The Last Survivors: A Dystopian Society in a Post Apocalyptic World

by Bobby Adair

  Could that be done?

  Or was the solution more obvious? Was the better solution to supplant superstition and the sword right here in Brighton?

  A coup?

  A heavy knock on the door startled Beck out of his thoughts. Dread slithered through his seditious bones. Nobody pounded with such impunity on the door of a minister so late at night. Nobody but Blackthorn or his soldiers. Dread faded into despair as Beck sensed what the knocking represented. Just as he was coming to the conclusion that action needed to be taken, all choice was to be taken away from him. Beck slumped in his chair.

  The pounding came again. Louder this time.

  Weakly, he said, “Enter.”

  The door swung wide and a soldier strode in as if he were coming into his own apartment. “Minister Beck?”

  “Yes.”

  “Minister Blackthorn requires your presence.”

  Requires? “I dined with him earlier this evening. Is it possible that you are late in following your orders? Be gone and let me have my sleep.”

  “I left Minister Blackthorn’s presence and walked directly here. I am not late.” The soldier looked down at Beck and waited.

  Beck glanced at the door, spotting the outlines of several other soldiers there. Perhaps he’d argued vehemently for his view one too many times. He only hoped he’d have the choice to take the sword.

  On joints and bones that suddenly felt old and creaky, Beck stood. He looked around the room for an excuse to take him out of the soldier’s hard gaze, to buy him some time to think of a way out. But there was none. There was only the pyre.

  Beck motioned to the door, a silent request for the soldier to lead the way.

  “After you.” The words were those of courtesy, but the tone made it clear that Beck had no choice in the matter. On the way through the door, Beck took his overcoat and wrapped it over his shoulders.

  Three other soldiers were in the hall. They arranged themselves around Beck, two in front, two in back, and clomped their way down the stairs. At the bottom were a half dozen of Beck’s scholars, standing silently in the great room, watching the soldiers take their master into the night. Beck saw the fear on their faces. It was the same fear he had in his own heart.

  He shouldn’t have let his passions run away with him during dinner. He shouldn’t have berated Winthrop for his superstitions with such a vitriolic tongue. More importantly, he shouldn’t have shamed Blackthorn for his inability to grasp the obviousness of the coming crisis. Powerful men don’t accept such slights without plotting revenge.

  As the soldiers led Beck through the town, he remembered his father, his predecessor on the council. He had disappeared in the night when Beck was a young man. The next day, he’d found his father’s bones tied to a burned pole above the ashes of a smoking pyre.

  When Beck went to Blackthorn for answers, Blackthorn explained that Beck’s father had come to him in the night, distressed over a growth of wart he’d found on his head. Blackthorn begged Beck’s father to wait until the next Cleansing to come forward, but Beck’s father had insisted in dealing with the problem straight away, lest he infect some innocent farmer or barren woman.

  And so Beck’s father insisted on mounting the pyre that very evening.

  Beck still remembered Blackthorn’s telling of the story. Blackthorn looked at the ground while he spoke. He seemed genuinely sad to have lost a long-time colleague and friend. And Beck, apprehensive though he was, believed Blackthorn, because believing was so much easier than not. Not believing brought with it all kinds of moral imperatives that Beck was not willing to face. Because facing them meant prevailing or dying.

  Beck was not a fan of dying.

  The five walked across the square. Beck was sure that he’d soon be adding his burning smell to the stench of pyre ash and rotten spiked heads.

  Behind and to the left of the dais stood Blackthorn’s massive home. It was the de facto seat of government in the townships, the place where every decision was made. The guards stopped at the door and knocked. It opened immediately. Of course, they were expected.

  Beck had been sent for.

  The soldiers walked Beck through the wide door, two abreast. Beck appraised the door and decided it would be impossible to defend when the famine came. Blackthorn’s burnt stench would waft over the plaza soon enough.

  Once inside, Beck was guided back to the place at the table where he’d sat arguing through the course of most of the evening. A few minutes later, Blackthorn came in with three of his captains. “Beck,” he said as they all sat down, “explain to my officers what you explained to us earlier this evening.”

  Beck looked at the intricate designs on the table. “I understood from our conversation earlier this evening that a decision had been made.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Beck.” Blackthorn’s voice was harsh. “Winthrop needs to be humored to keep his simple ego intact. No decision was made. Tell us what you and your scholars understand about the coming famine.”

  Beck looked up suddenly. Maybe he’d live.

  Maybe there was hope for the townships, after all.

  Chapter 25: Ella

  When Ella awoke, the world was dark. Her heart was thudding from the remnants of a nightmare, but even the world of her nightmares had light and color. This place was pitch black.

  It took her a few seconds to realize she was still in the cave. She drew a breath and stared around, hoping for a glimmer of light. The details leading up to this minute came spilling back to her. She recalled the escape from Brighton, the altercation at the river, and their journeys with the Warden. Then she remembered William’s fond words about Ethan as he’d drifted to sleep.

  She must’ve joined him in sleep shortly afterward.

