Last Hope: Book 5 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Last City - Book 5)

by Kevin Partner

  Then he shook his head and moved away from the window. What difference did it make? Whether trained or not, they were well armed and had no force to oppose them, except for Gert's ragtag group and Devon's even more pathetic little team.

  Still, he would do what he could. They would certainly search him when he arrived for the executions, which were due to take place at noon, so there was no point concealing a weapon. He would have to attack Mendoza with his bare hands, and he turned over in his mind the sweet feel of the general's neck snapping. Give me a few seconds, Lord, that's all I ask.

  He'd been using the bathtub to store their water in, but it was now empty and he desperately needed to clean himself, so he took a bucket in each hand and headed for the pump. A chill breeze tickled his bare legs as he limped toward it, keeping half an eye on the soldiers at the barricade. He was the only thing moving at this early hour, so, like bored sentries throughout history, they would watch his every move. They might even hassle him, or make a point of asking him what he was doing, but he didn't care. Mendoza wanted him there at midday, so he would be, whatever these goons did.

  Devon cranked the pump, drawing water into the first bucket. It wasn't as clear as usual and he wondered whether the aquifer was running dry or whether their irrigation work was affecting the quality of the water. Still, it was hardly likely to matter to him, and it looked clean enough to wash in, so he lifted the two buckets and took them sloshing back to the apartment.

  It was nine o'clock before he emerged, freshly shaven and deodorized, in his black business suit, and walked past the barricade and across the intersection. He couldn't help but stop and stare at the platform that had now been completed, with its long bar and hanging ropes. His throat thickened as he tore his gaze away and headed for the Bowies'.

  By now, Joe should be on the top floor of the bar opposite where he stood. It had been defunct since the fight that had led to the death of young Marlin Cook. Martha should be in the grocery store's attic. She'd assured him that no one knew about the old box room at the front that they had once used for goods hauled up on a winch. The old stable doors were gone, replaced with slatted board, but with gaps wide enough for the barrel of her father-in-law's hunting rifle. It would be stifling up there, but Devon saw no sign that they'd discovered her as he walked past the shopfront.

  He glanced at his reflection in the dusty window of the Laurel and Hardy museum next door and wondered whether Gert was looking at him from somewhere inside. He could see the platform behind him in the glass, guards standing at each corner, and he caught their eyes following him. He was a marked man.

  Chapter 14: The Hanging

  Devon was relieved to find that the Bowies weren't home. He knew they might have been taken in the night, but it was much more likely that they had managed to get into position. He couldn't imagine he'd have slept through the noise and commotion of their discovery.

  He went out to the backyard and slumped into a patio chair. The day was warming up, and he had a momentary craving for a cool beer that gave him a few seconds of distraction as he looked out at the weed-infested lawn. Sitting there, he could almost imagine that none of the events of the past four months had happened. He could sit here for a couple of hours, and let the executions happen. Or he could find the shotgun Dave had hidden beneath the stove and blow his head off.

  But he couldn't abandon Jade, however much he might wish he could. Not while there was a chance he could take revenge on her behalf. And so, when he could put it off no longer, he pulled himself up, wandered through the house and headed for the community center.

  "You are late, Mr. Mayor," Marianna said as he approached the door. She was there with her thugs. Lynda Strickland stood to one side, her face puffy with tears.

  "Shoot me," Devon responded, getting an iota of pleasure as the goons behind Marianna were held back. They'd had their fun when they'd beaten him; any revenge was better than none. "Where's Mendoza?"

  Marianna's face stiffened. "General Mendoza will meet us there. He is conducting a review of our forces."

  "Why, is he afraid of an uprising when he murders ten innocent civilians?"

  "Silence!" Marianna barked. She looked over her shoulder at Strickland, who scurried forward to where Devon stood, taking his arm.

  "Please, Devon. Don't make this any worse than it already is," she hissed.

  He turned to her. "Are you serious? What can be worse than ten people being hanged?"

