The Last Survivors Box Set

by Bobby Adair

  “Did you hear the rumor?”

  Oliver shook his head. He’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of Winthrop that he hadn’t paid attention to the whispers.

  “They say the soldiers ahead killed a thousand demons.”

  “A thousand?” Oliver stared at the woman, whose face was ashen with fright. She had long, gray hair and dark eyes. She nodded as if she knew what the number meant, even though he was sure she didn’t.

  Oliver started looking for dead demons beside the road, but saw nothing but thick trees and endless, wilting brush. A commotion in the ranks ahead changed his mind. Several of the old tradesman and women broke formation, weaving a frightened circle around a demon’s wart-covered, bloody body in the road. Eyes went wide. Anxiety rose in voices. Oliver shuddered and kept a wide berth, as if the demon might spring to life and grab him.

  More dead demons appeared, lying alone or in gangs of a few or a dozen. The monsters were no match for such a massive army, but they weren’t intelligent enough to understand their numeric disadvantage. After the army had marched for another hour, the bodies lying in or near the road felt more like a distraction than a threat. Enough of anything novel turns boring after people see too much of it. The women stopped screaming, and confidence set in among the camp followers. The howls of demons no longer frightened anyone. They were no longer harbingers of running death, but simply annoying stink-beasts that had caused them all to have to leave their homes and friends for a trip into the wilderness. Hopefully a short trip.

  Maybe even shorter for Oliver.

  He reached into his shirt, ensuring his dagger was still there. As nervous as he was about using it, he was still resolved in his plan.

  A band of demons burst from the trees.

  A group of women several rows ahead of him screamed. Before Oliver could react, more demons poured out of hiding.

  Twenty or thirty. Maybe forty.

  Oh, no.

  Oliver’s heart hammered as the demons tackled several women. He wanted to run as he drew his dagger, but there was nowhere to go. Everyone was pushing away from the demons, a barrage of frantic bodies knocking against each other. Women called for help, but the soldiers were up the road and behind. None were close. Oliver, too small to fight against the push of adults twice his size, was swept in a wave of motion. He cried out as he almost lost his balance.

  “Watch out!” the woman next to him shrieked.

  In a blur of dirty skin moving too fast to allow a reaction, a demon pounced, knocking them both into the mud. All Oliver saw were skirts, boots, and skin as he struggled to get free.

  Oliver’s dagger got away from him in the mud. He scrambled to get a hand back on it.

  A woman kicked him in the gut by accident, trying to kick the demon that had mounted the woman next to him.

  Blood gushed and splattered Oliver.

  Another demon grabbed Oliver’s foot, pulling him toward the trees. With the dagger still out of reach, Oliver wrapped his arms around someone’s leg and took a few smacks as a woman tried to shake him off. Oliver kicked at the demon.

  It unclenched its fingers.

  Oliver broke free, tucking his feet beneath him and rolling toward the center of the road, getting a hand on the hilt of his dagger just as he got up on his knees. When he looked up, he found himself within arms’ reach of the demon that had jumped the woman.

  With a mouthful of bloody teeth, it looked at Oliver, started to get off the woman, and leaned forward.

  Oliver slashed the dagger across the beast’s face and it screamed, covering its bloody wound with a hand.

  A booted foot caught the beast in the chin, sending it over on its back. Walking sticks and an old spear poked at the beast until it scrambled into the trees and ran away.

  Oliver got to his feet, his dagger in front of him, ready to take a swipe at another demon.

  But they were gone.

  The howling monsters retreated, taking several screaming women along with them.

  Oliver looked up and down the road. Some women stood at the edge, looking into the forest, brandishing makeshift weapons.

  Screams from the forest made it clear that some of the women had been kidnapped.

  A dozen militiamen came running up the road. There was an exchange of words. The women pointed into the forest to implore the militiamen to chase the demons and rescue the women.

  None of the soldiers pursued the demons into the woods.

  Shaking and covered in blood and dirt, Oliver located the woman he’d been talking to. She lay dead on the ground. Her vacant eyes stared into the sky. Her gray hair was matted with blood.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Oliver shuddered.

  Chapter 2: Melora

  “It’s beautiful,” Melora whispered.

  Melora, William, Ella, and Bray walked with their heads tilted upward, temporarily forgetting the danger of the Ancient City. They were on an endlessly straight ancient roadway with tall buildings on either side of them. The forest had faded behind, giving way to rows of ancient stone, evenly spaced and swathed in thick yellow foliage. Deep, dark gaps in the sides where windows had once been spoke of hidden treasures, waiting for adventurers to seek them out. The windows extended all the way to the rooftops, where white-tailed hawks circled the crumbled remains of the buildings. In the distance, roadways curved off from the main one, leading to unknown destinations. They passed building after building, each as remarkable as the next.

  “I can’t believe we’re here,” Ella whispered to Melora.

  Melora wondered how many people had walked the streets before her. What had the Ancients looked like? How many had lived in each building?

  Did each of the Ancients have his or her own?

