The Last Survivors (Book 5): The Last Refuge

by Bobby Adair

  A garden. Jingo must've kept one here.

  Most of the crops had already been harvested from the early cold. Bray smiled through his pain at the logic of keeping a garden on the roof. If only he'd believed what the man was before he'd acted. That revelation wouldn't help him or Ella now.

  The birds and the rodents would find her eventually, but she'd be better off here than down in the street. Returning to Ella, Bray lifted her gently and carried her to the garden. Then he set her down and used his hands to dig away at the dirt until he'd reached the stone roof. He took his time, dreading the inevitable finality of what he was about to do.

  It took him several minutes to look at Ella. He recalled the words that settlers and the people of Brighton often said when they buried a relative or a friend. A lump in his throat prevented him from saying them now.

  A gentle breeze blew across the rooftop and tickled his face. He couldn't remember using the word goodbye. He'd never needed it, until now. Gathering strength he never thought he'd need, Bray whispered the word softly enough that he could barely hear it.

  "Goodbye."

  He picked up Ella, placed her in the middle of the garden, and gently covered her with soil.

  Chapter 68: William

  William wandered up the roadway. The demons followed. The pain of losing his mother was tempered by the freedom of finally being alone. No more people to fear. No more wondering if he'd wake up with a knife stuck in his back.

  There were worse things.

  Forcing those decidedly human thoughts from his mind, William walked and walked until the salt air became less prevalent and the demon stench grew more potent. Tall buildings towered on either side of him, whispering secrets. William was no longer afraid of them, or what they held. He was no longer afraid of anything.

  He'd send his creatures after anyone who tried to hurt him, just like he'd already sent them after Melora. Let them have their strange, floating Tech Magic.

  He'd find even more interesting things in the city.

  William comforted himself with that thought as he wandered farther. The bodies of shirtless, blood-spattered men lay in the road. He frowned as he surveyed them. Their bodies were twisted, overlapping with those of the demons. William paused and leaned down next to one of them. He'd seen these men out the window of Jingo's tower, though he'd been too caught up in what was happening to pay much attention at the time. He studied the body in front of him. The man was facedown in the dirt. William poked him several times with his sword, as if the man might spring to life and grab him, even though he was obviously dead.

  The hiss of hot breath through teeth reminded William he wasn't alone. He turned to find the creatures waiting next to him—not screeching or attacking, but standing still. Their eyes flitted back and forth between William and the man, as if they were performing the same inspection.

  William rolled the man over.

  The remnants of a bloody handprint were smeared on the man's chest. Had the man put it there? William had seen several others like him out the windows of the tower.

  William shrugged.

  Most men William knew were afraid of the demons, not heading toward them. He recalled a comment Bray had made earlier, about Blackthorn's soldiers going on an expedition. The man in front of him had scraggly hair; his clothing was beaten and torn. He certainly didn't look like a soldier. At least, not any of the soldiers William knew. William pursed his lips and got to his feet, studying a few others.

  They were dressed similarly.

  The men intrigued him enough for William to follow their boot prints as he walked through the city. Maybe he'd follow these strange, marked men and see what he could find. If he came across Bray on the way, he'd kill him.

  Chapter 69: Beck

  With three pelicans cooking over the fire thanks to Ivory's and Melora's hunting skills, Oliver sat by the fire with Beck, Ivory, Melora, and the demon who talked like a man, Jingo.

  "Do I frighten you, Oliver?" Jingo asked.

  Oliver shook his head. "I'm not very old, but I've learned that monsters can look like men. Why not the opposite?"

  "Don't say he looks like a monster," Beck scolded under his breath.

  Oliver barely gave Beck a glance, just enough to let Beck know that although he was a Minister of Brighton, out here in the wild, he was a man who'd probably die without help. Of course Oliver was in much the same position.

  "I've gotten used to my appearance," said Jingo. "I've met many people through the years. This is not new for me."

  "I'm sorry if I offended you," said Oliver.