  "Twenty. He will do it, you know. He's a monster. He likes hurting people. Come on."

  He allowed her to lead him along, following Marianna and the others as they walked toward the intersection. People appeared from side roads and buildings, following at a safe distance as if frightened of being noticed. Neither Marianna nor Mendoza had issued an order that everyone should attend and, in fact, Devon suspected Mendoza didn't want the whole town to turn out as that made it more likely there would be a riot. As long as there were enough witnesses so the terror would spread and the boot press down a little harder on the people of Hope.

  The sun was high in the sky by the time the procession arrived to find a sizable crowd already gathered in front of the scaffold. Marianna walked up the steps to stand on one end and then gestured for Devon to follow her. He ignored the sign, but two strong arms pulled him bodily into position, before the guards resumed their positions beside Marianna. Three wooden stepladders sat beneath the gently swinging ropes.

  "I will frisk you," Sheriff Laverne said, as Devon stood staring into nothing, eyes above the heads of the crowd, looking down the highway as if hoping the cavalry would arrive. He could sense hateful eyes gazing at him, even though anyone could see he didn't want to be there. Jade wasn't the only one who would be treated unjustly today, and both would pay the same price.

  Laverne moved away, and Devon turned to see a transport truck pulling up. Mendoza jumped out. He was dressed in a camouflage jacket and olive-green uniform pants. Gold glinted at his chest and he carried a cap under his arm.

  He walked up a hidden set of steps at the rear of the platform and, paying no heed to the others waiting there, approached the lectern which still had the school logo on it.

  "People of Hope. We are gathered here to witness the execution of ten of your fellow citizens. It pains me to have to make this example," he lied, "but this is the penalty the city must pay for the murder of a guard. If anyone here has information concerning this crime, let him or her speak now and we can put an end to any further reprisals."

  No one spoke. Devon couldn't blame them. It had been Hick who'd killed the guard and, in any case, it would take exceptional bravery for anyone to bring attention to themselves, even if they did have information that might save others. The town was smothered by a thick blanket of fear, all sense of community gone. Except for the three people hidden and, no doubt, watching the speech. He wondered whether Martha and Joe would be able to stop themselves from firing at the monster responsible for killing their loved ones. He half wished they'd blow the man's head off, even though that would mean the committee, who were due the next day, would survive. Devon found it hard to believe that they were all as twisted as Mendoza. But then, he'd been surprised by brutality many times since the firestorm.

  "Very well. In that case, our investigations will continue until I am satisfied that those responsible have been brought to justice." Mendoza paused for a moment, looking out at the crowd as if contemplating deep regret. Then his face brightened. "Tomorrow, this city has the honor of hosting the first meeting of the Unified Council since the cleansing operation began. Why is it meeting here? Because Hope, though it escaped the night of fire through the action of one or more traitors, is now undergoing a manual cleansing that will be complete shortly."

  Devon looked out over the crowd. There were, indeed, very few old faces among them. Good grief, had they accelerated their murderous program while he was entirely preoccupied with the consequences of Joel's murder? While he'd been worrying about the death of ten, a
nd especially one, Mendoza and Marianna had systematically rounded up and removed the old folk. He didn't labor under the delusion he'd have been able to do much about it other than alert the resistance. Was that what this gruesome charade was all about? Did they know he had contact with the rebels? They'd kept him looking away while they committed their crimes?

  Surely not.

  "And we will begin now with the elimination of these ten. They have been selected by your mayor."

  Did he hear a low boo coming from the crowd? How could they possibly see him as the villain while the real perpetrator was still speaking to them?

  "Bring out the condemned."

  Devon turned to see guards leading hooded figures from the back of the truck Mendoza had arrived in.

  A guard was hauling Jade's slim figure, hands tied behind her back, her clothes filthy and bloody. Devon shifted his glance to Marianna, sending her a look of the purest hatred and, to his astonishment, she returned his gaze with unmistakable horror in her eyes. It was as if she hadn't believed Mendoza would go through with it. Fool. She turned away and whispered something to Laverne, who listened for a moment then shook his dumb head.

