The Last Survivors Box Set

by Bobby Adair

When he came across the game trail, he ran fast, giving up on thoughts of staying quiet. Stealth hadn’t served him as well as he’d hoped. Instead, he chose to test brutish endurance versus will. Beck bet his life that he could run farther and faster than any stupid beast with an off-balance head covered in calcified tumors. He bet his joints, untainted by fungal roots, would glide smoothly over enough miles to lose the demons on his trail.

  Though that plan seemed, at first, to be on the verge of success, it also nearly killed him. In his hasty formulation and execution, he’d focused too much on the demons at his heels, forgetting that the forest was teeming with them.

  Now, hearing him noisily running up the game trail, a beast waited in ambush. Only the demon’s mistimed pounce saved Beck’s life. In missing Beck, the monster slammed its head into a tree so hard it dazed itself and fell to the ground. Beck took the opportunity to sprint away as the beast howled. Before long, the sound of more demons came up the trail behind him, fresh ones that hadn’t been running all night already.

  Out of new ideas, Beck had no choice but to keep running—a race he feared he’d lose.

  With the sun up, Beck spotted a wash of morning light up ahead. Thinking it might be a stream or a river, hoping it might be the army’s camp, Beck ran hard on reignited hope.

  When he got close, he saw that it was a road.

  Good enough!

  Roads were for people and horses. Maybe he’d find help.

  Beck burst out of the bushes and immediately stumbled among dozens of bloody corpses. He scrambled to his feet, seeing slain demons, dead horses, and the bodies of some of Blackthorn’s cavalrymen around him. Looking down the road in one direction, he saw bodies lying across the muddy tracks and sprawled in the underbrush on both sides.

  In the other direction, the road ran straight for a long, long way. Down a hill and half way up the next, Beck spotted horsemen, a squadron of Blackthorn’s cavalry. They were riding away.

  Beck shouted at them, running with all he had left.

  “Help! Help!”

  Chapter 21: Ivory

  Ivory and Jingo fell silent as the waves lapped gently at the boat. The wind had died down, leaving them to the gentle whims of the current.

  Gaining courage and taking comfort in his teacher’s presence, Ivory leaned over the water, glancing at the side of the boat. He’d hardly had a chance to see it in the dark building in which Jingo kept it.

  The smooth metal of the boat was as beautiful as anything Ivory had seen. He surveyed the craft from end to end, marveling at the sleek composition. He got up and walked to the other side. He was surprised to find words gleaming on the hull. His brow furrowed as he considered how something could still be written there.

  “Did you write that?” he asked Jingo, beckoning to the phrase.

  “Yes.” Jingo’s smile was coy, almost mischievous. “I did that when I fixed it up. Can you read what it says?”

  It took a moment for Ivory to determine the meaning of the letters. When he did, he found himself more confused than ever. He repeated the words to Jingo.

  “She got the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s ‘she’?”

  Jingo released the ropes, peering out across the ocean. “It was a reference to the family I spoke of before. It was a joke.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Jingo laughed. “I don’t expect you to. Like I said, Ivory, every place has its problems. Even the Ancients with all their Tech Magic had plenty of things to deal with.”

  Deciphering the meaning behind Jingo’s subtle phrasing, Ivory asked, “Do you mean you had things to deal with?”

  “Yes.” Jingo’s head tilted and he took a pained expression. “I’d do anything to see my wife and child again. Regardless of the differences we had.”

  “I’m sorry to bring back the memory.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Jingo cleared his throat. “I think it’s about time to tell you some things, Ivory. Things I haven’t spoken about in years.”

  “About what?”

  “I’m going to tell you about my family.”

  Jingo’s face was melancholy as he stared out into the vast expanse of ocean. Unusual white birds with black-tipped wings circled and cawed.

  Gesturing at the now tiny buildings, Jingo said, “I came to the city as a young man. Before that, I lived in a small town.”

  “How small?” Ivory asked.

  “I use the word “small” only because it would be more familiar to you, so you can understand the scope of how many Ancients there were. The town I lived in had twenty-seven thousand people.”

  “That’s bigger than each of our townships,” Ivory remarked in awe.

  “Yes. And that was considered a modest town. There were many small towns like that everywhere, and then there were the cities, such as the one in the distance.”

  “Was it always called the Ancient City?” Ivory asked.

  “No. That is a name used by the people of Brighton. Ancients called it something different. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Jingo paused to chew his lip, and Ivory saw the memories flicker across his face. “What matters is that I came there as a young man, receiving my education, just as you are receiving yours.”

  “Was your teacher as knowledgeable as you?”

  “I had many teachers. So many that I don’t remember all their names and faces.”

  Ivory’s jaw stuck open in awe. He couldn’t imagine being taught by so many people. “Is that why you’re the smartest man?”

  Jingo’s mouth curved into a smile. “Not all teachers are as wise as they think they are.”

  “I think you’re joking with me again.”

  With a laugh, Jingo continued, “Each of the teachers taught a particular topic of study. Some were masters of science. Others were masters of the spoken language. Others were masters of art.”

