The Last Survivors Box Set

by Bobby Adair

  William stepped closer as his demon brothers engulfed Winthrop, biting and tearing.

  Winthrop struggled and shrieked.

  William wondered if his demon brothers understood his wish for vengeance, or whether their bloodlust was just running so high that they were acting on their own.

  As if to answer him, one of the demons jumped to its feet, came off of Winthrop, and hurried over to William.

  It reached out, took William’s hand, leaned over, and spit something into William’s palm.

  Surprised, William caught a bloody gob as warm spit oozed over his fingers.

  He recoiled as he stared at the lump in his hand, a dribbling mess with two huge, hairy nostrils in a roughly triangular shape. Winthrop’s huge nose. Horror struck William as he dropped it on the ground and stepped away.

  This wasn’t how he’d pictured vengeance.

  He looked down at the bleeding, mucous-covered mess.

  This was a horror worse than Brighton, worse than the burnings.

  Another and another demon hopped up to bring gifts he hadn’t asked for, but William kept backing away as the demons piled up things around his retreating feet: an ear, a finger, and then a toe.

  William looked at Winthrop, who was screaming so unceasingly he barely had time to breathe.

  That made William scream, too.

  The demons stopped what they were doing, confused, and stepped away from Winthrop, leaving him alive, blubbering loudly with most of his fingers, his nose, and ears gone.

  They didn’t understand William’s reaction.

  They were following William’s instructions, even if he hadn’t spoken them.

  Winthrop moaned, sounding more like a dying demon than a man. He had a long time of suffering ahead of him before dying.

  William couldn’t watch any more. He ran.

  Chapter 93: Bray

  Bray kicked at the demons around him, punching and flailing, but his efforts were useless. For every one he beat back, another took its place. The wound in his shoulder had robbed him of good use of his left arm. He couldn’t get to his feet. The demons had him pinned. He cried out as one of the demons tore off a piece of his shirt, scratching his skin. Hot demon breath filled the air and savage hands clawed at his clothes.

  Is this how it ends?

  He’d failed Ella, and now he’d failed William too.

  Gunfire.

  A few of the demons lifted their bulbous heads and turned to look.

  One of them shrieked as half its head exploded.

  Bray had a moment of hope before a dead demon fell on top of him, and then another. He cried out and pushed at the prone bodies, hit with a new fear—he might suffocate under their dead weight. More and more demons toppled onto him, crushing his ribs. He pushed with his good arm, managing to get a few off, but there were too many and they were too heavy. Bray yelled and struggled, afraid he was wasting the last of his breath.

  A voice he recognized shouted his name.

  Suddenly, the weight on top of him subsided. He looked up through his haze to find Kirby pulling demons off him, a scowl on her face. “You idiot! What did you think was going to happen, running out there like that?”

  Bray caught enough breath to answer. “I was going to get—”

  “Enough.”

  She let go of him long enough to raise her gun and aim at an approaching demon, exploding its head with her Tech Magic, and then she tugged at Bray’s good arm. To the left, the battle continued raging near the Brighton gates. To the right, gunfire continued to explode.

  “You’re going to have to run, because I can’t carry you.”

  “I can stand,” he said with pride.

  Bray winced through the pain and got to his feet.

  Dying demons were all around.

  “You need to teach me how to use that gun,” he said, motioning at the metal object in her hand.

  “Are you going to gawk at it, or are we going to get away?”

  With some struggle and Kirby’s help, Bray managed to hurry back toward the trees. He looked for some sign of William, but he was gone. He hadn’t caught a glimpse of him since that first, initial peek through the trees. He didn’t see any sign of Melora, Ivory, or the kid, either.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t leave you, after you were shot,” Kirby said.

  “Did you see William?”

  “I caught a few glimpses, after those demons attacked the man in the robe.”

  “Was it Winthrop they were attacking?” Bray asked.

  “I’m not sure who it was. But afterward, William ran off in the trees.”

  “If it was Winthrop, he deserved it,” Bray said with disgust. “Where are the rest of the horses?”

  “In the woods, tied up,” Kirby said. “I even managed to corral the one you lost. Let’s go!”

  They stepped over the bodies of dead, blood-printed men and women, avoiding a few demons that were in their death throes. About ten yards from the forest, Bray paused and hunched down next to the body of a dead man, grabbing the sword lying next to him. And then Kirby tugged his arm, leading him across the remaining steps of the field and into the forest, away from the battle that was still raging between Winthrop’s men, the demons, and anyone in Brighton foolish enough to step outside the wall.

  Chapter 94: William

  William ran without looking back, fleeing the field with its gore, blood, and bodies. His hands were stained red with Winthrop’s blood. He wiped them on his pants as he balanced his knife, running from the field and into the trees, pushing away the sound of Winthrop’s screaming and the images of pieces of him piled on the ground. He didn’t want to think about it any longer. He couldn’t.

  Winthrop would die from what the demons had done.

  William had given the command.

