The Last Survivors Box Set

by Bobby Adair

  Beck picked up the book on top of the stack. He opened it to a random page in the middle, reached across the table, and laid it in front of Ivory. “Could you read that, please?”

  Ivory looked down at the words on the page as he tried to figure out what to do.

  “Did your father read?” Beck asked.

  Ivory shook his head slowly.

  “Yes, he said as much to me. Which leaves the mystery. How did you learn?”

  Ivory said, “I mostly just look at them.”

  “Look at the books?” Beck stood up and paced down the length of the room, making a point of looking down at Ivory’s backpack as he went. “Why?”

  “They interest me.”

  “Some of the ancient books have pictures. The expensive ones.”

  Ivory shrugged. “I’ve heard of such books.”

  “Yet those three of yours have no pictures, just words.”

  Ivory nodded. Things were going badly. He cut a glance over at his bow. Could he neutralize Beck quickly, get his bow and a few supplies, and get out of town? If he could make it back over the wall, they’d never find him in the woods. He could go back to the Ancient City and live with Jingo. Ivory clenched his jaw and started sizing Beck up. The Minister was a half a head taller than Ivory. He looked strong through the shoulders, stronger than he should have looked for an academic. He looked like he could take care of himself in a scrape. Still, Ivory had surprise on his side, and that counted for a lot. Sometimes surprise was everything when words came to blows.

  Beck stopped at the table and leaned over Ivory, still nothing malicious in his gaze. “What is it you get out of looking at the books?”

  Ivory ventured a lie. “It makes me feel smart, I guess.” He thought about it and decided his lie was working. “Especially when my father thought I was reading.”

  “Yes.” Beck nodded and rubbed at his bare chin. “It worked on your father. He believed you were smart. He loved you very much, you know.”

  Ivory nodded, though he wasn’t sure he agreed.

  “Even in death, he only thought of you.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” said Ivory. Then, looking for a way to draw the meeting to a close, he said, “Thank you for coming here to tell me about my father. Thank you for considering his last request. I wish I really was what he hoped I was. I’m just a rabbit hunter, though.”

  Nodding, Beck leaned over, closed the book, and put it back on top of the others. He scooted the stack to his side of the table. “Given that you possess these books that you cannot read and that you clearly cannot afford, I’ll be required to confiscate them for the academic library.”

  Ivory gasped, but tried his best to hide it.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Weakly, Ivory said, “Those are my books.”

  “So you say. How did you come to own them?”

  Oddly, in all the time that Ivory had possessed those books, it never occurred to him to construct a lie good enough to explain where they came from. “They were gifts from my uncle.”

  “Your uncle is rich?”

  Of course not. Ivory couldn’t lie that he was. Beck only had to ask questions of the passersby outside Ivory’s door, and within a few minutes, he’d have confirmation of what Ivory’s uncle was. “He was a rabbit hunter, like me.”

  “I see,” said Beck. “Where did he get the books?”

  “He found them.”

  “Found them?” Beck flipped another of the books open and ran a finger across the pages. “In the woods? They’re in remarkably good condition for books that your uncle found lying in the woods.”

  “I don’t know where he found them.”

  “Indeed.” Beck sighed. “A liar who stole these books would have come up with a better story. Are you a bad liar, Ivory?”

  Ivory shook his head then said, “Yes. I don’t lie.”

  Beck said, “When you came in, did you notice several of the city guardsmen standing across the street?”

  “No,” said Ivory. Though he suspected they had to be out there the minute he saw Minister Beck sitting at his father’s table, he wondered now whether Minister Beck was bluffing. Ivory had looked. Had he missed them?

  “They came along to protect me, should I need it in this part of town.”

  Ivory understood the threat.

  Beck pointed at the backpack on the floor. “Why don’t you bring that over here and let’s take a look?”

  Ivory looked at the backpack, but didn’t move.

  “I can ask the guards to come in here and open it up for me, but if that happens, your choices about your future disappear. The guards are not intelligent men like us—you are an intelligent man, are you not, Ivory?”

  “Yes.” Ivory added a nod.

  “The guards only obey the law, or disobey it for their own benefit. For you, though, they’ll obey it, I’m sure. You don’t have a pocket full of coin to encourage them otherwise, do you?”

  “No, sir.”

  Beck’s gaze returned to the backpack. “Bring your bag over here.”

  Sagging under the weight of a guilt that was about to be revealed, Ivory wondered if he could escape, given the guards outside the door—if they were there at all. He picked up the bag and pinned his thin hope to Beck’s odd talk of intelligent men. He took his seat back at the table, reached over and selected the book on top of the pile in front of Beck, flipped it open to somewhere in the middle, and started to read.

  Chapter 28: Bray

  Bray kept an eye on William long after they’d left the creatures behind. The boy walked at a distance, ignoring his mother’s direction to stay close. He stared vacantly at trees. He dragged his sword along the ground.

  Worry creased Ella’s forehead and deepened the lines around her mouth. Though still attractive, she reminded Bray of the women he’d seen on Cleansing day, those who’d seen too many such days pass. The faces of those women bore the pain of all those screams and the worry over the children clinging to their skirts. It aged them in a way that growing old didn’t.

