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

by Bobby Adair

  Vertical columns cut through the layers. Some were empty shafts that fell away to the ground. Others held the rusted remains of stairs, in places sturdy, in some covered in plants and shrubs, and in still others, fallen away over time, to leave gaps that couldn’t be crossed.

  No stairs allowed for climbing from bottom to top. The tower was a maze. Ivory made his way up through a few layers on stairs that were intact. In one of the empty shafts, he climbed the rusted rungs of an old ladder. That was only good to get him past another three layers. Eventually, he had to climb on the roots and branches that grew between several floors, putting him outside the tower and in danger of falling a hundred feet to his death.

  As he navigated the building, his mind wandered. He thought about The Cleansing. He was glad he’d missed it again. He’d seen enough bloodshed during his days to scar his nights forever. His uncle had been taken from him years ago; to this day he could still hear the man screaming. If it weren’t for Ivory’s father, Ivory would consider leaving the town and its walls behind. The wonderment of the ruins and the quest for knowledge beckoned with far more vigor.

  He switched focus to the loot he’d taken, and the coins he’d make when he traded his metals in Brighton. For the millionth time, Ivory considered the possibility that he might one day come across a treasure trove of coins—ancient coins. If that happened, he’d have no need to collect metals for selling to the smiths. He’d only need to pretend to be a hunter of limited talent. He was surprised nobody had figured it out already. Anybody paying attention would know that his trips into the forest ran for way too many days and that he always returned with too little game. Anyone paying attention would know that the house where he and his father lived—where they used to live with Ivory’s mother and Ivory’s uncle—was more house than could be afforded on the income from Ivory’s and his father’s hunting.

  Eventually, Ivory reached the highest layer, which had a roof overhead. He worked his way across the building. His thoughts of Brighton faded. His focus was on the coming few days, and the knowledge he’d gain while in the ruined city. Ever since his uncle had started taking him here, he’d found purpose far greater than anything in the township could have offered. He stepped over the familiar juts and holes in the ground, working his way to a more stable area on the far side, one that would serve as his home for the next few days. He could already make out the far outer wall of the building. There, at the edge, watching over the ruined city, sat Ivory’s friend and teacher.

  Jingo turned. His silhouette against the gleaming sun showed the calcified warts on one side of his head as he said, “Hello, Ivory.”

  Chapter 40: Ella

  At the sight of Davenport, Ella and William hastily finished their meal. As she closed her pack, Ella kept her eyes glued to the treetops, as if the tips of the buildings might disappear. A part of her was convinced that the town was an illusion, and that she’d wake up again in the cave, listening to the sounds of demons feasting on human remains.

  But the buildings were real.

  Her eyes watered as she took them in. She recognized several already—ancient and looming, their tops crumbled, but holding. Although time had dimmed the details, the buildings looked familiar, as if she’d never left.

  “Come on, William!” she said.

  She tugged William along, keeping after Bray. Now that she’d seen Davenport, the forest seemed less menacing. It was as if the town itself was a repellent against the demons, and its mere presence would protect them. She had to remind herself that they were still in danger. The men in Davenport were just as apt to condemn them as those in Brighton, whether she reached her relatives or not. Though death would be less imminent, it would be no less severe. Their best bet was to immerse themselves in the town and find her aunt and uncle.

  The last thing they needed was to arouse suspicion.

  Ella reviewed her plan in her head. Her goal was for Bray to get them clothes, then sell her wares and seek out her relatives. If something went afoul, she’d have the silver and could seek refuge in another town.

  The plan was far from foolproof, but right now, it was the only plan she had.

  As she hiked after Bray, she prayed he’d be able to get them inside undetected. Showing up through the gates so soon after a Cleansing would arouse suspicion. Her memory of the town was almost twelve years old, and many things had likely changed since then, so she’d need to depend on him.

  As she strode through the forest, she pictured the town vividly: the streets colorful and vibrant, the sound of merchants, traders, and children punctuating the air. She remembered walking those streets with her parents, holding their hands as they strolled past the vegetable stands and parked wagons. That was before the plague, and before the troubles she’d had at her aunt’s and uncle’s. Everything seemed more prosperous then. Whether it was the innocent gloss of childhood or her own naiveté, she didn’t know, but the memory was comforting.

  William deserved to have memories like that. She’d make sure he had them.

  As the buildings in the distance loomed closer, Ella noticed Bray had sheathed his sword, and she followed suit. It was always wise to stand down while in the vicinity of a settlement. Entering town with a weapon drawn was an easy way to get oneself killed. From what she recalled, there was a wall on the east side of Davenport, but she wasn’t sure if that was where they were headed. Bray had changed course several times; her bearings were lost.

  “Which way are we going in?” she asked.

  “Normally I’d take you through the east wall, but there’ll be too many guards there. I know another way—a path between buildings that’ll bring us closer to the merchants.”

  “Won’t they see us?”

  “Not if we’re careful.”

