings. During her stay in the Sanctuary, she'd learned that those buildings were used to house visitors when they came to ask Father Winthrop for favors, or to grovel for his forgiveness.

  Walking several streets further, those buildings turned into squalid, filthy hovels and roads filled with people. The smell of cooked pig laced the air. Conversation surrounded her. The street was stuffed with merchants stocking their wares. Most were women, the wives of the men who had gone off to war, left behind to take care of their business. The customers were a blend of people from other townships or villages, mostly female, and the children they were left to tend. Fitz found her way between shoulders, waving hands, and youthful cries of children playing street games.

  Normally, the task of getting fresh vegetables and meats from the market was reserved for the novices, but she'd convinced Franklin she'd be careful if he allowed her to go. Her hope was that she could observe the townsfolk and figure out something that would convince herself her argument was valid.

  Between the customers spending coin, she found a few women huddling in corners or holding distraught conversations. Some were mourning the deaths of their husbands; others were celebrating their men going off to war by purchasing more than they could afford.

  Stopping at a produce stand, she picked up an apple and turned it in her hand.

  A lady merchant asked, "Looking for anything in particular?"

  "Just a few apples for the Sanctuary," Fitz said. The woman's face fell as she realized she wouldn't be getting paid.

  "Take what you need, but please go easy on me," the lady merchant pleaded. "With the early cold, we lost some of our crops, and my husband is off to the war."

  "Of course," Fitz answered.

  The merchant moved on to the next customer, hoping for more coin. As Fitz placed some apples in her basket, she noticed four women standing in an alleyway. One was a woman with a kerchief tied around her head, waving her hands. She talked angrily while others listened. Fitzgerald thanked the merchant and stepped into the alley, hoping she might eavesdrop.

  The woman raised her fist at the sky. "The gods took my husband to war. They took my brothers in the burning. What do I have left?"

  Fitzgerald edged closer to the circle, a sympathetic look on her face. She looked around at the women, whose faces were dirt-stained and whose clothes were ripped. It looked like they were only a few mouthfuls above starving. Fitz felt out of place in her clean merchant's dress. She'd sewn it back together after Tenbrook's attack. Though one could notice a few tears, if they looked closely, it was still nicer than what these women were wearing. Acknowledging her presence, one of the women eyed her with a suspicious glance.

  "What's going on?" Fitz whispered.

  The woman took a second to answer, judging Fitz's dress. "She lost her brothers in the burnings," she finally whispered. "And her husband was called out with Blackthorn's army."

  "That's awful," Fitzgerald said.

  Blinking tears from her eyes, the angry woman's voice grew louder. "How am I supposed to manage my house? My children will starve. I have no one to help me. The gods have forgotten my children. The Word has failed!"

  A few of the women gave nervous looks around the alley. Their sympathy went only as far as doubting The Word. They took a few steps backward, contemplating scattering.

  Fitzgerald took a step forward.

  "I'm sorry to hear about your husband and brothers," she said.

  The angry woman surveyed Fitz, noticing her for the first time. Studying Fitz with a scowl, the woman took a bold step forward. "I appreciate your concern. But those words won't feed my children, or help us afford clothes as nice as yours."

  Fitz said, "That doesn't have to be true. We can all help each other."

  "My neighbors offered the same help. But their kindness will only go as far as the next burning or until their own families can't be fed."

  "The Word guides us through these tough times. Our faith will see us through."

  Growing suspicious, the woman became bolder. "Who are you?"

  "I'm a servant at the Sanctuary."

  The woman gasped and threw her hands up in despair. "Of course! You're here to tell the guards! You're here to see me burned! I should've known by your dress."

  The other women panicked. They raced for the end of the alley.

  "Wait!" Fitzgerald said, stopping them with an insistent wave. "I'm not here to see anyone burned."

  "How can we believe you?" one of the women called over her shoulder.

  Fitzgerald reached into her basket and held out an apple. A couple of the women furrowed their brows, confused and distrustful. They stopped moving.

  "A gesture of my goodwill. I have one for each of you."

  "You want a favor," one of the women said, a guarded expression on her face.

  "No favor. Come back over and I'll share what I have."

  With some coaxing, she convinced the women to return. She gave them the apples from her basket. The angry woman tucked hers away, eyeing Fitz warily as if she might take it back.

  "I could be burned for giving away Sanctuary food." Fitz said. She took out an apple and bit into it. "That should prove I'm not here to trick you."

  The women huddled around Fitz, eating. They watched Fitzgerald with eyes that said they wanted to believe.

  "I just overheard what you were saying," Fitz added. "I want to help."

  "No one does that. People talk about helping when they're in the pews. After that, The Word fades and we're on our own."