  Bray furrowed his brow as his concerns turned back to William. Bray had encountered plenty of the infected, in various stages of sickness, but the boy was progressing faster than any he’d seen. For the past few days, William had been alert and cognizant; now he was in a daze. The stupor was too often the final stage before delirium came for the last time. At the same time, the spores matured at different rates in different people. There was no telling how long they’d been incubating in William.

  Bray would have to watch him closely. At some point soon he’d have to take care of him.

  They left the swamp behind and entered a dense cluster of evergreens. Thankfully, the ground hardened and the snow had all but disappeared. Bray kicked the thick mud off his boots as he walked. He shook it from his pants. They were heading southeast, veering away from Davenport, running a rapid course for the Ancient City. By Bray’s estimation, they’d meet back up with the survivor’s tracks in several miles.

  Provided the survivors had kept a consistent pace and direction.

  If they’d veered off, that was another matter. Bray, William, and Ella would have to double back, risking encounters with the soldiers. If that was the case, The Warden might consider abandoning the journey. Each day he didn’t hunt meant a day without earning silver. The few scalps he’d managed to procure from the demons they’d killed in the swamp were a pittance compared to what he usually collected.

  A man had to eat, after all.

  He glanced over at Ella. Her dress was soaked. Despite her condition, she seemed more concerned about her son than her appearance, her eyes focused on the wandering boy. Her sword hung dejectedly at her side.

  Bray asked, “How long has he been showing symptoms?”

  “I ju
st noticed the other day, when we were in the forests inside the circle wall. He’d been acting a little strange all week, but I didn’t think much of it. He’s been so busy; we both have. What with collecting roots for the harvest festival, tidying the house… I thought he was just tired.”

  Ella’s head hung.

  “It must be hard doing things alone,” Bray offered.

  “It is, but we manage.” Ella straightened her head and looked away. She cleared her throat. It was obvious she didn’t want his pity.

  Most of the women he met were resigned to their roles, unwilling to break rules or traditions. And yet Ella had thrown herself into the wild for an unclean boy. Bold and stupid at the same time. She was unusual, in Bray’s experience.

  He gave Ella her space while he focused on the limbs and leaves around them. The trees were shedding early, as if they were ready to get the winter months over and done with. Bray couldn’t blame them. He enjoyed the cooler weather, but the early snow and the nip in the air reminded him of the long season to follow—all the more reason to save his silver. The demons were slower in the cold months, but cutting scalps in the winter was a loathsome job.

  He’d much rather spend his winter hours in a warm pub drinking ale, or in a warm bed with a barren woman.

  He scrutinized the scenery, certain they were nearing the tracks. They’d traveled several miles quickly, and were approaching what he thought was the survivors’ path. A bird rustled in the trees, startling him. He steadied his sword and watched it break from the boughs. It cawed menacingly and fluttered out of sight. If he believed in omens, he might’ve been worried.

  Bray and Ella stopped walking, and were studying the woods. William walked to a nearby tree. He scraped his fingernails against the bark and examined the flaky residue, as if he’d never seen it before. Bray sniffed the air.

  “Do you smell that?” Bray asked Ella.

  She nodded. The stale odor of demons lingered in the air—not an immediate threat, but evidence of their passing. Bray took a few steps forward and followed the scent. As despicable as it was, he’d be lost without it. He veered off course while Ella went to collect William.

  “Be careful,” he warned her.

  His boots pressed against newly fallen leaves; his sword swung at his side. He treaded lightly to avoid making tracks. In the distance, he saw several ferns bent all the way to the ground. He got closer, squinting as he studied the broken foliage. It looked like it’d been trampled. Something had been through here recently.

  Not just demons, but people.

  He made out boot marks in the ground—three sets, widely spaced and fleeing. Among them were the bare feet of the demons. He glanced back at Ella and William, a cold fear taking root in his gut. He stalked forward. He studied the area around the tracks, but found no sign of the soldiers. The lack of Blackthorn’s men was hardly relieving.

  The plentiful demons were enough to slay the survivors on their own.

  After walking twenty feet, he noticed a pair of palm prints, then several broken twigs. One of the survivors had fallen. He saw where someone had pushed off the ground and gotten up. The crunch of a footstep startled him, and he looked back to find Ella and William jogging to join him. Unlike before, the boy’s eyes were focused; Ella carried an expression of worry.

  Twenty feet later they found a scrap of clothing. Then blood.

  A quarter mile later, they found a body.

  The boy was facedown, hugging the base of a tree, as if he’d tried frantically to climb it. His torso was gnawed, unrecognizable. Bray sucked in a breath, then rolled the body over. The boy’s face was missing, chewed by demons. The only visible sign of his age was the beginnings of facial hair, still attached to what was left of his mangled chin.

  Ella stifled a cry and buried William’s face in her chest. She closed her eyes. Bray examined the body. There was no sign of the boy’s belongings. His weapons and bags, if he had them, were gone. Occasionally, the demons had been known to abscond with their victim’s belongings, driven by memory or instinct.