  Several times, Melora envisioned human faces poking out of the dark recesses, ready to whisk her away and show her secrets. The thought of preserved, hidden treasures still lurking in the ruins gave her a sense of elation she’d felt only as a child. A smile stuck to her face as they walked further away from the forest, navigating around chunks of ancient stone.

  Ella pointed at the sky. “I’ve never seen so many birds.”

  Melora looked up and saw them flying, or perched along edges of the buildings’ roofs, squawking.

  “And so many rats,” William added, pointing at the street ahead as he walked.

  Melora looked down at the rats a breath too late and tripped over a gutted carcass in the road, partially hidden and jutting out from behind a rock. She stifled a scream and caught her balance.

  “Be careful,” Bray warned.

  Melora snapped to attention. She studied the carcass. Judging by the snout and the protruding, half-chewed ears, it was a wild pig. The animal had been caught in the clutches of a beast and devoured. She shuddered as she envisioned its final moments, torn apart at the hands of a heartless demon.

  “The same will happen to us if we aren’t careful,” Bray said solemnly. “We need to keep watch.” He spat on the ground and kept moving.

  Sobered by the discovery, Melora straightened up and followed. She glanced over her shoulder, ensuring that Ella and William were close behind.

  “We need to find shelter,” Bray reminded them. “Be on the lookout.”

  Melora didn’t need Bray to tell her to do the obvious, but she kept quiet as she looked up the face of a building with six rows of windows, like six houses stacked perfectly atop one another. Gargoyle cornices hung on either side of a weathered entrance. Beams with intricate carvings separated each of the massive floors. “How about that one?”

  “It’s impressive,” Ella agreed. “You can still make out some of the detail on the carvings.”

  “But you can also see the path worn away by demon’s feet at the door,” Bray warned, pointing at the threshold.


  They continued past several more dilapidated buildings, stopping when William called their attention to something at ground level.

  “What about down there?” he asked.

  He gestured at a gaping hole in the earth to their right, obscured by dying brush. It appeared to be a tunnel, with walls made of cracked, ancient stone. A collapsed overhang shielded the tunnel from the elements. Several steps led into darkness.

  “We don’t want to venture down there,” Bray said.

  William guessed, “Did the Ancients live down there?”

  “Some people say that,” Bray said, rubbing his chin. “Those tunnels run everywhere beneath the Ancient City. I’ve always stayed away from them. Lots of demons lurk down there. Although…they say the demons pile gold in mounds as tall as a man down there and have herds of naked virgins.”

  William furrowed his brow. “Really?”

  Ella swatted Bray. “Don’t listen to him, William.”

  William relaxed his face. “You couldn’t see anything without a light. And the demons would find you if you carried a torch. It wouldn’t be safe.”

  “Smart thinking,” Bray said.

  “It’s the perfect hiding place for the demons,” William said, prompting a suspicious glance from the Warden.

  Melora stared into the blackness, trying to imagine what manner of horrors and treasures might lie underneath the city. The familiar odor of demons floated up from the tunnel’s bowels. A long, shrill cry sounded from deep within.

  She shuddered as Bray waved them on.

  Melora scanned the nearby buildings for something less ominous, but still defensible. The structures in the immediate vicinity were tall, although not as magnificent as the ones deeper in the city. Some were better preserved than others, but most were choked in wiry vines and invaded by tree branches. She cast a glance behind her, noticing that they’d traveled far enough away from the forest that the trees had become a green blanket covering the foothills in front of the mountains.

  “We should keep near the forest,” she said, feeling a familiar nostalgia for the wild. “Then we can hunt for food.”

  Bray followed her gaze. “As soon as we find a suitable building, we’ll stop. Hopefully, it’ll be soon.”

  “I’ll keep a close eye for a building without trails in the dirt,” William offered. “And places without animal bones or demon droppings.”

  “Sounds good. We’ll need a structure with lots of visibility, but with tight entrances,” Bray advised. “That way we can guard them and look out for demons and soldiers. We can fortify the windows and doors once we settle in. Then we can get some rest.”

  William looked at him curiously, a question on his face. “Do demons sleep?”

  Bray stroked his stubbly chin. “They sleep a lot less than people. They usually keep moving so they can hunt. Though some of them have been known to return to the same spot. Some of them lay claim to particular buildings.”

  “Almost like houses,” Melora said in awe.

  “More like nests.” Bray shook his head in disgust. “If you stumble on one of those, you’ll know it.”

  “How?”

  “The stench will make you retch.”

  Melora wrinkled her nose. “Maybe we can stay on the roof of one of the buildings.” Her suggestion called to mind the story told to her by Roger, the settler she’d stayed with after fleeing Davenport. He’d hidden on one of the ancient roofs during his time here.

  Unlike several of her friends, Melora wasn’t afraid of heights. She had vivid memories of climbing the church ruins in Davenport, disregarding the adults’ warnings. She fondly recalled climbing the bell tower at the outskirts of the Andersens’ farm. She’d gone up with Rowan, venturing to the top until they could see the whole village. Rowan urged her not to, but she’d leaned out from the crumbled top, waving her hands in the wind and thinking she was queen of the world.

  With Rowan gone, she’d cherish that memory forever.