  She refrained from further questions, content to follow Bray. William scurried closer to her. He’d never been to another of the towns before. Although she’d meant to take him, he’d been too young to travel. It was a shame they’d come under these circumstances.

  Ahead of them, Ella could see the light of a clearing. In just a few feet, the thick underbrush had relented, and the outlines of buildings sprung into view a few hundred yards away. The sight of Davenport proper made her heart gallop.

  Ella listened intently, expecting to hear voices. She could already read evidence of civilization on the ground—broken underbrush, the beginnings of paths, and boot prints in the dirt.

  Bray stuck to the outskirts of the forest, keeping them out of plain view. As they crept through the trees, she tried to separate the buildings from the groping hands of nature, discerning what had once been the ruins of the Ancients. The walls of old buildings had long outgrown their function, and served as barriers to keep the town contained.

  And somewhere inside those walls were the people she’d come to see. Somewhere inside were Aunt Jean and Uncle Frederick.

  She bounced between excitement and fear. How would her aunt and uncle react when they arrived? Would they agree to help? What if they cast her away? She couldn’t imagine them betraying William. Ethan had been one matter, but a child? She swallowed. Every possibility needed to be considered.

  There was a chance they’d be forced to flee. There was a chance the Brighton soldiers would catch up to them. Hell, there was even a chance her relatives would try to have her burned. If that happened, she’d fight her way out of Davenport, she’d get William to safety.

  They were approaching the back wall of a building. Bray pushed aside the overgrowth, exposing the dirt-worn exterior. The building was covered in clumps of ivy, but he cast them aside until he’d revealed a hole in the wall. Through it, she could see the crumbled interior. Beyond the building, through another hole in the far wall, she saw a dirt road.

  Bray put his finger to his lips. “Stay here,” he said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see one of the merchants. He should be able to help us.”

  “What’s his name?” Ella asked, as if she m
ight remember him.

  “Elmore,” Bray said.

  She didn’t recognize the name. “He’ll pay us for the scalps?”

  “Yes, and he’ll have clothing for you, too.”

  Ella paused. “Are you sure we can trust him?”

  “No. But I won’t tell him any more than he needs. When I crawl through this hole, follow me, but stay inside the building. When I’m finished, I’ll come get you.” Bray held out his hands for her pack.

  “I don’t think so,” Ella said. “The pack stays with me.”

  “How will I sell your things?”

  “We’ll accompany you.”

  “In that condition? Not a good idea.”

  Ella looked down at her clothing, still stained in blood. She gave Bray a hard stare. Although she’d trusted him to take them this far, the memory of what he’d done to them in the cave was still fresh. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow him to take her things.

  Bray chortled. He gave Ella a long look, then turned his attention back to the hole. “How about this? Give me three bits of silver to get your clothes. When I have them, I’ll come back and get you, and we can return to the merchants together. But you’ll need to wait in the alley.”

  Ella reluctantly agreed. She tugged off her pack and removed three bits of silver, handed them to him, and watched him disappear through the hole.

  Then she sucked in a breath and followed him through. William stayed close behind.

  The building was dark, damp, and unoccupied. What was left of the floor was covered in rubble and weeds. Ivy clung to the walls and ceiling, as if the forest had slowly been working its way inside. She scanned the dark walls and the corners, ensuring no one was lurking within. Then she stared out of the hole in the far wall at the dirt road.

  She recognized the area. Although time had made subtle changes, she was able to pick out several landmarks—a short building with a cracked door, a taller one with a misshapen roof. A row of wagons waited outside the latter, probably awaiting vegetables from the harvest.

  The road was quiet. There was no one in sight. She’d expected to hear the bustle of the townsfolk, but the street was oddly empty.

  She looked over at Bray, who was standing next to them in the darkened room. In the time she’d been distracted, he’d quietly drawn his sword.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  He didn’t answer.

  The Warden crept through the building for a better look at the street. Ella felt a sudden sense of foreboding, one that slid through her body and wormed its way through her joints. A minute earlier, her primary concern had been encountering the guard or being apprehended by the Brighton soldiers, but now her thoughts had taken a new direction. Where was everybody?

  William grabbed hold of her arm. “Mom? What’s that smell?” he hissed.

  “I’m not sure,” she whispered.

  She knew what it was. It was the odor of death, and it clung to the air like a cool breeze, wafting over the town.

  Bray crept through an opening in the building and onto the street, beckoning for them to follow. With each step, Ella expected to hear the din of voices, the cries of children at play, but there was nothing. The town was silent. It was as if all of the townspeople had packed their belongings and left.

  She held her sword in her hand and kept William close by.

  They traveled the narrow road, expecting to be stopped at any moment by the guard, or a merchant, but the only greeting they received was the occasional caw of a bird. The buildings were their only companions, and the moss-covered walls seemed as ancient as they ever had. Ella’s legs felt tingly and numb, as if something had crawled inside her and taken control. She recognized more and more buildings as they walked, but each one only fueled her unease. All of them were empty. All of them were lifeless. They were approaching the center of town.

  They took a turn, entering one of the main roads that led to the square.

