The Last Survivors Box Set

by Bobby Adair

  Curious if more strange people were about that Bray hadn’t seen before, thinking they might not actually be from Brighton, he asked, “What did they look like? Were they dressed like you?”

  “No, they were dressed the same as you,” Kirby answered.

  “Not as handsome, I assume.” Bray sat straight on his horse and tipped back his shoulders.

  “No, they were pretty much the same. Dirty. In need of a shave,” Kirby’s laughter echoed through the trees. “Fewer scars, maybe, but I didn’t pay attention. I don’t have time for men.”

  Bray quieted for a moment, pretending to be insulted. “You know, most of my scars are from battles.”

  “So are mine,” Kirby said with a smile.

  Bray didn’t need to question her to know she was telling the truth.

  As they rode, the terrain grew increasingly steeper. Light snow covered the ground, speckling the tops of sticks and rocks in sparkling ice. A white glaze coated the tops of the tree branches. Every so often, Bray spotted tracks in the snow—mostly from small animals, but a few from barefooted demons. Those made him recall his fear as he pictured the twisted mass of demons he’d seen earlier.

  Bray listened for sounds of the demons or the army, even though they were too far away to hear.

  He was grateful that he’d convinced Kirby to come with him, but he was worried about what he’d tell her when she saw Winthrop and his army of zealots. What would she do when they encountered thousands? It was a lie he hadn’t thought his way out of yet.

  “I really appreciate you helping me out,” he said, hoping to ingratiate himself. “Where were you headed before I ran into you?”

  Kirby paused a moment. “Away,” she said finally.

  “You wanted to get away from where you lived, because everyone was dead,” he surmised. “I understand that.”

  “Why stay, when everyone else is gone?” Kirby shrugged as she rode.

  “Sometimes I feel like getting away from Brighton, even though my people are alive,” Bray said over his shoulder. He quickly added, “But I have my son to think about. A life in the wild is no good for a boy.”

  “Of course,” Kirby said. “Hopefully, we’ll find him soon. And then I’ll be on my way, with my horses.”

  Chapter 52: Fitz

  Fitz and Ginger walked through the streets leading to the Academy. The cracked, well-traveled roads had become increasingly familiar to both of them over the course of days. The Scholars had chosen a building that was secluded from the rest of town, citing the need to preserve quiet. Fitz often wondered if living out here was an excuse to separate them from the brutal happenings in Brighton.

  “It’s so peaceful out here,” Ginger commented.

  “Yes. It’s almost far enough away that you could escape the smell of the burnings,” Fitz said.

  Ginger shrugged. “Maybe that’s the real reason they live out here.”

  “Minister Beck decides who is burned and who isn’t. And then he retreats back to his Academy with his Scholars,” Fitz said with disgust. “Or at least, he did, before he left with the army.”

  “Where do you think Beck is now?”

  “He must be dead, if Winthrop is in charge,” Fitz said with a shrug.

  Looking left, Fitz recognized several broken-down buildings that had once been tall, but had since succumbed to decay, devoured by weeds and ripped to the ground. Animals and people had scavenged those ruins for years, taking every loose bit of stone and steel until they were too dilapidated to live in. On the right was a swath of trees climbed so many times by Brighton’s children that all of the smaller limbs had cracked off.

  “If I wasn’t looking for the Scholars, I wouldn’t know they were in hiding. The only time I saw them was when they came to The House.”

  Ginger gave her a sympathetic look.

  “I remember when one of them tried talking to me in a different language,” Fitz said. “He was trying to impress me.”

  Ginger laughed. “One did that to me, too.”

  “I can’t imagine a life studying ancient artifacts, when there are so many other things to be done. But in a way, I respect their knowledge.”

  The only Scholar that Fitz had known well was Evan.

  And now he was dead.

  She wasn’t sure if the Academy could help, but she hoped they might. After what she’d learned from Hilda, she was worried. If nothing else, adding some male bodies to the fight would help them to victory, and maybe the Scholars even had some ancient Tech Magic secrets.