  “Art?” Ivory asked, confused. “I can’t imagine someone being entirely focused on that.”

  Jingo laughed again. “Survival was easier then. Systems were in place so that people could devote their energy to specific things.”

  “That sounds incredible.”

  “The Ancients were more worried about trivial things than survival—at least, most of them were. In hindsight, they should have been more careful.”

  Looking past Jingo’s cryptic message, Ivory asked, “Which of these things did you study?”

  “Liberal Arts.”

  “You were an artist?” Ivory asked. He imagined Jingo painting the depictions he’d seen on the wall in the Sanctuary.

  “Not quite as you imagine. I studied different ways of thinking, the way different types of people lived, the ways we perceive things.”

  “Is that why you became a teacher to us?”

  Jingo shook his head, a grin on his face. “I wasn’t a teacher back then. Instead of using my Liberal Arts knowledge, I became a painter. I painted the insides of people’s houses.”

  “So you did paint pictures on the walls?”

  “Yes, but my job wasn’t related to my studies. The Ancients coated the walls with paint. It was both aesthetically pleasing, and a way to protect the wall. It was a tradesmen skill.”

  “Did you make a lot of coin?”

  “No,” Jingo said bemusedly. “The pay for painters was low. My intent was to do something greater, but it was hard to market my particular skills. Or maybe I just became too complacent.”

  “Complacent?”

  “Used to things. With all the technology we had back then, many people lost their motivation. Or at least, I did. That’s when I met Cecilia.”

  “Cecilia,” Ivory said, rolling the mysterious name off his tongue. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone named that.”

 
“It was a common name back then,” Jingo explained. “But the woman attached to it was far from common. She was beautiful in a way you might view one of the queens when Brighton used to have them.”

  “It sounds like you were lucky.”

  “I was. Cecilia was desired by many suitors, but in the end, she chose me.”

  Ivory furrowed his brow. “You say she chose you. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

  Jingo shook his head and laughed again. “Not back then. Things were different, Ivory. Maybe if they hadn’t changed… Well, we could speculate on that all day.”

  Ivory frowned, wanting to understand his teacher, but having difficulty. “Women choosing their men. It seems so strange to me. You said she bore a child?”

  “Yes. She became pregnant. We were happy, but it was a surprise to both of us.”

  “You thought she was barren?” Ivory deduced.

  “No. It was the opposite,” Jingo said. “We hadn’t planned on conceiving any children. Cecilia’s job paid very well. She worked in one of the tall buildings you see from the top of the tower.”

  “Wow. I can’t imagine that,” Ivory said. “Did she make more coin than you?”

  “Much more. She paid me to paint her apartment. That’s how we met.”

  “I see.”

  “We fell in love, and I moved in with her. A few months later, our daughter was conceived, and nine months later, she was born. Her name was Andrea.”

  “Andrea,” Ivory said. Picturing Jingo holding a baby in his arms was as difficult as picturing him without all the warts and bumps.

  “She was beautiful,” Jingo said sadly. “I loved my daughter. And I loved my wife. Raising Andrea was difficult because most of our family lived elsewhere. We paid for someone to watch her while we worked. But the cost for her care was almost as much as I earned painting. So Cecilia and I discussed it, and we decided that I should stay home and raise her.”

  Ivory shrank back in surprise. “You watched your daughter while your wife earned silver?”

  “That wasn’t uncommon, either.” Jingo barely noticed his reaction. “Anyway, those years were some of the best of my life. I taught my daughter how to walk, how to speak. She learned so quickly. Watching her grow was the most rewarding experience I’ve had. Nothing has eclipsed that feeling, before or since.”

  A sad smile crept across Jingo’s face, and Ivory could tell the joy in his memories accompanied the pain in his heart.

  “But those years bred jealousy between me and Cecilia. My daughter and I grew closer, but Cecilia and I grew apart. When Cecilia got home from work, she was tired, unable to spend much time with us. The hours she didn’t spend at work were spent on a personal device that connected her to the tower. She was miserable. Soon Andrea was in school, and I found another job. I told Cecilia she should leave her position, but she refused. And then the tower laid her off.”

  “Laid her off?”

  “We don’t have an appropriate term for it now. But it meant the people in the tower no longer wanted her to work there. They stopped paying her silver.”

  “Nobody tells the farmer to stop farming, or the blacksmith to stop making metals. They do what they have to do to survive.”

  “Things were different back then.”

  “It sounds like it. If she was miserable there, shouldn’t she have been happy at home?”

  “Perhaps. But years of unhappiness led her to twist the blame onto me. What should’ve been a blessing ended up ruining our marriage. We fought a lot. She blamed me for things, and I blamed her. Who knows, I probably deserved it.” Jingo squinted out into the ocean as if he might find the answer in the waves. “Less than a year later, Cecilia divorced me.”

  “Divorced?”

  “Almost half of the marriages in the ancient world ended when the man and woman split up, taking their share of the possessions.”

  “The only way to take a new spouse in Brighton is when someone is infected with the spore, or when someone dies of illness.”