  "Lady and Bruce had the same doubts," Fitz said.

  The angry woman grew visibly afraid at the names of Lady and Bruce. "I shouldn't have doubted The Word. I'm sorry."

  Fitz smiled grimly. Directing her words to all the women, she said, "I'm just a servant at the Sanctuary. You don't have to worry about me. But you're right. There seem to be two versions of The Word: the things people say behind the Sanctuary doors, and th
e things they do after they leave. We need to learn to bring our same faith outside, if we want to survive."

  The other women nodded. They watched Fitzgerald intently.

  "Most of the men are gone," Fitz added. "We need to look out for ourselves."

  "There are more of us than there are of them, now that the army is gone," the woman with the kerchief said with a shrug.

  "That may be true," another woman conceded. "But what can women do? The burnings yesterday are proof things are getting worse. People are afraid, and only concerned for themselves. We'll burn whether the men are here or not."

  "It's Tenbrook," one of the women whispered, looking around the alley. "He's worse than Blackthorn."

  "That's true," Fitzgerald said, fighting back her emotions.

  "He never goes to sermons," one of the women said with a scoff. "He condemns and burns people, and he doesn't even pray with the rest of us."

  "He burned my brothers in the square." The woman with the kerchief wiped her eyes and stepped forward, watching Fitz.

  "Tenbrook has no power over The Word. But Father Franklin does," Fitz said. "What do you think of him?"

  "I heard his last sermon," the woman continued. "I believe he's different. He seems to believe some of the things you're saying, about helping each other outside of the Sanctuary. Winthrop was only concerned with rules. Still, I'm not sure that will be enough to convince everybody. And it certainly won't stop Tenbrook from burning whoever he wants."

  "What if there was nothing for Tenbrook to hear?" Fitz asked. "What if we were all to keep silent?"

  The woman paused. The rest thought on it. "There's no guarantee anyone would follow that rule. The soldiers find things out."

  "They find things out because we tell them. If we keep gathering at the sermons and practicing The Word, we'll gain the trust of others. We'll start to grow stronger. I think that's what Father Franklin was trying to say at his last sermon."

  The woman with the kerchief frowned. The others whispered amongst themselves and a couple gave disbelieving looks.

  "I want to believe him," she said.

  "I can attest that he means it, having worked for him. Give him time," Fitzgerald said. She reached out and gently placed her hand on the woman's shoulder. "Come to the next sermon. Tell everyone you know to come. We'll sit together in the pews."

  The woman looked around at the others in the group, then slowly nodded.

  Fitzgerald smiled, then turned and headed back down the alley to look for others.

  Chapter 10: Ivory

  Ivory followed Melora, Bray, and William into the building, keeping a wary eye on Bray. Bray also seemed fascinated by the bow. And who wouldn't be? Ivory vowed to keep his weapon close during his stay.

  He looked for Ella, but she wasn't nearby.

  The building looked the same as the last time he'd entered it. He'd been in the building a few times with his uncle and Jingo, but hadn't found anything of value. Broken glass was ground into the floor and partially buried. Fractured, crumbling pedestals dotted the room. Jingo had told him it was a museum—a place the Ancients used to display archaic, preserved treasures, though most had been looted or destroyed.

  Ivory walked up the flight of stairs, skirting around the divots and gaps in the stone and following Melora. When they entered the first room, he saw Ella tidying up several blankets and bags. The look on her face showed she was still upset by what had happened outside.

  Ivory couldn't help but smile. Melora was independent. Her strong words reminded him of similar encounters he'd had with Muldoon when Muldoon was still alive.

  "Would you like something to eat?" Melora asked, grabbing a bag from the floor and pulling out a slice of dried pork.

  "Thanks," Ivory said appreciatively.

  He watched as Melora, Bray, and William pulled out flasks, setting down their belongings, eating in whatever position they'd crouched in. The meal reminded him of many he'd had in the wild, on an empty stomach, accompanied by furtive glances. It was a life not many in Brighton knew.

  He hunched on the ground next to Melora and had breakfast, holding his bow on his lap. Ella remained standing.

  "How long have you been here?" Bray asked Ivory.

  "A few days," Ivory said. That wasn't a lie.

  "Is that when you found the bow?" Bray asked, as he traced the path of the string around the wheels.

  Ivory shifted uncomfortably. "I got it on my last trip."

  "It's in remarkable shape, for such a find. Where did you say you got it?"

  "In one of the buildings near the water," Ivory said vaguely. "I had to restring it. It took me a lot of time to figure that out, and how the wheels worked."

  "You said you've killed demons with it?"

  "Yes," Ivory said, unable to contain his pride. "Two, so far."