  The ten condemned prisoners were prodded up the steps Mendoza had used and up onto the platform as he watched them.

  Devon involuntarily took a step toward the general, but a firm hand gripped his arm and he looked around to see the sheriff shaking his head and smiling maliciously.

  "Prisoners, you have been condemned by your mayor to pay the price for your city's transgressions against the Sons of Solomon. I'm afraid we cannot hang you all at once, so we shall take you three at a time, but we will begin with one. Bring her forward."

  Jade screeched as she was pushed blindly toward the noose at the other end of the suspended beam. One guard placed the rope around her neck while the other pressed the barrel of his gun into her back, forcing her up the stepladder. Devon could see her shaking. He could hear her sobs over the silence that had fallen on the horrified crowd. He strained against the hand gripping his arm.

  And then he saw the dark stain spreading through her pants.

  He yanked again, roaring his rage.

  The grip on his arm vanished.

  He ran as if every demon in hell was after him.

  Mendoza turned around just as Devon threw himself forward. And, for the second time, he curled his fingers around the general's neck. As he sat astride the monster, he caught sight of Jade disappearing downward and, for an instant, he thought someone had pushed her off the ladder, but then he saw the rope hanging free and realized she must have taken the opportunity of the chaos to jump.

  As his fingers squeezed, he saw her reappear, struggling in the arms of a guard.

  All this in a few seconds as Devon put every ounce of strength into forcing the ends of his fingers into the bones of the general's neck. He grunted his hatred as Mendoza kicked, face reddening. From somewhere nearby, he heard something like the roaring of engines and the squealing of brakes.

  Sudden pain erupted in his head, and he fell to the side, blackness taking him.

  A rising sensation and he was momentarily confused until he realized he was upright, held in place by Laverne. "Wimp," he whispered. "I'd a snapped his neck in two."

  Devon looked down to where Mendoza ought to be, but there was no sign of the general. Then his gaze flicked to the gallows. All the ropes were gone and the stepladders removed. Had he missed it all?

  "Jade?"

  "Nah, you don't need to worry. Yer girlfriend is still alive. But I reckon your time is about up." Laverne pulled on Devon's arm.

  "Where are you taking me?"

  "To a nice comfy jail cell, and then I reckon they'll find a use for that there scaffold soon enough."

  He didn't have the energy to resist. He allowed the great ape to prod him the few dozen yards to the old police station, before being pushed into one of the two cells.

  Arms flung themselves around him. "Devon! Oh my God, are you okay?"

  "Jade," he said, as he felt a tidal wave of emotion—relief, confusion, love—overwhelm him. She stank of sweat, blood, fear and urine, but he didn't care.

  Slowly, he became aware that they weren't alone in the cells. He looked across as he held her to him, and saw fearful, sullen eyes staring back. Four old men. He knew their names; he'd written them on his list.

  He let Jade go, stepping back and holding on to her hands to look at her. She seemed more fragile than ever, as if she'd stepped out of a fantasy novel. She could have been one of the Galadhrim. Except that her hair was dark, not fair.

  Devon forced his mind back to the brutal reality of the here and now.

  "What happened? After I was knocked out."

  She shook her head. "I could only see when I bent my head back and looked out the bottom of the hood. I saw you attack him, then someone hit you and I heard a man's voice. He told them to take that … that animal to the medical center. There was, like, a ton of noise and then I climbed down off the ladder and he was looking down at you, talking to the blonde woman. He looked like he was a big boss."

  "You wrote my name on that list, didn't ya?" A big man with long gray hair and a stubbly beard loomed from behind Devon.

  "Who are you?"

  The man laughed mirthlessly. "So, you condemned folks you didn't even know?"

  "This is Clarke, Dev. He's looked after me."

  Devon nodded at the big man. "Thank you."

  "Yeah, well, what happens now?"

