The Last Escape

by T. W. Piperbrook

  "Why'd you leave the Ancient City?" Melora asked.

  "A lot of the food had been picked over, either by the demons or others. I was able to survive off of berries and small rodents, but never without worry of starvation. As I told you, it's a dangerous place. I didn't know the terrain. Several times, the monsters cornered me. I finally left after I got trapped inside a building. The demons chased me in, and I found myself on the highest level. I barely fended them off. The only way I survived was by knocking several off the side of the building. I remember their shrieks as they fell." Roger winced.

  "Did you have a sword?"

  "No, but I had a long piece of metal I'd found in the wild. It wasn't enough to keep me safe." He hiked up his sleeve, exposing a four-inch scar on his sinewy bicep. "One of them threw me into a sharp stone during the battle, and I dropped my bag over the edge of the building. My possessions scattered at the bottom, but the area was infested by demons, and I couldn't collect my things. I knew I'd be risking my life if I went down there. So I stayed on top of that building for several days, with no food or water, drinking rain from puddles."

  Melora stared at him, enthralled. "How'd you finally get down?"

  "After a few days, the demons wandered off. I was still injured and weak, so I snuck carefully from building to building, avoiding detection, and finally made it back into the forest. After that trip, I vowed never to go back. It's too dangerous."

  "When did you meet Bernadette and Ashton?"

  "Shortly after I left the Ancient City. Another band of deserters took me in—folks who'd fled the townships or villages, or whose parents had."

  "There are people who have lived out here that long?"

  "Yes. People have been out here for generations."

  "I can't believe that. How long have you been out here?" Melora asked, trying to find the answer in the man's dirt-stained face.

  Roger shrugged. "Twenty years. Bernadette and Ashton have never been to the townships. They were born in the wild."

  "They've never been?"

  "No. And I wouldn't risk taking them there."

  "Not even for supplies? You could always say you were from another settlement. People have moved from some of the farthest places, I think. You could probably even settle somewhere."

  "Eventually the lie would catch up to us. The census-takers would see to that."

  "Yes. They're very strict with the census in Davenport village," Melora agreed. "They have to be, for The Cleansing. The three townships are even stricter, I bet. And besides, after what I've seen at Davenport, I'm not sure anyone would want to live there…" She lowered her eyes.

  At the talk of the village, the children's faces perked.

  "What's it like in Davenport?" Ashton inquired.

  Bernadette waved her hands excitedly. "I hear there's so much food you never have to worry about going hungry."

  "We always have enough to eat," Melora said. Feeling a wave of guilt, she padded her answer. "We have scarce times, as well."

  "How many people live there?" Bernadette asked.

  "Three hundred. At least, they did, before yesterday." Melora glanced at Rowan's sleeping figure, her eyes welling up. "I—we—need to go back. We need to check on our families. Someone might be alive."

  Roger studied her intently. His face was solemn. "The soldiers will be in these woods for some time. It won't be safe. And as you say, the census will give you away. They're probably looking for you already."

  "I don't understand why they did this. It makes no sense." Melora wiped her face, got to her feet, and walked over to the door. She pushed it open, revealing the dense forest they'd just traveled. Talk of the Ancient City and the settlers only served to distract her from her grief.

  Roger walked over and joined her. He stared out into the wild.

  "How have you survived out here so long?" Melora asked. "To think you've never been back…"

  "The townships and the people who live under them are driven by three things, Melora: fear, power, and silver. That's why I prefer to live in the wild. As dangerous as the demons are, they're predictable." Roger sighed. "They'll never take your dignity without allowing you to fight for it. Out here, we have a chance."

  They stood next to each other for a moment, drawing breaths of fresh air. After a pause, Roger pointed to the grotesque, fallen bodies of the demons.

  "We need to clear them from the area so others don't come. Can you help?"

  Melora hesitated. She glanced back at her friend. "I don't want to leave him."