  She explored the ground beside her, reaching out to her son. But there was no one there. Frantic, she snapped awake and crept to her haunches, exploring the damp ground. All she found were pebbles and dirt and his blanket and bag. She kept searching, her heart beating at a nervous gallop, until she finally stumbled on a person.

  William was still there. He was asleep. He must’ve rolled out of his blanket. She sat up and expelled the thick, anxious breath she’d been holding. Her muscles ached, as if she’d spent an afternoon pulling grain in a cart race. Her head throbbed. She crouched and reached above her. She still had a foot of clearance from the ceiling. Something stirred in the darkness, and she heard the flap of wings. Ella stifled a scream as something flitted past her and out of the cave’s opening.

  Bats.

  That explained the smell of urine. She waited a moment, then stretched as far as she was able, wiggling her arms and legs to restore the circulation. Although the cave had saved them from danger, it was starting to make her feel claustrophobic, and at the moment, she felt the overwhelming urge to get out. She crept forward, feeling her way with her hands. She saw a pinprick of light at the entrance—a small cluster of stars deep in the night sky. She wanted so badly to go outside and breathe the air, if only for a minute.

  But that’d be unwise. Other Wardens might hear her, and she might give away Bray’s hiding place. Besides, she couldn’t leave William behind.

  Instead, she stopped moving and fell silent, listening to the sound of William breathing. Despite everything they’d been through, he was still alive—alive and with her. The fact that they’d made it this far was encouraging.

  Maybe there’s hope.

  She took in the stars for a few moments, then worked her way backward, retracing her steps to her bag. Her stomach was growling. For the past days, they’d hardly eaten, other than the few berries they’d consumed. She knelt to the floor and located her pack, then untied the knot, searching for food.

  But when she reached inside, past her clothing, she found nothing. What the hell? She kept searching, thinking that any second she’d feel the rough texture of a skin, or the soft leather of her silver pouch. But all she felt was fabric.

  Something wasn’t right.

  The f
ood pouches were gone. And so was her silver.

  She must have missed them; they had to be here. She tore through her bag, removing the items and casting them aside in the dark, her panic mounting. Soon the bag was empty and her belongings were piled up next to her. But there was no sign of any food or silver. Her belongings had been stolen. And the only person who could’ve taken them was…

  “Bray?” she hissed into the dark.

  She waited for a response, already knowing she wouldn’t receive one. She felt dread creeping up her spine like a slithering snake. Receiving no answer, she called out for her son. She heard him beginning to rouse.

  She should’ve trusted her instincts. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Instead, she’d made the mistake of letting this man lead them up here, only to rob and abandon them.

  “Mom?”

  Her son sounded groggy—the same way she’d felt when she’d awoken several minutes earlier.

  “I’m here, honey,” she said.

  She caressed his arm, feeling vulnerable and stupid and angry. This shouldn’t have happened. Not only had Bray stripped them of their food and silver, but he’d also taken the knife. They had no way to eat. No way to protect themselves. No way to buy anything when they got to Davenport.

  She felt the rage building up inside her like water behind a dam, begging for release. Not only had Bray stolen from, stranded, and condemned her, but he’d done it to William as well. She silently vowed revenge. She gritted her teeth, wanting nothing more than to scream obscenities into the dark, to beat on the walls and hunt him down. The only thing stopping her was the threat of compromising their hideaway.

  They were trapped until morning. And even then, Ella didn’t know how they’d survive the journey to Davenport. As she’d learned at the river, legs alone wouldn’t save them from the monsters. The creatures were quick and vile. Encounters with them were inevitable. And if they weren’t prepared, Ella and William would draw their last breaths in the wild.

  Powerless and ashamed, Ella buried her head in her hands and cried quietly, doing her best to hide the sobs from William. Soon he’d ask questions, and soon she’d have to answer them. He’d want to know why Bray had betrayed them. William would want to know how someone posing as a friend could do such a thing.

  And she’d have no idea what to say.

  “Is it morning?” William asked.

  She heard him shifting on the ground, searching for a hint of light.

  “No, it’s nighttime, honey. I’m sorry I woke you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Go back to sleep.”

  “Is Bray still here?”

  Ella fell silent. She didn’t want to do this. Not now.

  “No, honey.”

  “Where’d he go?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Is he coming back?”

  Ella swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t think so.”

  The boy fell silent. This time she was unable to hide her tears. Although William was young, he was perceptive, and he’d discover the truth anyway. She heard him sit upright, and a moment later, she heard him digging through his bag.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for something,” he said simply.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Zander.”

  She frowned in the dark, unsure of what he was talking about. “Who’s Zander?”

  The boy stopped digging. She could sense that he was embarrassed, though she couldn’t see his face.

  “My figurine,” he replied, after a hesitation.

  “The one from Dad?”

  “Yes. I brought him with me. He’s not here. Did Bray take him?”

  She heard him digging again, growing more frantic by the second, each nervous breath like a needle to her heart.

  “Yes. He took some of our things, honey. He took our things and then he left.” The tears were flowing now, and Ella could barely get the words out. “He’s not an honest man, William.”