  "I'm not offended," said Jingo.

  "Are there many like you?" Beck asked.

  "Not anymore," said Jingo. "There were, back at the beginning. Most of us were hunted."

  "The Ancients didn't accept that you were still intelligent men, despite the way you looked?" Beck asked.

  Jingo glanced at Melora. "There were women like me, too, back when it all started." He glanced at Oliver. "Everybody thought we were monsters. People have always let their fears rule them. A person's appearance has always provided an easy way for a fearful person to label another as good or bad."

  Though Oliver heard no animosity in Jingo's tone, he felt bad as he listened, because he had to admit, he was a little guilty of exactly that. If not, he might have used a word other than monster to describe Jingo.

  Ivory leaned up and poked his knife into the meat of first one pelican, then the others. "These are ready," he announced, as he sliced a piece of meat off. "Help yourselves."

  Oliver, staring at Jingo said, "I have a question that has always bothered me."

  "Just one?" Jingo asked.

  "Kids in Brighton are told stories of the ancient times," said Oliver. "Lots of them. I never believed any of them, but now that I've come so close to the Ancient City, I've seen things that I never dreamed could exist. I think maybe some of the legends were true."

  "Ask me anything," Jingo told him.

  "Did Ancients really fly through the air?"

  "Yes," said Jingo. "We had machines called airplanes. Mostly. We had lots of machines that could fly. But people back in ancient times often flew in airplanes that could easily travel thousands of miles in a single day."

  "Thousands?" Oliver asked.

  "The diameter of the circle wall," Beck interrupted, "the distance if you walk straight across the circle, is two miles."

  "So thousands of miles is very, very far," said Oliver incredulously. "It's hard to imagine that kind of distance."

  Jingo nodded.

  "Is the world shaped like a ball?" Oliver asked, looking at Beck because of their earlier conversation.

  "Indeed it is," answered Jingo.

  "Why don't the people on the bottom fall off?" asked Oliver. "Or do they?"

  "That's a very complicated answer to give you over dinner as I'm sure it'll spawn a hundred more questions. The simple answer is gravity. It's what causes things to fall. No matter where you stand on the ball shaped earth, gravity pulls you toward the center of the ball. So nobody falls off."

  "Okay," said Oliver, skeptically, "I'll accept that for now, but you're right, I do have more questions about that. What about guns?"

  "Guns?" asked Jingo. "What do you know about guns?"

  "They were Tech Magic swords used by the Ancients," said Oliver. "Some of the legendary men used them. They spat thunder and lighting and killed everybody you swung at, everybody."

  Jingo nodded. "Guns are real, but they aren't anything like a sword, except that they kill. But where a man with a sword can kill other men one at a time, a man with a gun might kill tens, hundreds, or even thousands with relative ease. And where a sword can be used to kill a man who is closer than the length of your arm and the sword, with a gun, you might kill somebody twenty feet away, or two hundred yards away."

  "Then," said Oliver, triumphantly, "with weapons like that, how come the Ancients didn't slay all the demons? Why did the demons kill all the Ancients?"


  "Because," said Jingo, "most of the Ancients turned into demons. The answer is more complicated than that, but that is the simplest way to put it."

  Beck leaned forward to cut off a wing, telling Jingo, "I'm going to have a million questions as well, but I've also got to get back to Brighton. Where are the three of you heading? Brighton, I hope."

  Jingo looked at Ivory, and Ivory at Melora.

  Witnessing the silent exchange, Oliver laughed. "They're as lost as we are."

  "We're not lost," Ivory tried.

  "We know where we are," Jingo told Oliver. "We don't know where we're going."

  "How's that?" asked Beck.

  "We were running from the Ancient City when we left in Jingo's boat," said Melora.

  "A boat?" Beck asked, glancing at the shiny compound bow at Ivory's side. "More Tech Magic?"

  "To speak in your vernacular," Jingo confirmed.

  "Come with us back to Brighton," Beck told them.