  In order to find out, they needed to get them to open the doors.

  Rounding a patch of trees and peering down another street, Fitz and Ginger increased their pace until they spotted the large, familiar square building in the distance. The walls—made of blocks of stone leftover from the times of the Ancients—gleamed with a shine that rivaled Blackthorn’s house. Several large windows looked out over the sprawling property. She imagined many servants were needed to keep the Academy in order, but there was no one taking care if it now. Most of the windows were blocked with boards. A few of the upper ones were open, but she saw no faces.

  “I sense people watching,” Ginger said quietly.

  “As always,” said Fitz. “Let’s give it a try.”

  She approached the walkway and made her way to the door, raising her hand to knock while Ginger hung close by, holding her sword.

  “Go away!” someone yelled before Fitz had knocked twice. The voice was gravelly and familiar. It was the same person who had yelled at them on previous visits.

  “We need to speak with you! It’s urgent!” Fitz called, trying to inject sincerity in her voice.

  “As urgent as it was last time you came, I imagine,” the voice said, mocking them.

  Biting back her anger, Fitz said, “The next visitors you have won’t be so friendly. The army is coming back to break down the circle wall. And so is an army of demons.”

  Silence. Then the shuffle of a few feet. Fitz heard muffled voices from somewhere in the building. She watched the windows, wishing she were speaking to a person instead of a door. Looking at the thick piece of wood protecting the entrance, she thought about battering it down, even though she knew it was too heavy. She needed to speak with someone face to face.

  She was about to shout again when she heard objects being moved beyond the door. Fitz stepped back, reaching for her own sword. Maybe the Scholars had gotten sick of her visits and were going to threaten them, or worse.

  The door swung open.

  A cluster of shuffling, nervous men stood in the corridor, watching her. They wore long, white shawls similar to what Scholar Evan had worn. A few carried rusted spears that might’ve been artifacts. But they weren’t threatening Fitz or Ginger. They looked concerned about what she had to say.

  One of the men stepped through the group, meeting her eyes. Fitz was surprised. He wasn’t from the Academy, but from town.

  “Kreuz?” she asked, unable to hide the confusion in her voice as she recognized the owner of the smoked meat market.

  “You better not be lying about the demons,” Kreuz said, in the same gravelly voice Fitz and Ginger had been hearing through the door. “Come in and we’ll talk.”

  Chapter 53: Fitz

  Fitz and Ginger settled in two chairs around the table, looking at the ancient paintings on the walls in the Academy library. All around them, the Scholars were standing and watching. Only Kreuz sat across from them. After letting them through the entrance, Kreuz and his Scholars had taken them directly to the large room filled with mostly empty shelves of books, rusted pieces of metal that looked like they were on display, and empty chairs that lined the perimeter. Some still had notebooks and writing utensils sitting on the seats. Fitzgerald didn’t need to see the Scholars sitting in them to imagine the number o
f hours they’d been used.

  Farther down on the table where Fitz, Ginger, and Kreuz were sitting was a large, ornate box. Fitz felt the stares of dozens of pairs of eyes on her. Ever since she had killed Tenbrook’s men, she felt as though she were living a life standing on the dais, watched by everyone. She turned her attention to Kreuz.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I’ve been staying here since Tenbrook’s last burnings,” Kreuz answered. “Things were bad in town. It looked to me like they were going to get worse.”

  Fitz nodded. She couldn’t deny what he was saying. The Academy was a good place to hide for someone avoiding the prying eyes of soldiers. And someone with as much money as Kreuz—a source of significant wealth in town—would’ve had no trouble convincing the Scholars to let him in. She could smell the lingering scent of smoked meat on his clothes, even though his market was halfway across town. That scent should’ve made her hungry, but she was too worried to think about food.

  “Tenbrook’s soldiers are dead,” Fitz said, breaking the silence. “I’m sure you’ve heard that. But that isn’t why I’m here.”