  He’d made the decision, and he didn’t regret it—he’d done it for Brighton, and for all the people Winthrop had killed. But William felt no vindication in Winthrop’s impending death. He felt hollow.

  Warm to cold.

  Loud to quiet.

  Something to nothing.

  But still alive.

  That image was terrifying. And underneath the satisfaction of bloodlust was a strange sense of emptiness. He hadn’t brought Phillip or Jasmine back.

  The call of blood was too tempting to ignore. And it would keep calling, as long as William was with the demons. They would follow his orders, but to what end? At their core, they were beasts, just like the animals in the wild, driven by instinct and the need to feast. They would never show him the kindness that he’d received from Jasmine or Phillip.

  He didn’t want to be like them. He couldn’t.

  He needed to get away. He needed to protect himself. He clutched his knife in his hand as he kept running.

  Several of his brothers ran next to him, looking over at him for orders, but he waved them off.

  “Go!” he shouted.

  He realized his hands were shaking. Confusion crossed the demon’s faces as they stopped running, heeding his orders. They resisted the urge to follow, much as he resisted the urge to stay with them.

  They were his brethren.

  But he couldn’t be with them anymore.

  William kept running, the scent of Winthrop’s coppery blood in his nostrils, as he fled farther and farther into the trees.

  Chapter 95: Bray

  After collecting the horses, Bray and Kirby rode them far enough into the forest that the sounds of battle had grown quiet. They dismounted so Kirby could take a look at Bray’s wound, keeping an eye out for demons or escaping soldiers.

  “Sit against the tree,” Kirby said, motioning toward a thick oak.

  Kirby pulled her pack from her shoulders and dug through it, removing a thin bl
anket and a flask of water. Then she instructed Bray to remove his shirt. He grimaced as the fabric of his shirt stuck to the blood on his shoulder, and then he was looking at his own bare skin, a wound the size of a small acorn in the middle of it, and another one on his back. Kirby poured some water from the flask over the wound.

  “I can’t tell for sure, but it looks like the bullet passed through,” Kirby answered.

  “You were just trying to get my shirt off.”

  Kirby couldn’t help a thin smile.

  “So I’m going to live?” Bray asked, hoping to earn some sympathy. He winced from the pain in his shoulder.

  “It looks like it,” Kirby said, adding, “But you should’ve expected something like this, going out there like that.”

  “I wanted to help William,” Bray explained. “But he was gone before I could get to him.”

  Kirby watched him. For a second, he thought she was going to chastise him further, but she said, “You were brave. I’ll give you that.”

  “If I hadn’t been shot, I would’ve rescued William.” Bray smiled through his pain.

  Kirby smiled as she ripped off a piece of blanket, tying it around Bray’s shoulder.

  Bray kept quiet as he figured out how much he wanted to say about Melora, Jingo, Ivory and whoever else they were with. Finally, he said, “The people who shot me had guns, like you have.”

  “I saw them through the trees. You don’t have to lie to me anymore,” Kirby said. She pulled the blanket taut on his shoulder, a little too hard. “I know you know them. Or, at least, some of them.”

  Bray watched her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “I know them, too. Those are the people I met in my people’s settlement. I know you’re a Warden. I was considering killing you as soon as you told me your name, shortly after we first met.” Kirby scooted back and watched him. Her gun was in her holster, but Bray suddenly wondered if he should reach for his sword.

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he tried.

  “Melora and Jingo told me about you. They told me about William and how he was infected. At first, I wasn’t sure it was the same boy. And then you said your name was Bray, and I knew who you were. Melora told me you killed her mother, Ella. I probably would’ve killed you then, except I believe that you were actually trying to save William.”

  Bray frowned as he realized his lies hadn’t been as convincing as he’d hoped. “Why did you agree to come with me?” He watched her. “Why save a boy you’ve never met? Or have you met him, too?”

  “No, I’ve never met William.” Kirby got to her feet, looking around at the woods before pulling up the layers of clothing on her back, revealing a line of warts going up her spine. “I wanted to help, because I know what he’s going through. I’m infected, too.”

  Bray couldn’t hide the shock on his face. As he stared at the warts on Kirby’s back, he recalled a similar moment, when he’d met Jingo. But he’d made a mistake then, and looking at Kirby, he wasn’t going to repeat it. “So you know I don’t have a son,” he said, adding, “or a daughter.”

  “Yes,” Kirby said with a half-smile. “Although I’ll admit that was clever.”

  Bray winced. “It was Melora who shot me. I saw her through the trees, right before I fell. She hates me for what happened to Ella. I don’t blame her. But Ella’s death was an accident. I wanted to tell Melora, if I ever saw her again.”

  “I figured it was her,” Kirby said, keeping her smile. “She reminds me of myself, in some ways. But explaining yourself to someone with a gun isn’t smart.”

  Bray tried to ignore the blazing pain in his shoulder. “You’re probably right.” He stared at Kirby as she lowered her shirt, figuring some things out. “Did you provide them with those guns?”

