The Last Survivors (Book 6): The Last Conquest

by Bobby Adair

  Bray heaved winded breaths as he watched the dead man's face hit the dirt. He held up his bloody sword.

  He looked around.

  It was as if he'd broken from a dream.

  All over the forest, men lay dead. None moved. None threatened him, or William, or Kirby.

  Kirby.

  He looked over his shoulder, finding Kirby holding her gun over the body of the man that had run at her. She was grinning and sticking a thumb in the air. "I guess you do know how to fight," she said.

  With the threat past, Bray turned to William.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  William wiped the blood from his face, but he didn't say anything. He looked as if he were too shocked to speak. His curly hair hung in a mop over his forehead, and his shirt had been pulled down over his back, exposing one side of the lump on the back of his neck. Another fear hit Bray. He recalled the words he'd overheard Jingo speaking in the Ancient City.

  "Men descend into depravity after being infected, but some are able to avoid that madness by keeping their distance."

  Was William mad? He considered the way William had run among the demons again in the battlefield. Was William too far gone? What if William's body was a shell, housing a vicious mind?

  Maybe Bray had already failed William—and Ella—a long time ago.

  "William?" he asked again, suddenly certain the boy wouldn't answer, that his suspicions were true.

  William stared at him with a blank look, wiping more blood from his face, revealing a gash on his forehead that the men had caused. His eyes were the same brown color that Bray had remembered. He looked like he wasn't going to speak.

  Slowly, the look on William's face turned to recognition.

  "You saved me from those men," said William simply.

  Relief washed over Bray at the sound of William's voice. "You're damn right I did."

  "But why? You killed my mother." William looked confused, not angry.

  "It was an accident," Bray said, looking around, as if more men might show up. "It might be the stupidest thing I've ever done. I took the most precious thing from you, and all I can do to make up for it is tell you I'm sorry and ask you to forgive me."

  William stared at Bray, no expression on his face.

  "Maybe we can talk later." Bray looked around again. "Right now, you need to believe me when I say we're trying to help you."

  William watched Bray for a moment, as if he was deciding something. Or maybe he already had. His face bore none of the anger that he'd had when he last saw Bray on top of the tower. He seemed tired, in shock, maybe. The gods only knew what he'd been through.

  He looked around at the dead, blood-printed men. Then he looked back at Bray. "Where will we go?"

  "Anywhere but here. Let's hurry, before more of those savages show up."

  William nodded. Then he collected his sword and followed Bray to Kirby and the horses.

  Chapter 102: Oliver

  The afternoon was waning, and no living demon was inside the circle wall. Any outside had run so far into the forest that no one was worried they'd ever return.

  Fitz's soldiers still stood in the towers along the walls, keeping watch anyway. The cohorts that hadn't had to fight were stationed at each gate, just in case the battle wasn't truly over. The piles of rocks keeping the main gates propped open were removed and the gate closed.

  All of the wounded were being tended to.

  Through it all, Oliver had stayed by Fitz, riding on a borrowed horse as she tended to all manner of decisions.

  Finally, she had some time for him, and they'd rode away from the wall where all of the fighting had taken place. Fitz led Oliver to the temple, where they dismounted and walked up the steps.

  Still covered in the grime of the battle, or in Oliver's case, the dirt of living in the wild for weeks, they both stood there, staring through the remains of the charred doors and into the blackened ruins of the Temple.

  Fitz told Oliver the story of what had happened to Franklin, and Oliver cried while doing his best to suck his tears back in and stand straight and stern.

  Finally, Oliver asked, "Is he still in there?"

  Fitz gestured to the rubble under the collapsed roof, fighting back tears of her own. "Yes, but he's nothing but ash and bone. At least he's in the company of people who loved him."

  Oliver nodded through his tears.

  "In time, after the first days or weeks of pain pass, maybe that thought will soothe you," Fitz said. "But right now you need time to grieve."