  “I heard.” Kreuz furrowed his brow, but there was no emotion behind the gesture. “Tenbrook was worse than the rest. He did Brighton no favors.”

  “Blackthorn is dead, too.”

  “Yes,” Kreuz said. “I heard that, as well.” She imagined Kreuz had seen many more deaths than she had.

  He tapped his long, bony fingers on the table, unable to hold back his questions any longer. “You said the army is coming to break down the circle wall. We’d heard those rumors, which were alarming enough. But now you say demons are coming too? How do you know that?”

  Fitz briefed the Academy members on what she’d heard from her riders. She watched the expressions on their faces change as she explained how thousands of demons were headed to Brighton. Then she described the condition of the army, the chants, and Winthrop’s leadership. Several of the Academy members looked at her, stunned. Even Kreuz seemed shocked.

  “That many demons will be impossible to fight,” Kreuz said, shaking his head. “And without the wall, we might as well be standing in the wild, if Winthrop’s men manage to break it down.”

  “At the very least, we need the wall to protect us,” Fitz said. “We can’t let Winthrop and his men do what they’re planning.”

  “We all knew Winthrop was going mad at that last meeting in the square,” Kreuz said, his eyes narrowing. “But I must admit, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again after he rode off on that horse.”

  A few in the room nodded, but no one agreed out loud, as if they were still afraid to be implicated.

  “I understand you’re scared,” Fitz said, voicing all of their concerns. “But if this information is correct, Blackthorn is dead, and the only one left is Winthrop.”

  “What about Minister Beck?” Kreuz asked. “Have you heard anything about him?”

  “My guess is that he’s dead, too.” Fitz gave a grim nod.

  “That’s what we were afraid of,” Kreuz said, looking around at the Scholars.

  “We’re all in equal danger here. Demons aside, if Winthrop breaks down the wall, or if he gets in, we won’t be talking like we are now. I wouldn’t be surprised if he burned down the Academy the way Tenbrook burned down the Sanctuary. He’s paranoid, and anyone who might oppose his rule isn’t safe.”

  A glimmer of fear passed through Kreuz’s eyes. “Let’s say you’re right. How do you propose we defend Brighton?”

  “We need to organize defenses. We need to make sure Winthrop’s men don’t attack the wall, or get in. And we need to get ready for the demons.”

  The reality of the situation hitting him, Kreuz said, “So we’re going to fight our own men?” He shook his head incredulously. “Wives and daughters fighting husbands and fathers?”

  “If it comes to that,” Fitz said stoically.

  Kreuz stifled a laugh. “I don’t see how that will work. I heard about your meeting in the square. You might have rallied all the women, but you really think a wife is going to raise a sword against her husband when he comes back?” He shook his head decidedly. “Not one will do it, when it comes down to it.”

  “They will, if they have to defend their children. And the majority of the women have already lost their husbands. Most of Blackthorn’s army is dead. The widows in Brighton won’t have any issues defending the family they have left. Everyone knows that if Winthrop’s army breaks down the wall, every last person here will be killed, if the demons get in.”

  “Not all of Winthrop’s men can be as insane as him. Surely they can be reasoned with,” Kreuz argued.

  “I want to believe that,” Fitz said. “But are you willing to risk it?”

  Kreuz looked around the room, his eyes resting on one of the rusted spears in a Scholar’s hand. “Everybody knows the weapons are gone. Brighton is a town of inexperienced women and children. Even these men behind me have never fought in wars.” Kreuz waved at the Scholars in the room. “No offense.”

  None seemed offended.

  “I understand all that,” Fitz said.

  “So what is your plan?”

  “We have women in the streets, collecting the weapons we have left. Some of the blacksmiths’ families have offered to help forge new ones. They won’t be as good as what the army uses, but they’ll be better than bare hands.”

  “What else?”

  “We have people. Lots of them. And the hope that we can work better together than separately.” Fitz looked around the room at the Scholars. She put on her most convincing face. “There’s no disputing you are some of the smartest people in Brighton. My hope is that we can figure out something together to battle the demons, and to keep Winthrop and his men from tearing down the wall. I’ve come to you for help.”