  "Search me. Laverne reckons I'm for the gallows, and he's probably right. He'd love to slip that rope around my neck. Oh, God I wish I could have killed Mendoza. Then at least I'd have achieved something."

  Jade squeezed his hand. "You did, Dev. You gave us some time."

  Somehow, he'd fallen asleep, despite the pain in his head, ribs, arms and legs. He was dozing as Jade leaned against him on the bed when, with a clank, the jail door swung open. "Let yer girlfriend go, the boss wants to see you."

  Jade stirred as he got up. He kissed her on the forehead before following Laverne out of the door. "Mendoza?"

  "You'll see."

  As he emerged into the bright light of a summer afternoon, Devon glanced across at the platform to see that the scaffold was being taken down, but Laverne was tight-lipped as they walked past Bowie's store and took a right toward the community center.

  The town was crawling with soldiers. It seemed to Devon there were even more than before, but it might just have been that security had been further tightened. The crowd that had gathered around the platform was gone and only a few of the bravest, or stupidest, citizens were on the streets.

  Marianna was in her office, but at her desk sat a man Devon had never seen before.

  "Ah, Mr. Myers. The troublesome mayor. Ms. DeMille has been telling me all about you. Please, take a seat," he gestured to a chair in front of the desk. "You may go, Sheriff."

  Laverne scowled and stalked from the room, closing the door a little harder than was necessary. Devon watched him go, then turned back to the man behind the desk, who was smiling benignly.

  "Now it is just the three of us," he said, his smile widening as he watched Devon's eyes scanning the room in surprise, "we can be candid. I trust that you will refrain from attempting to strangle me. At least until we understand one another fully."

  Devon gave a curt nod, impatient to understand what was going on.

  "My name is Marshall Scriver. Yes, the Marshall Scriver."

  "The senator?"

  Scriver sat back in his chair and steepled his hands. He was an ordinary-looking middle-aged man with brown hair, gray eyes and a thick neck. "Yes, I was a senator, back when the Senate meant something. The youngest man elected to the upper chamber. Boy, I was greener than a grasshopper back then. Thought I could change the world. I guess I've managed it, finally.

  "I see you're confused. Then I will explain: in brief, as we have little time. I am chairman of the managing committee of the Sons of Solomon." />
  "The Supreme Leader?"

  Again, the flash of bright white teeth. "I have heard the position described that way. When you understand the organization better, you will see why there are certain … idiosyncrasies about us, and particularly our leadership structure."

  "So, you're responsible for the end of the world."

  The teeth disappeared. "I am partly responsible for the birth of the next one. I regret much that has happened both before and afterward. I have done all I can to quieten the more radical elements."

  "Too late for that," Devon snapped.

  "It seems to me I arrived in the nick of time. Had I not done so, you would have been shot and your friend hanged along with all the others."

  "You stopped Mendoza?"

  "I ordered General Mendoza taken for treatment."

  "Did I break his neck?"

  "Fortunately for you, no. He will recover. Had he died I would not have been able to save you."

  Devon grunted. "I suspect he'll want me to die painfully for attacking him."

  "No doubt you are correct, but I am the chairman, not he."

  Someone knocked softly on the door. It opened to admit Lynda Strickland, who was carrying a tray with a pot and four cups and saucers. She put it down and turned to leave.

  "Please, Mrs. Strickland, join us. You are the deputy mayor, I understand."

  She looked as though she wanted nothing more than to scurry away and hide, but she dragged a chair across from the wall and positioned it next to Devon, though slightly set back.

  At a nod from him, Marianna took a seat on the end of the desk as Scriver poured. "Ms. DeMille tells me you grew up in the United Kingdom. I was posted to the embassy in London for a while and developed a taste for black tea. This is a blend I keep for special occasions. I hope you like it."

  Devon couldn't help himself. His mouth went dry as the stimulating aroma penetrated the back of his throat and he couldn't stop the edges of his lips curling upward.

  "It is mainly Assam, but mixed with some Kenyan. How very pleasant to have some real, fresh milk to whiten it.