  Roger paused, looking her up and down. He waved to his children. "Ashton, Bernadette, will you assist me?" The children sprang to his attention. "Wait here, Melora. We'll be back in a few minutes."

  "Okay," she replied.

  Before exiting, Roger glanced over his shoulder. His face was hard. "If you take anything from our home, we'll kill you, Melora. I need you to know that."

  Melora opened her mouth to answer, but the man and his children had already left. She closed the door. Melora glanced at the settlers' meager belongings. She couldn't imagine living in the wild, rationing every scrap of food and clothing, no village wall for protection. Demons could run right in the front door. Times had been difficult in town, but they were probably tame compared to what the settlers had to endure. She swallowed.

  She'd experience the same scarcity soon enough.

  Despite her situation, she found herself eyeing the metal on the walls, imagining its value. She shook her head, dismissing thoughts of taking it. She had no intention of robbing these people. She walked back over to Rowan, kneeling at his side. The fresh rags on his foot were already bloodied. His mouth hung open; his eyes rolled back and forth behind closed lids.

  Was he reliving the nightmares they'd witnessed in Davenport? Was he still in pain? Melora closed her eyes and shook her head, wishing the last few days had been a nightmare from which she could awaken.

  Settlers or not, she and Rowan were truly alone.

  Chapter 49: Melora

  When Roger and his children reentered the house, Melora was on the floor next to Rowan, watching him sleep. She noticed Roger staring at his pile of belongings in the corner. She hadn't touched them. He roamed the house for a bit, shuffling through his belongings, then checked on Rowan. For a moment, Melora wondered if his short trip outside had been a test to determine whether she—they—could be trusted. She hoped they'd passed.

  The children cleaned their hands in the bucket, then carried it over by the door.

  "We'll need food and water. It's already dusk," Roger said.

  Melora's stomach rumbled. Amidst the brutality of the past few days, they'd barely eaten or drank. The bags they'd lost the day before had contained the last of their possessions. She glanced at Rowan. His eyes fluttered, as if he'd heard their conversation. A moment later, he opened them.

  "How're you feeling?" Roger asked.

  Rowan smiled weakly. He stared at his bandaged foot. "Not great."

  "We're going to get some water. We'll be back in a while."

  "Are you going to the river we passed?" Melora asked. "The one to the west of here?"

  "No. That river has been overrun with demons lately, but there's a stream nearby. It shouldn't take us long to reach it."

  "Don't the demons ever bother you here?"

  "Not often. We build our homes far enough away from the water to avoid some of the danger. You'll need to keep aware, that's all. Are you familiar with the demon smell?"

  Melora nodded. She still smelled it faintly in her nose and on her clothing—it was seeping into her memory so deeply she doubted it would ever leave. "Yes, I'm familiar with it. I don't think I'll ever forget it."

  "Keep watch out the door, but don't go outside. If you stay put you shouldn't have any trouble. We'll get water and check the traps. With any luck, we'll catch a few rabbits."

  Without further conversation, Roger departed, Bernadette and Ashton on his heels. Melora marveled at the children's devotion. In town,
children their age might be yearning for freedom, aching to play games and roam free. But these children were content to survive as a unit. They had no choice.

  She glanced over at Rowan. He was breathing steadily. He was clearly in pain, but no longer whimpering, at least.

  "I appreciate what you did for me," he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You could've run. Instead, you waited with me. You fought the demons."

  "Do you really think I would've left you?" Melora furrowed her brow, confused.

  "Others might've." Rowan lowered his eyes in shame. "I should've been the one to save you."

  Melora felt a wrinkle of anger. She often forgot what was expected of her gender. The three of them—Rowan, Cooley, and she—had grown up on neighboring farms. Their families had tended the fields together, harvested and sown crops at the same times, and shared meals. When it came time for the teenaged boys to hunt, there'd been no question as to whether Melora would accompany them, at least between her and the boys.

  Even Frederick and Jean hadn't put up much of a fight. Their only warning was to avoid the gossiping eyes of the other villagers.