  “Yes,” Kirby said. “I trusted they would use them to make Brighton better. But the way it looks, they might die before that happens.” Her face turned sad. “That’s what happens in war, oftentimes, I’m afraid. It happened to my people. But you know that.”

  “Why didn’t you take all your guns?”

  “I only have two hands. What am I going to do with a mountain of guns?”

  “Does that mean there are more at your settlement?”

  Kirby didn’t answer.

  Returning to the subject at hand, Bray said, “We should still try to find William. We might have a chance if you think you know which way he went. Where did you see him run off to?”

  Kirby pointed east through the trees. “I think he ran in that direction.”

  Bray looked around the forest, as if he might encounter William wandering through the trees, but all he saw were tree trunks and brush. “I don’t know how much luck we’ll have, but I want to try to find him. I owe him that much.”

  Chapter 96: Fitz

  Instead of galloping toward the interior of the east wall, where demons were spilling over and fighting the courageous women still standing there, Fitz took a wide berth and rode around the retreating fighters, making sure they saw her charging in the opposite direction from which they were running, heading toward the demons. While she was riding, she cast one last glance back toward the center of Brighton. Still no Ginger, and no squadrons of mounted warriors.

  The hopelessness was overwhelming.

  The top edge of the circle wall was solid with beasts crawling over and dropping to the ground. The fraying end of her line was turning into a rout as the screams of a thousand fleeing women were loud enough to catch the ears of those farther down the line.

  Her inexperienced army of housewives and old men was shattering, and Brighton’s future was crumbling with every panicked step they took away from the battle.

  None of the fleeing women saw that. None had room for bigger thoughts other than those of their friends running and the sharp teeth coming to shred their flesh. They only wanted to live through the next few seconds and minutes.

  That was panic.

  Fitz raised her sword as she thought this might be the end.

  And then something happened.

  The horses of her guard formed up on her flanks, galloping in the chevron formation she’d heard tell of so often in the tales. It wasn’t something Fitz had ordered her riders to do, not something they’d trained for. The horses had done it on their own, carrying their novice riders the way they’d been trained since they first carried a rider.

  The chevron!

  Just like the stories of that great battle.

  Women, the fastest of them, those farthest ahead of the others flew past, heading for the false security of Brighton’s houses and buildings.

  “Stand, and fight!” Fitz yelled. “Turn! Don’t run!”

  No one listened. All they did was swerve to avoid getting trampled by the oncoming wall of horses.

  Fitz yelled again into the thick of the retreating women. Some women slowed, but none stopped; they were too easily carried by the fearful tide around them.

  “Run and die!” Fitz shouted. “Stand and live!”

  Ahead of her she spotted Adam-John, bloodied but able, running with a spear in hand, eyes wild with terror and seeing nothing but the trampled grass in front of him, the next place to drop his fleeing feet to get one more step from the monsters coming to steal his life.

  Fitz yanked hard on her reins, stopping her horse, and it reared its front legs at the sky right in front of Adam-John.

  Fitz’s guard came to a stop.

  Adam-John halted, looking up at Fitz and her horse.

  The front hooves of Fitz’s horse slammed hard on the earth in front of Adam-John.

  Fitz pointed the sharp tip of her sword at Adam-John’s face, drawing his attention up the length of the glimmering steel and into her fiery eyes. “Look at me!”

  Adam-John’s eyes were glassy.
His mouth opened, but no words spilled out.

  “Find your courage!” Fitz told him. “Die here, as a man, or die in the streets of the city as a coward!”

  Adam-John looked over his shoulder at the women running past, at the demons coming behind.

  “If you don’t stand,” Fitz told him. “All of us will die!”

  One woman, and then another, came to a stop by Adam-John, looking at Fitz, hearing her words.

  Fitz raised the tip of her blade and pointed it at the demon multitude. “I choose to fight until I have no more breath.” She caught Adam-John with a piercing gaze. “Make your choice.”

  With Adam-John and the two women beside him still standing, Fitz spurred her horse and trotted around them. “Ride with me!” she shouted to her guard. “No demon will reach the city!”

  As the horses reached a full gallop, Fitz passed the last of the retreating women.

  She tore into the chasing demons, swinging her sword and letting her horse do what it had been trained to do, charge and trample, using its momentum to knock the demons down before killing them under its hooves.

  With the wall coming up in front of her, Fitz veered in the direction of the main gate, to run along the face of the wall, stomping and hacking, her guard following. She already felt the weight of the sword in her untrained arm, already doubted she could haul it back for another kill, but she had no choice. She had to fight on until there was nothing more to give. All of humanity’s future depended on it.

  Demons were all around them, with more coming over the wall.

  Fighters retreated all along the flank.

  The whole western half of Fitz’s defense was collapsing.

  She rode through demons until a solid line of women was standing firm to her left, nearly two hundred yards from the wall, killing demons as they’d been trained, protecting one another with their formation. She’d come to the part of the army that hadn’t retreated.