  Jingo gave Ivory a long look. “The people of Brighton have their own methods of getting rid of their spouses.”

  “What happened then?”

  “She told me to leave, and she kept most of my things. More crushingly, she kept Andrea.”

  Putting the pieces together, Ivory asked, “Is that why you painted the message on the boat?”

  “You learn quickly, Ivory,” Jingo said with a laugh. “I wanted to fight to keep Andrea, but I didn’t want my daughter to resent me. And I still loved Cecilia. So I left without a fight. Whenever I wasn’t working, I visited. I did what I thought was right.”

  “What happened to Cecilia?”

  “Cecilia found another tower to work at. She found another husband.”

  “And you?”

  “I kept working. I saved. I visited when I could. But something happened to Andrea over those years. She got older, and she didn’t want to see me as much. She became comfortable with her new life and Cecilia’s new husband. The bond we shared seemed to be fading, and I didn’t know how to fix it. She started skipping our weekends together. She spent time with friends instead. She stopped answering when I left messages on her ancient device. I could feel the distance growing, and I felt like I’d lost her.”

  “How’d you get her back?” Ivory asked, figuring Jingo must’ve found a way.

  “I didn’t.” Jingo opened and closed his eyes, giving a look of pain. Normally, it was an expression he wore when his joints were flaring up. Ivory could tell this pain was worse.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The spore had already started spreading. Nobody knew what it was, at first. If we had, maybe I would’ve insisted on staying with them, despite our differences.”

  “Did they become demons?”

  “They never made it that far. By the time I got to them, they were dead.”

  Jingo dabbed at a spot next to his eye. The boat rocked on the waves, splashing water over the side and onto Ivory. Jingo pulled his hood over his wart-covered face. Ivory couldn’t tell if he was cold or crying. He fell silent, knowing better than to ask. After a few moments, Jingo composed himself.

  “Do you know the building you see when you look out the east window of my tower? With the cracked columns?”

  “Yes.” Ivory nodded, visualizing the collapsed building with the barricaded entrance. Jingo had pointed it out many times. He’d often wondered what treasures lurked within.

  “That’s where Cecilia, Andrea, and I lived. That’s why I chose to live in the tower that we spend time in now. So I can be close to them, even though they’re dead.”

  Chapter 22: Melora

  The next time Melora opened her eyes, the sun was high in the sky, and Ella and Bray were awake. The muffled conversation she’d heard the night before came flooding back. She pushed aside her blanket, watching her mother and the Warden. Neither acted differently. Ella’s smile seemed sincere; Bray grunted his usual hello. If anything had happened, Ella showed no signs of it. Melora looked for William.

  He was still asleep.

  Her memory from the night before seemed like a dream. She walked over to check on her brother. His mouth hung open, and he was snoring. Noticing Melora hovering over him, Ella walked over to join her. They stared at William together.

  “He’s tired,” Ella whispered.

  “We all are,” Melora agreed.

  “It took me a while to drift off.” Ella’s expression was grave. “I heard demons screaming from far away.”

  “I heard them, too,” Melora said. “Never close, but always there.”

  “I don’t sleep the way I used to,” Ella admitted. “Not without the circle wall around us.”

  Melora had the brief thought of telling Ella about William, but a rustle fr
om the other room reminded her that Bray was there. For some reason, she didn’t want to speak in front of him. She’d wait and speak with William when he woke up. Then she’d figure out what he was up to.

  She got her chance after breakfast. After cleaning, Ella and Bray excused themselves to go to the bathroom outside. Melora agreed to stay and watch William, who was still sleeping.

  She hovered next to his blanket, rousing him with a shake. William’s face was groggy. He looked at her with a blank expression, slowly taking in his surroundings as he came to consciousness.

  “Where’s Mom?” he asked.

  “Outside,” Melora said, looking in all directions to ensure that was true. “Listen, we need to talk. I know you went somewhere last night.”

  William’s face went from confused to nervous. “What did you see?”

  “I saw you coming back. Where did you go?”

  William bit his lip and looked away. Melora had seen the look enough times to know he was conjuring a lie. “Tell the truth. I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.”

  William studied her for a moment before answering. “I stepped outside for a minute. I wanted to see the buildings at night.”

  “Why would you do that?” Melora held his gaze.

  “I only went a few steps.”

  Melora watched him intently, trying to determine if he was lying. His guilty stare could just as easily be nerves. “You can’t do that here, William. You can’t go roaming around on your own.”

  “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Are you going to tell Mom?”

  Melora softened her tone as she watched William. He was sick. He was turning. Did it even matter anymore? She recalled hunting rabbits with William the day before, watching his excited expression. “Not if you promise me you won’t go out again. Can you do that? Can you promise me?”

  “I swear it,” William said. “I won’t go out again.”

  Melora nodded. Casting aside the blankets, William blinked the remaining sleep from his eyes while Melora went to fetch him some breakfast. She came back and handed him a piece of dried pork. He took it gratefully, munching and watching her. Melora smiled as he wiped the remnants of the jerky from his face.