  Sensing her anger, Rowan said, "I'm sorry, Melora. I just wish we could've saved Cooley. I feel awful for what happened to him."

  "Me too." Melora bit her lip, trying to quell the tears.

  "Do you think we're safe here?" Rowan asked.

  "I think so—for now. But we can't stay forever. These people can barely provide for themselves. It wouldn't be right to burden them."

  "How will we manage on our own?"

  "We'll figure it out, like we did before. We know how to hunt. We can catch rabbits. Maybe we can go to the Ancient City."

  "How would we find our way?"

  "The man we're staying with went there. His name is Roger. He told me about it when you were asleep."

  Rowan succeeded in sitting up. He pulled himself to the edge of the bed and stared at Melora. "What about our families? What about going back to Davenport?"

  "Roger thinks the soldiers will be after us. If they really wanted to kill the whole village, they'll check the bodies against the census. They might already know we're missing."

  "None of this makes any sense…" Rowan shook his head.

  "You're right, Rowan, it doesn't. But if we're going to survive this thing, we'll need to hide for a while. Once you get better, we'll head out on our own."

  They studied the walls, watching the sunlight retreat through the cracks. Outside, the animals chittered and darted through the woods. Melora fought the pit in her stomach. At least we have the walls to protect us, she thought.

  It was much better than spending another night in the trees.

  Melora impatiently fiddled with her knife while she awaited the settler's return. Every so often, she snuck to the entrance and peered out into the forest, expecting to see a legion of demons. But each time she found only the treed setting she'd walked through on the way in.

  Chapter 50: Oliver

  Oliver muttered his way through all the curses he'd picked up through his short life. Some he learned listening to his father; others he learned from random people in the market, when they thought little ears weren't listening. When he got to the end of his list, he muttered through them again, joining them together in imaginative ways that made him giggle a few times. It felt good to get away with uttering the wicked little words without the risk of punishment.

  Unfortunately, none of Oliver's curses helped him read what was written on the page. Were there truly so many words in the world that a message could contain nothing but words he couldn't read? Sure, he knew his simple words—the one-, two-, and three-letter words that glued the bigger ones together. Until the moment he opened the paper, he'd felt confident in his ability. The message, though, rubbed his face in the depth of his ignorance, and that made him sad. Would Scholar Evan truly accept him into the academy if he couldn't read a simple message?

  What if the message wasn't even for the Dunlow twins? What if it was a test? What if it said something like, "Come to the academy after you read this, Oliver. You've passed the test."

  But Oliver knew what his name looked like in print, and it wasn't on the page.

  He refolded the message and stuffed it into his pocket. He sat up on the edge of his bed. He decided what he had to do.

  With the decision taken, Oliver didn't dawdle. He put on his shoes, wrapped his coat over his shoulders, and opened the bedroom door. He peeked out into the hall. He saw nothing but darkness. From somewhere in a distant chamber, he heard Father Winthrop's voice harrumphing between his impassioned whispers.

  Oliver hurried down the hall, through a door that led out of the private temple residences and then out to the front entrance. There, standing on the steps, with a brisk wind cutting through his threadbare coat, he grinned. He was free from Father Winthrop's service, at least for a little while.

  Chapter 51: Melora

  When Roger returned he was carrying a bucket of water. Bernadette and Ashton carried rabbits. Melora sighed with relief, greeting them with a wave. She glanced over her shoulder at Rowan, who gave her a half-hearted smile. She assisted the settlers in getting the food and water into the house.

  "We found two rabbits in one of the closest traps," Bernadette said, beaming. It was the happiest Melora had seen the little girl.

  The settlers set down their belongings.

  "I'm going to start a fire outside, so we can cook before it gets too late," Roger said. "We'll need to make sure it's doused before we sleep."

  "I can skin the rabbits, if you want," Melora offered.

  "That'd be great," Roger agreed.