  Oliver blubbered like a woman, with Fitz's arms around him. He cried until his eyes hurt, his nose was running, and he couldn't cry any more. Feeling shame for his emotions, he wiped his face and pulled himself together enough to speak. "I'm not a child. And men don't cry. I'm sorry."

  "You don't have to apologize. You loved him," Fitz murmured. "I loved him, too. Crying is what people do. It's okay."

  Oliver shook his head as he let go of Fitz and turned around to sit on the steps.

  Fitz sat beside him, close enough that they still touched. She put an arm over his shoulder. "I know Franklin was the closest thing to family you had. Now that he's gone, you and I will have to be one another's family."

  Oliver sniffled and nodded.

  "You can be my little brother."

  Oliver put an arm around Fitz's waist and held her. "Why did Tenbrook do it?"

  "Questions like that are only a way to torture ourselves," Fitz said. "We can't change what happened. Trust me, I asked a thousand such questions after Tenbrook killed Franklin. I berated myself for my choice to encourage Franklin to be what he was, what everyone in Brighton saw in him. He was a hope for something different, and that hope got him killed."

  Fitz shuddered as she pointed across the square to the Cleansing platform, and the dais where the councilmen sat on Cleansing day. "All of this is evil. We watched while we allowed our friends and relatives to be burned. We all cried too many tears, and we all walked our sad path because we thought that was the only one ahead of us. Franklin didn't believe that. He went to the market and talked to everyone who would listen. He taught in the Temple, and he preached in the fields. Franklin was like a light in the darkness, and as I came to realize on all those nights when I was crying into my pillow, there was nothing I could have done to make Franklin anything other than what he was. He was destined to shine so bright that we'd all have to look."

  Fitz was crying by then, unable to speak for all the grief coming to the surface.

  Oliver and she sat together, holding one another until Fitz had cried away enough of her loss that she was able to piece her words together again. "Franklin was what Brighton needed. He showed us all the sickness in our city's soul, and he made us believe we could heal it, even though it cost him his life."

  "Tenbrook killed him," Oliver spat, without the strength of the hate he thought would come with his words.

  "Evil men can't stand in the light," said Fitz. "But what the Tenbrooks of the world will never understand is that when everyone heard Franklin speak, they became a part of him, and he became part of them. Tenbrook killed Franklin, but he didn't extinguish that flame." Turning to look Oliver in the eye, Fitz said, "Franklin lives in my heart, and your heart, and most importantly, he lives in the hearts of everyone in Brighton. He's the light in our darkness, showing us the way to reach the dawn."

  Nodding as he dried the last of the moment's tears from his face, Oliver said, "It still hurts."

  "It will, for a while," Fitz told him. "Maybe always."

  "So you really are the new General Blackthorn?"

  Fitz laughed, though her eyes were still full of tears. "No. I hope not. Maybe I'm the first Fitzgerald."

  Oliver laughed, too, and snot burst out of his nose, which he wiped on his sleeve.

  "Brighton is different now," said Fitz, pointing to the other side of the square, where Blackthorn's former residence sat on the corner. "I live there."

  "In Blackthorns' house?
" To Oliver, it didn't seem possible.

  "You'll live with me, too," said Fitz. "There's room for ten or twelve, at least. Ginger lives there, too, and so do a few of the other women who are helping."

  "Helping?" asked Oliver

  "We have a New Council—not just three, but sixteen of us. We're trying to figure out how to make Brighton a better place."

  "How will you do that?"

  "In truth," answered Fitz, "we haven't had much time to talk about that part of it. We've spent most of our time preparing for this day. Survival had to come first."

  "Survival?" mused Oliver sadly. "Father Winthrop used that word once when I asked him why we burned so many people on Cleansing day. 'Survival,' he said. If we didn't kill the unclean, the spore would taint us all and Brighton would die."

  "This was a different kind of survival," said Fitz. "We had to defend Brighton."

  Oliver apologized immediately. "You're right. I think you saved Brighton from the demons."

  "We all did it together," Fitz corrected.