  “We’ll figure out where to stay when we get there,” Bray said.

  They continued traveling. After walking the space of several roads in Davenport, but coming no closer to an end, they reached an intersection where a thinner road ran parallel to the one they were on. Melora peered down the weathered, rubble-strewn street.

  “What’s that in the distance?” William asked excitedly, pointing at a massive structure a half mile away. Melora and Ella held their hands above their eyes. An enormous, circular building under the remnants of a dome occupied most of the road. Rusted steel girders curved over the top, some of them falling out of place and disappearing into the vegetation around the building’s base.

  It was impossible to tell what it was from where they were standing, but Melora guessed it could fit all the people of Brighton.

  “Unbelievable,” Melora whispered. “It’s the size of several farming fields. What is it?”

  “Can we get closer?” William asked.

  “We’re better off admiring it from here,” Bray warned. “Years ago, the roof collapsed, and the inside puddled with rainwater and moss. Lots of nasty things live inside.”

  “Why would the Ancients build something like that?” Ella asked.

  “Maybe they gathered there,” Melora guessed. “Perhaps it’s like the square we use for the Cleansings.” She felt a tinge of nervousness as she spoke the words.

  “No,” Bray said confidently. “It was used to watch games.”

  “Games?” Melora asked.

  “Yes, like the harvest races or the pig pulls. There’s a nickname for it among the Wardens who have ventured here. We call it the Ancient Circle.”

  “The Ancient Circle…” Melora repeated, the words falling from her tongue. “I wish I could see what went on there.”

  “The rules of their games are too complex for us to understand. They wrote whole books on them. Only a Scholar could read them, and probably no one alive today could understand them.” Bray snorted. “Of course, we’re here today, and the Ancients are gone. That has to mean something.”

  Melora and William furrowed their brows. The Ancients were smarter than anyone. No one disputed it.

  “In one sense, you’re right,” Melora finally admitted. “I’m not sure how they had time to play games, with all the farming and hunting that needed to be done.”

  Bray shrugged. “Maybe the merchants played.”

  That statement triggered a thought in William. He cocked his head at Bray. “Why do you think the Ancients disappeared?”

  “Probably because they spent too much time with useless contraptions instead of catching food to feed themselves.” Bray grinned sarcastically. “Come on, let’s get moving before they tell stories about us.”

  Chapter 3: Oliver

  It didn’t make sense to Oliver. They’d only marched for half the day, and now the mass of cavalry, militiamen, and drafted townsfolk were spreading out in a field of tall, brown grass to spend the night. Soldiers went to work setting up tents in orderly rows. The townsfolk, many of whom never had the need to travel, many of whom had never been outside the circle wall, banded together around stacks of damp wood, which they hoped to turn into fires. Some had blankets propped up with sticks. A few, brave or stupid, went into the surrounding forest and strung their blankets over branches. The mutterings of those who stayed in the grass, well away from the tree line, all tended to agree that those in the trees were dooming themselves. The demons would come at night and murder them in their sleep.

  Oliver shuddered at the thought of demons creeping through the night to feast on his flesh. He missed the comfort of knowing the circle wall was out there, that the city guard watched the streets, always on the lookout for demons. The adventure Oliver had dreamed existed outside Brighton was so far mostly fraught with dread.

  Lo
oking for a safe spot to make his camp, he walked amongst the thousands of women, boys too young to use a weapon, and men too old to carry one. None of the tradesmen, their apprentices, or their wives showed him anything but a suspicious glance. In their eyes, he was a burdensome boy for whom they didn’t want the responsibility.

  Oliver had only the clothes on his back, some food in his bag, his knives, a bag of coins, a few relics stolen from Winthrop, and a single blanket. His choice with the blanket was to wrap himself in it and lie beneath the clouds, hoping they didn’t turn to rain. Or to prop the blanket on some sticks to convert it into a tent. Either way, he expected to wake in the morning, cold and wet. If he woke at all.

  Finding Winthrop’s tent was an alternative to bedding down among the camp followers. If Oliver could get into Winthrop’s tent unseen, he could murder the slovenly hypocrite and sneak into the forest when he was done. He imagined if he did do the deed, he wouldn’t stay in camp, so bedding himself down for the night would not be a necessity. He’d walk through the dark until he was so far away from the army and so far from Brighton that he’d never be found.

  The sound of demons howling in the forest—and the attack he’d faced earlier—made him worry about the viability of his plan.

  Campfires were starting to burn damp wood, and thick clouds of smoke floated through the camp without rising into the sky. Oliver passed through one cloud that had lost all of its warmth but still stung his eyes. He passed through another that left him smelling like he’d rolled around in the bowl of a pipe, wet with an old man’s spit.

  Groups of men tromped into the woods with bows, hunters looking for game to feed the mass of marchers. Other bands of men armed with axes attacked the trees at the edge of the pasture. They groused about a cold night to come and looked at the sky with worry.

  That gave Oliver pause. What would happen if the unusual winter warmth turned back to cold and froze the mist into snow? Despite Oliver’s humble life prior to coming into Winthrop’s service, he had never slept without a roof over his head.