  "I noticed you had no trouble pulling back the arrow, and yet it flew farther and faster than I would've expected. How does that work?"

  "The wheels help take some of the pressure off your hand, once you get it to a certain position. That lets you aim better, and hold the bow steadier. Or at least that's what I think, after using it a few days."

  "I'd like to try it myself, after you finish breakfast." Bray shrugged. "That is, if you wouldn't mind showing me."

  "I'd like to try, too," Melora chimed in.

  Ivory nodded but didn't commit to anything.

  Although he didn't quite trust Bray, he was looking forward to firing the bow again. Before finding Melora, he'd been headed back to the tower with Jingo to practice. They'd seen no sign of the bear-man since returning on the boat. He wondered if the man had gone back to Brighton, or if he was still lying in wait somewhere.

  Changing the subject, he asked, "Have you seen anyone else in the city?"

  Bray grunted. "No. The Ancient City isn't a place for men."

  "Well, you picked one of the safer places to hide."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The demons don't come around this part of the city as much as the others."

  Bray grunted. "I've seen demons everywhere in the city, so I doubt that's true."

  "It's not a rule, of course," Ivory said. "Some of them will go anywhere. And they'll follow a human wherever they find them. But this area is less traveled than others. It dates back to some of the wars the Ancients had. That's what I was telling Melora."

  Bray didn't look convinced.

  Ivory changed the subject again. "Melora told me you fled from what happened in Davenport. I'm sorry to hear about your relatives."

  "They weren't mine." Bray shrugged and chewed his meat.

  Ella dropped a flask on the floor and it landed with a clatter. Ivory glanced up and noticed her watching him. "Have you heard anything about the massacre while you were in Brighton?" Ella asked.

  "Nothing, other than what Melora explained," Ivory said. "I was in Brighton a few days ago, but only long enough to learn the news about my father."

  Ella furrowed her brow. "What happened to him?"

  "Ivory's father was taken in the last Cleansing in Brighton," Melora explained.

  "I'm sorry to hear that." Ella bent down to retrieve her flask. She looked back at her bag, nervous.

  Ivory lowered his head. Though he liked Melora's company, something didn't seem right with these people. What was it? He knew they had sought refuge in the city, but there was something else. He needed time to figure it out. Realizing the others were still watching, he said, "My father was a good man. He was a rabbit hunter, too."

  Bray cleared his throat. He lowered his head. "The Cleansing takes too many of the best of us."

  Ivory nodded his agreement and finished his pork. He wiped his face with his sleeve.

  "Would you like more?" Melora asked.

  Ivory looked at her outstretched hand. A sour look from Ella convinced him he shouldn't take any more of these people's rations. "I'm fine."

  With the meal done, Ivory felt the anticipation in the room. Everyone was watching his bo
w. He suddenly felt the need to keep the weapon close to him. "You know what? I'm pretty tired right now. I wouldn't mind resting, if that'd be okay with you."

  The disappointment on Bray's face was evident. He covered it up. "Of course," he said. "Maybe we can try out the bow when you wake up?"

  "Sure." Ivory made a show of wiping his eyes. In truth, he was exhausted. Several days and nights of being awake had worn him down. He and Melora had tried napping in shifts, but the carousing, screeching demons had kept them mostly awake in the building where they'd hidden.

  "Do you need a blanket?" Melora asked.

  "I have one in my bag," Ivory said.

  He glanced around for a quiet corner.

  "You can sleep in my room, if you'd like," William offered, pointing through an archway that led into a second room.

  "William," Ella cut in. "That's not a good idea."

  "Why not? The room will be empty. It's still daylight, and I'm not tired."

  "What about Melora?" Ella asked. "She'll be staying in there."

  "I can stay in this room," Melora said. "He can use that one."

  Stripped of an argument, Ella fell silent and resumed looking through the belongings in her bag.

  "I'll show you the best spot," William offered, darting into the other room before Ella could stop him.

  "Sounds good. Thank you for the breakfast." Ivory stood. Walking out of the circle of penetrating eyes, he felt relieved.

  "That's where I sleep," William said to Ivory as he entered the room. He pointed to a small bag on the ground, a blanket spilling out of the top. "Melora usually sleeps closer to the wall."

  "That looks comfortable."

  "We only had one room back at home," William confessed. "This place is much bigger."

  Ivory was thinking of a polite response when Ella called William from the other room. "William! Let the young man sleep."

  "But I want to show him my sword!" William complained.

  "Sword?" Ivory asked.

  Ivory frowned as William hurried over to a blanket in the corner, pulling a large sword with a worn handle from underneath. It was much bigger than the one William had scabbarded at his side. William smiled and hoisted it in the air.