  Ella immediately covered her mouth, bile threatening to spill from her stomach. The mangled remains of the townsfolk were everywhere. Women, children, and soldiers had all been torn apart with equal abandon, mouths hanging open, limbs mangled. Merchant stands—once filled with fruits and vegetables—were toppled, the hay carts overturned and shattered. The carcasses of pigs were strewn about the street, as if their entrails were the last touch in some perverted parade.

  The blood in the road was sticky and wet, and Ella sidestepped to avoid it, as if interacting with it would make the scene real. But it was real, and no amount of avoidance would make it go away.

  The entire town had been massacred.

  The dirt-covered roads, once filled with life, were now carpeted with the blood and bones of the people who’d once walked them. Ella clutched her son with a shaky hand, as much to hold herself up as him.

  “Wh-what happened, Mom?” William whispered.

  She shook her head. There were no words for the scene. The carnage on the mountain had been a mere taste of what was to come, a foreshadowing of the violence they saw now. Who could’ve done this? Was it the demons? A rogue band of soldiers? No one else would be able to reap so much suffering. She surveyed the scene for some evidence, but found herself more confused. Some of the townsfolk had been stabbed, but others appeared to have been torn apart and eaten.

  There was no reason to the madness.

  She took a step forward, almost tripping over the gutted body of a merchant, his entrails coiled around his neck, his tongue lolling from his mouth. A strangled woman lay next to him, her neck purple and bruised. Each spectacle was worse than that last, and each scene was something out of a nightmare.

  They needed to get out of here. They needed to leave.

  But she was unable to move. It was as if the spectacle had rooted her in place, preventing her from doing anything but taking it in.

  Bray walked several steps ahead of them, swiveling from one building to the next, as if whoever—or whatever—had attacked the town would leap out and grab them. But the town was deathly silent.

  There was no evidence of the perpetrators.

  She pictured her aunt’s and uncle’s faces, smiling as they played with William, bouncing him on their knee. They were gone. Even without seeing them, she knew. She choked on her tears. She’d check for them, of course, but she knew…

  Bray walked back to join them.

  “What happened?” she whispered, hoping he’d have an answer.

  “I’m not sure,” he said simply.

  “Who could’ve done this?”

  Her face stung with tears. The Warden didn’t answer. For the first time since she’d met him, she could tell Bray was afraid.

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  Read on for a Preview of Book 2 out Winter 2014!

  PREVIEW: The Last Survivors (Book 2)

  Chapter One: Ella

  They were dead. All of them.

  Ella didn’t need to count the bodies to know that all three hundred of Davenport’s residents had been slaughtered. She reached out for William, but her son had already broken away, and he stepped among the gutted and the strangled, his mouth stuck open in disbelief.

  “We need to get out of here,” Bray urged.

  But Ella’s feet were frozen in place. She scanned the faces of the dead townsfolk, thinking she might recognize someone. A few were familiar, but it was impossible to tell for sure—their expressions were twisted in the throes of death, their features marred with blood and gore.

  “Ella!” Bray hissed, louder. His sword was out, and he spun in a slow circle, as though the perpetrators might reappear. But nothing moved. The village was empty. The smell of blood was thick and fresh enough that even scavenging birds and rodents hadn’t dared venture out yet.

  Ella imagined the cries that had filled the air, the panic that must’ve ensued before the massacre. How could this have happened?

  “We can’t leave,” Ella whispered, still in shock.

  “But we have to—”

  �
�I need to find my aunt and uncle. I need to find…”

  She broke from her trance and darted down the street, collecting William. She leapt over toppled pushcarts and spilled vegetables, holding onto his hand, pushing the images of gore from her mind almost as soon as she saw them. Her feet had taken over for her mind, leading her from one turn to the next, operating on muscle memory and adrenaline. William heaved thick breaths beside her. He didn’t speak, not even to question her.

  Anywhere they ran was better than here.

  She heard Bray’s footsteps behind them as he chased, but he’d ceased calling for them. The village was silent save the clap of their boots, the world as small as the butchered streets before them.

  Ella flew by building after building, barely taking in the sights. Doors hung open with no one behind them. Houses stood vacant. She’d never seen the village this quiet. Except for The Cleansing, of course. Had The Cleansing already happened? It must have. It was an unbreakable tradition.

  This must’ve happened after.

  But none of that mattered. All that mattered to Ella was following her feet and her memory, making her way to the place she’d once called home. With each street they passed, the carnage thickened. Bodies were sprawled in every direction. Not just the remains of the townsfolk, but the remains of animals, as well, butchered and half-eaten. They’d have to run through the square to get to her aunt and uncle’s.

  Things would get worse before they got better.

  Her stomach heaved and churned. But she wouldn’t stop until she’d reached her aunt and uncle’s. In the distance, about a hundred feet away, she saw the steeple of the worship building, the place where she’d spent many days in her childhood. The peak rose a hundred feet in the air, the walls built from the smooth gray material of the Ancients. The structure was as majestic as she remembered it.