  "I've heard so many lofty words," Oliver continued, "from Father Winthrop, from General Blackthorn, from Minister Beck, from Jingo. I saw all those men in Blackthorn's army get killed in the forest by the monsters. The demons killed the soldiers in a canyon on the way to the Ancient City, and they massacred us on a hill by the river. All along I heard words that made sense, and I heard words that sounded insane. Even when Father Winthrop spoke his insanity, everyone raised their swords and followed. And they all died thinking they were doing something noble. I don't understand. Maybe I'm too young. I know what words mean. But I see words lead men to do evil things, to one another, and to themselves. How do you know when your words are good words and not bad ones?"

  Fitz wrapped her arm around Oliver and pulled him close again. "Maybe it's not your words. Maybe it's what's in your heart when you say them."

  Nodding, Oliver said, "You have a good heart."

  "So did Franklin," replied Fitz. "Let's try to keep that heart alive."

  Chapter 103: Bray

  Bray, Kirby, and William rode the horses deeper into the forest. Every so often, Bray glanced back at William, as though he might disappear. Sometimes it felt like William was a ghost he'd been chasing since the Ancient City. But this William was real, and Bray would make sure he didn't go anywhere this time.

  "At least we have someone to ride the extra horse," Kirby said with a smile.

  William smiled back. He kept his fingers clutched on the reins as he rode.

  They traveled away from Brighton, keeping a steady pace and looking out for danger. They hadn't seen any men—or demons—since the last encounter.

  He wasn't sure where they were going, but the only thing they were clear on was that they needed to avoid Brighton.

  They traveled for a long while, keeping a steady but appropriate pace for the horses, until the sun disappeared below the tree line and the sky turned crimson orange.

  "We should find a place to rest," Kirby suggested.

  "Not a bad idea," Bray agreed.

  They kept traveling, until the trees around them were just getting dark and they came across a building that was three or four stories tall, covered by dying brown weeds, stuck in the middle of the forest and reaching above the tops of the trees, as though the Ancients had dropped it there.

  "I've stayed in this ancient building a few times," Bray said, pointing at it from his horse. "It should be safe. We'll just have to find a place for the horses on one of the lower levels."

  "I've stayed here, too," William said, recognition crossing his face as they halted their horses.

  Bray looked back at him with a frown. "You have?"

  "I stayed here with mom on the first night we left Brighton."

  A wave of guilt hit Bray as he looked up at the old structure, which contained parallel layers of ancient stone, each with gaps about five feet wide between them where he could see inside the building, which was filled with shrubs and bushes. Square posts supported each level. He envisioned Ella and William staying there, keeping each other safe from the demons in the wild. That image gave him a sadness he didn't know how he'd ever be rid of. "Do you want to look for another place?" he asked William.

  William stared up at the building, his eyes glossed with memories. For a moment, Bray thought he was going to tell them to keep going. "Actually, I think I'd like to stay here. It has a nice view."

  "It certainly does," Bray agreed.

  "We slept on the roof. We saw the mountains from up there. I think I'd like to see that again." William smiled.

  Bray nodded, looking away. He wanted to tell William that he'd buried his mother on a rooftop, too, that he hadn't forgotten her.

  He would, in time.

  Sensing the mood, Kirby said, "Why don't we head inside?"

  Bray and William agreed, and they guided the horses into the building, following the sloping floors up. The garage was darker than outside, filled with weeds and bushes, but enough light slanted through the gaps in the levels to see where they were going.

  "At least I know what this place is, now," William said. "It's a building where the Ancients stored the objects that carried them from one place to another. Like the one we saw in the Ancient City, Bray. Remember?"

  "I do," Bray said.

  "Cars, you mean," Kirby said. "This is a parking garage."

  Bray and William looked at her in surprise. "How did you know that?"

  Kirby just smiled.

  Chapter 104: Fitz

  Insomnia.