  With her final plea on the table, Fitz waited.

  Kreuz looked around the room. His eyes landed on the ornate box that sat at the end of the table. “Can you hand me that box, Johnson?”

  One of the scholars—Johnson—walked to the table and slid the box gently down to Kreuz. Kreuz reached to the bench next to him and picked up a bucket of water and a rag. Fitz studied the box. The box was studded with pieces of shiny metal, latched with a clasp and a working lock that had already been opened. As if he was putting on a show, Kreuz opened the box, tilted back the lid, and exposed the contents to Fitz.

  “Books?” she asked, in a tone that couldn’t mask her disappointment as she peered inside.

  “Yes.” Kreuz nodded. He dipped his hands in the bucket and washed them with the rag, then shook them dry. “I purchased these books from Minister Beck before he left for Blackthorn’s war.”

  He picked up several books from the box and set them on the table. Fitz studied the ancient artifacts while waiting for Kreuz to reveal the point of the conversation. Gently, Kreuz set one of the books on the table, unbound it, and pushed it in front of Fitz. Fitz couldn’t stop gaping as she appraised the book’s colorful cover.

  “It’s probably no surprise to you that I’m a collector of ancient artifacts. But these are some of my most prized possessions. They are the reason the Academy let me in. We share the same love of Ancient books.” Kreuz smiled at the Scholars, as if he was sharing a secret Fitz wasn’t supposed to know. He opened the book, flipping through the pages, revealing pictures with colors and clarity like Fitz had never seen. “While we’ve been locked in here, the Scholars and I have been studying these books. They’ve been helping me read them. Like my father before me, I’ve worked from sunup to sundown my whole life, and never had time to learn to read. I hope to, one day.”

  “They’re beautiful,” Fitz said. “But I can’t read, either. I’m not sure what these words or pictures mean. And I don’t understand what this has to do with Wi
nthrop’s army or the demons.”

  Kreuz stuck a bony finger at the page on which he’d stopped, which bore the image of some Ancient contraption. “This device is one of the ones we’ve been studying. It was used by some of the ancestors of the Ancients to fight wars.” He looked at Fitz as if she should know what he was talking about.

  “I’ve never seen it before.”

  “This, Fitzgerald, is a catapult.”

  Chapter 54: Fitz

  “A catapult is a device that can fling objects for great distances,” Kreuz explained, tapping the picture from which Fitz had been unable to look away. “It was used to send projectiles into the air, such as rocks.”

  Fitz studied the Ancient contraption, which seemed to be made up of wood and ropes. “I can’t imagine how it works.”

  “The objects to be thrown are put in here.” Kreuz pointed at what looked like a bucket. “The bucket is pulled back, and using tension from the rope, it shoots the object upward and at long distances. It can be used to injure or kill. Sort of the way our bows work, but on a larger scale.”

  “I’m starting to understand,” Fitz said.

  “We have wood for winter. We have ropes,” Kreuz said. “If we build these the right way, and with the right materials, these might be able to fling things over the wall and strike people who are coming to attack us.”

  “You think this will help fight the demons, or deter the army, if it comes to that?” Fitz asked.

  “Possibly,” answered Kreuz. “If we can build them right.” He looked around at the Scholars. “The men in here might not know how to fight a war, but I think they can put something like this together.”

  “So do I,” Fitz said, nodding as she looked at them.

  “There are other weapons that might help us, too,” Kreuz added, turning one of the pages. He pointed to a man holding what looked like two ropes, with a pouch in the middle and handholds on the end. “These are called slings. One person can use them. A finger or a thumb is placed through one loop on the end of one cord, and a tab on the other end of one cord is placed between the thumb and forefinger. The person swings the device in an arc, and then lets go, flinging an object such as a stone a great distance. These look pretty easy to make. This would be useful to arm many more people. I imagine five thousand women with slings could destroy an army before they got over the wall.”