  Melora followed the settlers outside and assisted them in finding kindling. Once they'd gathered enough brush, they started a small fire and waited for it to burn down. The setting sun had already turned the furthest trees into shadows. The upper boughs provided a dark, looming canopy over the campsite. Melora was reminded of the dread she'd felt the past few nights, staying in the trees.

  The lack of a surrounding wall filled her with uneasiness. But the snow was gone, at least.

  Bernadette handed her one of the rabbits, taking the other for herself. Without hesitation, the little girl peeled the skin from the dead animal, baring the meat on its hind legs and working toward its torso. Melora watched her for several seconds, enraptured by the girl's skill. She'd seen plenty of young ones doing the same thing, but rarely as proficiently. When the little girl had finished, Melora started on her own rabbit, filleting it with a practiced hand.

  After they'd prepared the rabbits, they skewered them on sticks and dangled them over the fire, watching the meat sizzle. The settlers were surprisingly calm, despite the danger of the forest. Every so often, Roger tensed and studied the trees, but for the most part, he focused on his meal. Melora recalled how the settlers had sprung from the trees to dispose of the demons. She imagined them doing the same thing now, if the need arose.

  "Are there other settlers close by?" Melora asked, keeping her voice low.

  "A few, but not many. There used to be more."

  "What happened to them?"

  "Most of our people have been driven away by Blackthorn's soldiers. There was a time when the blue shirts didn't venture this far out into the woods, but they've been roaming further lately."

  "Have you ever fought them?"

  "A few times. But if you kill them, you have to bury the bodies. Otherwise more will return. Most times, it's easiest to flee."

  "Have you ever tried banding together?" Melora asked, growing angry. "Surely with enough settlers you could drive them off."

  "We've tried, but as I mentioned, there aren't many of us left. Besides, if we kill too many soldiers, the missing bodies will draw attention." Roger sighed. "With the children, I'd rather not fight unless I have to. I can build another home, but I can't bring back the dead."

  "Earlier, you said a group of settlers had gone to the Ancient City. What happened to the
m?"

  "We never heard from them again. There are others that ventured farther, hoping to find the edge of the earth, but they haven't returned, either." Roger paused to pull his rabbit from the fire. He plucked off a piece of meat, popped it in his mouth, and licked his fingers. "Our hope is that they've found a better place than here, though I doubt it."

  Once the rabbits were finished, Melora brought a piece in to Rowan, and then assisted the settlers in cleaning up and dousing the fire. They disposed of the remnants in the woods, scattering them to avoid leaving evidence. Then they returned to the house.

  Melora's stomach was full, but she was empty inside. The death of the townspeople was like a sickness that had taken root. Roger gathered up several animal skins from the corner and laid them on the ground for Melora to sleep on. She thanked him and settled on the floor.

  She watched the settlers finish cleaning. Her eyelids were heavy. She couldn't fathom sleeping, but her body ached with exhaustion. The light had dimmed into darkness, making the settlers look like outlines in the room. Roger propped his doused torch against the wall, then laid his sword next to his bedding. She watched him descend to the floor, laying his head on a pile of skins. The children nestled against the wall, sleeping so that they faced the door. She could tell they always slept that way.

  They lay awake in silence, listening to the keen of the wind through the trees. Rowan shifted beside her. In her old home, Melora might've said a silent prayer, drifting off to thoughts of the coming day, making plans to meet friends in the farming fields.

  Tonight, she did neither. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of food, survival, and the haunting faces of her slain friends and relatives.

  Before she knew it, she'd fallen asleep. She didn't awaken, not even when the first fingers of fire licked the branches on the outside of the house.

  Chapter 52: Oliver

  Walking among the merchant's houses, all nestled in their own section of town, Oliver envied the merchants, their wives, and their children. The smell of cooked meats and fruit pies floated up out of their chimneys. Yellow, warm light flowed out through glass windows and into the darkness. Rarely did Oliver see glass windows when he was away from the temple. From inside the houses he heard laughter. He even heard singing in a few. Wealthy, happy people, all fat, all warm.