  All those nights spent preparing for battle until she was ready to drop, planning and arguing, even fretting when she finally did get to bed, the last thing Fitz expected when the battle was over was insomnia.

  She'd tried to sleep.

  She'd laid in bed for most of the night, but a line of worries marched in circles inside her head, picking up recruits as they went, chanting her inadequacies, telling her that every solution to every question had a better answer than anything she thought of.

  Finally, she gave up and went down the stairs to Blackthorn's great room, sat in his ornate old chair by his ancient table, and watched the embers smolder in the hearth.

  One of the girls who kept the house tidy, one of Blackthorn's former serving girls, was awake and found Fitz. Before the room grew cold, the servant girl piled logs onto the fireplace, and then she asked if Fitz wanted breakfast, even though sunrise was still hours away.

  Fitz reluctantly agreed.

  Stroking the table's fine, polished wood, Fitz fought off memories of a naïve girl from a life that no longer seemed hers. Tenbrook had brutalized her at the table where she now sat. She'd never forget that, or what he'd done to Franklin.

  Fitz still had wounds that ached in her soul, still wore scars on her skin, branded there by Tenbrook's inhuman fetish.

  Time heals all wounds?

  Can anyone live long enough to heal more than they bleed?

  In the frenetic days preparing for the battle, Fitz hadn't given much thought to what victory would feel like. And now, instead of celebrating, she found herself with a new crop of worries.

  Over against the wall sat an aluminum wagon filled with several boxes of bullets and hand grenades, Tech Magic hauled over the mountain by Oliver's new friends. Extra ammunition, they'd called it. They'd asked her to protect it, so others in town wouldn't steal it. The wagon was worth a fortune. It was a trove of power, and it was a reminder of a whole list of decisions that seemed to have no obviously good answer.

  The wagon stood by the wall, not because Fitz wanted what it held, or knew what to do with it. She knew she had no right to steal property, let alone the most valuable thing that had ever rolled into the walls of Brighton. But she couldn't leave the wagon with Ivory and Melora. They were both staying in Ivory's father's house in a part of Brighton where people stole whatever they could sneak away with.

  The wagon couldn't stay there.

  Even letting Ivory, Melora, Beck, and
Jingo keep their Tech Magic rifles concerned Fitz.

  What evil could a man like Tenbrook reap with a rifle in his hands?

  Round and round the worries went.

  She'd had Jingo and Beck escorted by the cavalry to the Academy.

  A mistake?

  Possibly.

  But Jingo had to go somewhere secure until the demon-killing fervor in town subsided and the women who'd won their battle could be counted on to face him with their heads, and not their hearts. Still, secrets never stayed under wraps for long. By morning, everyone in Brighton would know that a three hundred-year-old, wart-covered genius was holed up in the Academy.

  Would the townsfolk decide he was a cannibal or a Tech Magic savior?

  She pictured a mob of women with torches, building a pyre, or storming the Academy.

  Would it come to that?

  If it did, how many would die once Beck and Jingo started firing their rifles? Hundreds? Thousands? If Jingo and Beck were to be believed, the five with rifles had killed thousands of demons with no help from Fitz's army.

  And having put Beck back with his people in the Academy, would the revolution he'd been plotting against Tenbrook be redirected against her and the New Council?

  Fitz heard the sound of someone coming down the stairs, but she didn't turn her eyes away from the flame.

  "Why are you up?" asked Ginger, as she came into the room.

  Fitz shook her head. "I can't sleep."

  Ginger paused and listened for sounds from outside. "The victory chants seem to have finally tired out."

  "Yes, they stopped a while ago," Fitz told her, looking up to see Ginger's red hair standing out in every direction from her head. "I think the storm finally forced the tired townsfolk to get some sleep."

  "The howling wind woke me up," said Ginger.

  "It's snowing. Did you notice?"

  "Yes." Ginger scooted a chair out and took a seat to Fitz's left. "Maybe the early snow means good luck this time." Ginger noticed the look on Fitz's face. "But it looks like you're still worrying. What about?"