  Ivory started to agree, but stopped. "I think Jingo would be the greatest thing to ever happen to Brighton, but they'd kill him as soon as they saw him. That's how things are there."

  "What if things were different in Brighton?" Beck asked. "What if things changed drastically enough that Jingo could be accepted, and he could even live in the Academy, unharmed? If that's what he wanted, of course."

  "Not possible," said Ivory.

  "But it is," Beck insisted. "Listen to me, and I'll tell you why. A lot has happened in the last few days. We can stay overnight and leave in the morning."

  Chapter 70: Beck

  After talking through the night, the rain had subsided and the morning sun cast tentative rays of light over the beach and into the ancient building. Beck wiped his eyes, realizing he was too fascinated to be tired, even though he should be. Through the night, Oliver, Melora, and Ivory napped intermittently as they listened to Jingo's stories. He never seemed to tire of talking about ancient times.

  Now they were awake and walking on the beach, taking advantage of the good weather to continue their journey, though it wasn't entirely certain that they were all going to accompany Beck back to Brighton. For the time being, Ivory was in the lead, fifty or sixty yards ahead, scouting and looking for dangers. His hunter's instincts were attuned to the wilderness, and he would better at spotting a danger than any of the rest of them. Melora and Oliver walked together, trading stories. They'd bonded quickly. That left Beck to walk beside Jingo, not far behind the others.

  They'd been walking in silence for some time as Beck mulled over the things Jingo had said before.

  "You have more questions," said Jingo as if reading Beck's mind.

  "I do," said Beck. "I've been thinking about last night's answers, but I wanted to give you a few hours of peace."

  "I've had all the peace and solitude I need for a lifetime," said Jingo, turning to watch the waves. "Ask."

  "Last night, as you glossed over the reasons for the death of all the Ancients, it seemed that you were saying the downfall was their fault," said Beck.

  "You should know," said Jingo, "the Ancients didn't die. The Ancients are us."

  "Us?" Beck shook his head in disbelief. Some part of him had suspected it, when his head was buried in books at the Academy or at night before he went to sleep, but the revelation was shocking just the same. "I don't see how we could be the Ancients."

  "The Ancients were men and women, humans no different than any of us. Or I should say, you." Jingo motioned at Beck, Ivory, Melora, and Oliver.

  Beck chewed on that thought for a moment. "What happened to us? This disease, this spore that we have grown to fear, was it a natural pitfall, then?"

  "On the surface, it was the spore," said Jingo. "In our vanity, we thought we could unlock every secret of nature. We engineered organisms at the genetic level."

  Beck's face showed his confusion.

  Jingo said, "On Earth, there are organisms so small that a million of them could rest on the tip of your little finger and you'd never know it."

  Beck said, "I've come across some of those words in old books, but they're still hard to comprehend."

  "Every living thing is made up of cells as small as those tiny organisms. Within each cell, myriad structures exist. Just as a person has hands and feet, lungs, heart, and stomach, a cell contains organelles that perform the functions necessary to keep it alive. One of the things that exist within a cell is the genetic material."

  "Is that like the cell's brain?" Beck asked.

  Jingo pursed his lips and thought about it for a second. "Perhaps so, perhaps not. Life at that level is different than it is for a complex organism like you and me. In a way, the genetic material is like a book that contains a set of instructions. It tells the cell how to grow, how to reproduce, and how to function."

  "I think I understand," said Beck.

  "With our Tech Magic, as you call it, we were able to change those instructions to make cells do something different than they were intended."

  Beck scratched his head, trying to make the logical jump from changed cellular instructions to anything practical at a human level. "But if there are billions and billions of cells in a single person, did the Ancients have the ability to change every cell in a person's body?"

  "Not exactly," said Jingo. "That's a different discussion altogether, though. We might talk on that for days, or maybe the rest of our lives, and never truly understand it."

  "It's difficult to believe anything can be that complex."