  “But I thought he had a good man’s heart of stone. I thought he was like Dad.”

  William cried out and flung the bag to a distant corner of the cave. His voice cracked and quivered. She grabbed onto him and held him tight.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

  Chapter 26: Bray

  Bray raced back up the steep slope. Torches moved along a trail in the darkness below. He’d put some distance between himself and the men—they weren’t as familiar with the area, so they’d be moving more cautiously.

  That would give him time to get to the cave.

  He scrambled among the rocks and stone, setting a few of them rolling, and winced at the noise. The last thing he needed was to draw the men’s attention. It’d be enough trouble hiding the woman and the boy as it was.

  Before long he’d approached the jagged outcropping that marked the entrance. He saw the outline by the dim light of the sky. He ducked behind the rock, wedging himself through the entrance. All at once, he was inside, breathing hard and heavy. He heard noises from deeper in the cave, and he crawled toward them. Were Ella and William awake? Had he disturbed them?

  “It’s me,” he whispered. “It’s Bray.”

  The sounds ceased.

  All at once his cheek erupted in pain. Bray threw up his hands to defend himself, readying his knife. Ella’s voice raged through the darkness.

  “You son of a bitch!” she yelled.

  He scooted backward, trying to avoid the woman’s blows. He had to restrain himself from lunging with the knife.

  “Quiet!” he hissed.

  “You took everything we had. Why are you back? Did you forget to take our blankets?” she cried. “My food and my silver weren’t enough for you?”

  “I wasn’t—”

  Another blow stung his face, and this time he whipped his hand forward and caught Ella by the wrist. He pulled her close, until her hot breath was against his skin. She writhed against his grasp.

  “There’re soldiers out there! They’re coming for you!”

  “You son of a bitch! I hate you!”

  “Ella! Stop!”

  This time he raised his volume, imparting his concern. Ella stopped struggling, suddenly grasping the meaning of his words, and they both went silent and still. In the distance, he heard the commotion of men. It sounded like the soldiers had run into another of the Wardens, and were interrogating him somewhere down the mountainside.

  “Listen,” Bray whispered. “Do you hear those voices? Those are soldiers from Brighton. They’ve come to take you back for your crimes.”

  “My crimes?” Ella spat. “My crimes? What about yours? What about robbing us and leaving us to die?”

  The woman was nearly hysterical, and it took all Bray’s efforts to calm her down.

  “Let’s discuss this later, Ella. Right now, we need to stay quiet. I know you hate me, but if you both want to live, you need to listen.”

  He let go of the woman, hoping the gesture itself would win back her trust. There was no time to argue. He spun back to the entrance, focused on the men outside. He heard the sound of raised voices, then the clank of swords. It sounded like the other Warden had been drinking, and in his inebriated state, the man had started an argument with them. That might work to their benefit.

  Perhaps the other Warden would distract the soldiers. Maybe he’d even kill them.

  If Bray were alone, he would’ve used the cover of the commotion to leave, but with Ella and the boy at his side, he didn’t think it’d be wise. Not in the dark.

  Ella crept up next to him. Her arm brushed his, and he could feel her still shaking.

  “You have no conscience,” she hissed in his ear. “I should’ve killed you in your sleep. I should’ve done it when you came through that entrance.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” he whispered back.

  “You’re no kind of man.”

  Bray shook off the insult. He’d heard worse.


  “I could’ve turned you in,” he said. “Do you know that? I still might. Maybe I’ll get a reward.”

  “But I’ve done nothing wrong,” she whispered.

  “Do you think that matters?”

  “The soldiers in Brighton tried to rape me. They were going to hurt William—”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “I’m not like you, Bray. I haven’t killed for pleasure; I’ve killed because I had to.”

  “I know.” He grabbed her and put his mouth to her ear. “I know why you did what you did. I know about William.”

  That was enough to stifle Ella. They hung in silence for several minutes, listening to the clash of men down the mountainside. Finally, Ella spoke.

  “What do we do?” she whispered.

  “We stay put.”

  “What if they find us?”

  “They won’t.”

  “But—”

  “If they do, we’ll use the other entrance. We’ll figure it out.”

  Ella sat back on her haunches, and William crawled over to join her. The fear in the cave was thick and tangible, and all of a sudden, Bray felt the weight of three lives on his shoulders. For years, he’d wandered the wild alone, beholden to no one. And now, things felt different.

  He hadn’t created the situation, but for some reason, he felt responsible for fixing it.

  “Why don’t you two wait further back?” he whispered.

  “But—”

  “I mean it. Stay behind me.”

  “Am I going to get Zander back?” William asked.

  Bray felt a pang of remorse, and he reached into his pocket and passed back the figurine. He heard the soft scuttle of boots and dirt, and all at once he was alone, staring through the cave’s opening.

  He kept his knife in front of him, ready to make a move. The fighting from down the mountain had stopped. He heard the tramp of boots on gravel, then silence. Had the other Warden been killed?

  He listened intently, hoping for a clue as to what had happened, but heard only the background noise of animals in the forest. It was as if the night had swallowed up the men, relegating them to his memory.