  The Warden often found such items scattered in the woods, discarded when the demons lost interest.

  After a few moments, Ella opened her eyes. She studied Bray. He pointed at the ground, showing her the continuing boot prints of the others. It was possible they’d made it, he wanted to say, but he kept silent. Ella’s face remained clouded. Doubt hung in the air like the stench of the demons. If the dead survivor was any indication, things weren’t looking good for the others.

  Chapter 29: Beck

  Beck listened as Ivory read aloud through five pages. At first, he didn’t believe what his eyes and ears were telling him. Disbelief turned to surprise and then to curiosity.

  Ivory came to the end of a chapter and Beck said, “Stop there.” He leaned back and settled in his chair, keeping his eyes fixed on Ivory, watching the boy grow uncomfortable. He said, “You are an enigma.”

  Ivory didn’t respond.

  “Do you know this word?”

  “Yes,” Ivory answered.

  Nodding, Beck asked, “What about your numbers? Do you know them?”

  Ivory nodded again.

  “You can count?”

  “Of course.”

  “Mathematics?” Beck asked. “Addition? Subtraction?”

  Ivory nodded.

  “Surely not multiplication and division.”

  Ivory glanced at the bag.

  Beck saw Ivory’s hope written all over his face—the hope that by answering questions, the bag would remain closed. Beck said, “Where did this talent for reading and mathematics come from? Who taught you?”

  “I…” Ivory got stuck and the longer he hung on the empty sound in his mouth, the more they both knew he was going to utter a lie.

  Nodding, and putting disappointment on his face, Beck threatened, “If you say you taught yourself, I’ll have you put on a pyre pole.”

  Shaking his head, Ivory said, “My uncle taught me.”

  “The dead rabbit hunter?”

  “He used to live here with us.” Ivory pointed up the stairs where the house’s bedrooms were located.

  “How did he learn?” Beck asked. “Who taught him?”

  “He never said. I assumed he learned as a boy.”

  Beck didn’t believe that answer. It was a terrible lie. Reading was such a rare skill; of course the first thing one might ask a reader was how the skill was learned.

  Ivory pointed at the books. “Those books were his. He told me I could have them when he died.” Ivory gulped and risked an assertion. “Now they are mine.”

  Beck stood up and started pacing again. “I’m disappointed. Rabbit hunters with books. Hmm.” He walked slowly around the room on the main floor. It was simple, but far from squalid. In fact, it was luxurious compared to the houses most hunters owned. It was nothing compared to the value of the books, though. Any one of them could be traded for enough coin to purchase a larger, much nicer house. Another book could buy the services of a woman to cook and clean for a few years. A young pretty one might even do a bit more. Yet, the boy seemed to have no interest in the monetary value of the books.

  Something much bigger than a few ancient books was under the surface, and Beck wasn’t seeing it. That frustrated him. He stopped at the table. It was time to escalate the game. “Bring your bag over here and empty it.”

  Ivory reached across the table and laid a hand on his three books. “You’ve already confiscated these. We both know you could walk to the other side of town and sell them to any merchant who could afford them and you’d do very well.”

  “I already do very well,” said Beck. “I’m the minister of learning. I don’t need to steal your books to do well. Empty your bag.”

  Ivory put his hand on the ties at the top of his bag, but his fi
ngers didn’t move. All of his thoughts were racing for ways to get him out of a predicament that was only going to worsen.

  “As I said,” Beck menaced, “I can have the guards come in and compel you to comply.”

  Like a child having a tantrum, Ivory tore at the knots. Or it could have been savage anger. Beck took a step back in a casual fashion, just in case.

  With the ties loosened, Beck said, “Dump it.”

  Ivory sagged as though his bones were softening to jelly. He upturned the bag. Down onto the table tumbled pieces of metal, leather pouches, presumably with some food, and three more books, all in apparently better condition than those already sitting on the table. Ivory’s head hung as though the damming evidence jumbled on the table had hold of his face and wouldn’t let go.

  Beck was speechless as he looked at the treasure. He’d expected the metals. That was a guess easily made from the sound when the heavy bag first hit the floor. And though he hadn’t expected Ivory to be a metal smuggler when he’d been sitting at the table and waiting for him to arrive, he, like everyone else in town, was well aware that most of Brighton’s metals, claimed found in the forest, were actually smuggled by the brave from the Ancient City.

  Beck paced again, around and around the room, staying close to the wall, eyeing the items on the table. He tried to piece together how best to proceed. A simple confiscation of all of it was in order. It was an easy path to… Beck stopped and rethought his goal. Upon entering the house earlier that day and finding those three books, he figured his goal was simply to confiscate the books, and intimidate the boy into keeping silent about it. After all, Ivory was right—what Beck was effectively doing was stealing. Likely not a problem for a minister, considering the victim was just a rabbit hunter.

  Beck seated himself across the table from Ivory, picked up a piece of metal and looked at it. It was extraordinarily light, and completely free of rust. “Aluminum?”