  "Everything is that complex," said Jingo. "In ancient times, the world was full of people who spent their entire lives studying in-depth knowledge that you can only imagine. But getting back to the spore, it wasn't a natural occurrence. Men who sought to make a profit changed the genetic instructions of a particular kind of fungus."

  "A fungus?" Beck asked. "Like a mushroom?"

  Jingo nodded. "There are many types of fungi."

  "How did they hope to profit by that?"

  Jingo laughed. "It will seem ridiculous to you."

  Beck leaned closer. "Tell me."

  "A certain kind of fungus grows under the toenails of some people, causing them to turn yellow. A group of men and women hoped to make money by providing a cure for this."

  "Wait?" Beck raised his hands and looked perplexed. "They were going to profit from people's dissatisfaction with the color of their toenails?"

  "Yes."

  Beck laughed and laughed some more. Then he stopped. He looked at Jingo, as if he might chastise him. "And that was the cause of man's fall?"

  "You might say it was the spark that ignited the flame," said Jingo, "and like any spark, that spark turns into a fire that eventually burns a house down. The people who saw the fire when it was small had the opportunity to put it out, but they didn't."

  Beck nodded. He thought of the nineteen thousand lives that Blackthorn had sacrificed to avoid a famine, and he knew that was true.

  Chapter 71: Franklin

  "May I bring you something to eat, Father Franklin?"

  Franklin blinked his eyes and looked up. He'd been staring again at nothing but the pew in front of him. He was not interested in the pew, of course, but the pew was sitting in his line of vision when his eyes had settled, his head had lolled forward, and his posture had slumped. It was his habit now. He'd lost track of how long he'd been there. As he'd sat, he'd watched more and more of the clergy finding reason to come in and sit apart from one another, joining him. He'd accepted that the pews might never seat the townsfolk again, at least not during Franklin's life. That's what Tenbrook wanted. And now, with the raw wound of Fitz's betrayal angering and hurting Franklin every second he was awake, he knew Tenbrook would get what he'd wanted. He'd won.

  Novice Joseph asked again, "May I bring you something to eat?"

  "No." Franklin hadn't been tempted by the thought of food since he'd spent that morning in Tenbrook's lair.

  "You need to eat something."

  Franklin said nothing,
gestured nothing. He'd already answered the question. Why waste energy repeating words to be nothing but polite? He needed his energy to wallow in his heartache and humiliation.

  Joseph walked around the pew and scooted along the front edge of the one on which Franklin sat until he was standing right beside Franklin. He pointed at the seat and whispered, "May I?"

  Franklin answered with the slightest of nods.

  Joseph seated himself, took a moment to get situated, leaned over, and put his elbows on his knees as though preparing to immerse himself in prayer. He didn't, though. He turned his head and looked up at Franklin, whispering, "You don't need to do this, Father."

  Franklin said nothing. His choice to torture himself through the pain in his heart was something he did have to do, not because he felt it would make anything better, but because his heart was aching from Fitz's betrayal, and because somehow the suffering had become all he wanted out of his waking hours.

  "Food stores are short because of the early snow," said Novice Joseph, "but I've been doing my best to stockpile extra food in our larder. We still have no trouble getting what we need from the market."

  Franklin didn't know what Novice Joseph was talking about.

  "I've heard about you fasting," Novice Joseph sat up and pointed across the rows and rows of pews all the way to the back of the Sanctuary, "and one by one, the rest of the clergy has come to join you. Have you not noticed? They all know you are doing it for the good of The People."

  Franklin turned around, catching sight of the rows of faces behind him. The clergymen's heads were bowed and they were assuming the same position as Franklin. In his distressed emotional state, he hadn't realized what they were doing.

  "No one is eating now. Their novices are in the back row now, doing the same."

  Franklin furrowed his brow as he surveyed the rows of clergymen. It felt like he was breaking from a trance. They weren't joining him in the way they believed. In the quietest voice he could muster, Franklin whispered, "I'm not doing this for the good of The People."