4.0 - The Last Command

by Bobby Adair

  Father Winthrop's sermons were drilled into their hearts.

  Tenbrook cleared his throat and said, "Scholar Evan, please stand and face the inspectors."

  Franklin's body unclenched as he realized what Tenbrook had said. His relief immediately flew to guilt. His friend had just been condemned to die. He couldn't let that happen. Forcing himself into action, Franklin stood. He cleared his throat. His hope was that he might prepare a sermon—some rousing speech like the one he'd given the other day—to protect Scholar Evan. He never got a chance. The guards knocked him aside as if he were a street dweller, cutting off any speech he might've made. He caught his balance before he fell to the ground.

  Scholar Evan squeaked in fright as the men half-dragged, half-carried him across the dais. His eyes were wide and manic as he tried planting his feet, but he was no match for strong men who hefted swords and slayed demons.

  "Wait!" Franklin yelled, finding his voice at last.

  He took several steps and stopped. The crowd swiveled to face him, but Tenbrook dismissed him with a wave. Evan yelled something unintelligible at Franklin before he was delivered to the pawing hands of the inspectors. They circled him and tugged at his clothes, burying him in a circle of interrogation.

  "I'm not smudged!" Evan shrieked.

  He emerged a few seconds later, disheveled, naked, shivering. The soldiers spun him sideways, pointing to a single bruise on his side.

  "Right here, sir," one of them said. "A smudge."

  Tenbrook strode over as if he were preparing a killing blow, still ignoring Franklin. "Do you see this?" he proclaimed to the gasping audience and to Franklin. "One of our Elders has concealed his uncleanliness. A Scholar! An esteemed member of the Academy! An appointed Elder of Brighton!"

  One of the women in the front row toppled sideways. Her family caught her before she fell.

  "One of the soldiers punched me this morning in the marketplace!" Evan explained in a voice that sounded too nasally to be his. His fear turned to horrified understanding as he realized what had been done to him. "He set me up!"

  "It's a sign of the infection! Any of these people can see that!" Tenbrook shook an enraged fist. "Does anyone dispute the existence of this smudge? Does anyone dispute the mark of the unclean?" He bellowed the words, as if the next person to speak might be burned.

  Swallowing his fear, Franklin walked across the dais. This time, his voice found volume. "Captain Tenbrook, I won't dispute that Evan has a bruise. But surely there is a mistake. There might be some other way this was received, some manner of—"

  "There is no other way!" Tenbrook roared, his voice turning to anger. The insistence in his voice might as well have been a clenched hand, strangling Franklin into silence. "This temptation to lie must end! We will not have our own Elders turning a blind eye to the truth!"

  Franklin's desire to defend Evan was trumped by the very real fear that he'd be thrown on the pyre. His eyes welled up as he appraised his helpless friend, a man with whom he'd shared meals and stories, a man who was going to die.

  "Franklin! Please stop him!" Evan's mouth bubbled with spit as he begged for mercy.

  Tenbrook lowered his hands to his scabbard. For a second, Franklin feared he might pull his sword and end the pleading Scholar's life if he spoke another word. Instead, he stepped back and appraised the audience, the maniacal look in his eyes fading when he realized Franklin wasn't going to speak.

  "This man hasn't earned the right to the blade. He's concealed his uncleanliness. By doing that, Scholar Evan has earned the pyre."

  **

  Franklin made the walk to the square in silence. The clergy followed. The walk reminded him of the one he'd made when he followed Father Nelson, only this one required his silence, not his action. He contemplated running at the guards, doing what he could to free his friend. But that act would be brash and ineffective.

  If Franklin were killed, he'd leave Tenbrook as the only remaining ruler in Brighton.

  Burn one today, save twelve tomorrow.

  Damn those words!

  Franklin's silence was a trap of guilt. Either way, he lost. He watched helplessly as the soldiers bound the screaming men, including Evan, to the poles. The crowd watched with a single, held breath as the first man—a black-haired man with stubble—screamed into his gag, trying to get the soldiers' attention. The soldiers ignored him.

  The women in the crowd were too shocked to sing the fire dirge. The soldiers surrounded him and held up the torch. They lit the kindling, watching with stone hearts and faces as the flames rose, licking the condemned man's boots, then his pant legs. A baby cried, wailing in unison with the first man's agonizing screams into the cloth over his mouth. Immobilized by the ropes and unable to speak, the man wagged his head back and forth, as if that might somehow free him from the pain.

  It didn't.

  The soldiers walked to the next man in line, a deserter with long scraggly hair. They lit him up only when his predecessor had stopped moving, ensuring he'd watch the previous man burn. It was a heartless tactic that Franklin had never seen, not even under Blackthorn's rule. He shuddered with fear.

  The gagged screams of the burning men died down as the soldiers lit up the Dunlows. Timmy was first. His face contorted in agony as he let out a muted shriek. Franklin felt a cold pit in his stomach as Timmy's muted shriek became Tommy's.

  Evan burned last. Even though he wasn't gagged, the Scholar remained silent, as if he was thinking up a logical plan to escape. But there was no logic behind brutality. They all knew it. Once a person's feet and hands were bound, they were halfway to the grave.

  Evan had been right. So had Minister Beck.

  Evan found Franklin's eyes and opened his mouth, as if he might issue a final warning. Instead, he shouted a string of disconnected, illogical phrases. His mind had given way to fear. His brain was numb with terror. Franklin's legs buckled as Evan twisted and flailed on the pyre pole, his shouts turning to screams.

  Franklin found Fitz in the crowd. She stood rigid, waiting behind the Clergy, her helpless look mirroring his own. She met his eyes.

  They shared an expression that needed no interpretation.

  We're next, that expression said.

  Book 5: THE LAST REFUGE coming soon!

  Preorder it now on Amazon!

  Por Favor

  So, TW and I have just wrapped up this book and I'm sitting on the porch with my laptop thinking, I've got a bit of a problem. And it seems like a big problem to me, probably something I spend way to much time fretting over, but it's probably not huge, as far as problems go.

  And that got me thinking about how TW's brother is currently overreacting to a letter he got from the court because he skipped jury duty. Of course, he was living in another state when the summons came, so it's really no big deal if he explains it to the judge or clerk or whoever. He's just making it a bigger problem in his head than it really is.

  Out in the sun in the yard, my dog Disco is laying and staring at the fence. There's a little green anole (lizard) over there by the bush and she wants to chomp it. But she's got to lay in the sun long enough so that the lizard forgets she's a dog and thinks she's a shadow. Then she can throw some lightning quick stealth move and surprise the anole. It hasn't worked any of the three thousand times she's tried it so far, but still she stresses about it. I can tell by the way she whines and jumps around as I'm letting her out of the house. She can't contain herself.

  Then there's my other dog, Beezle. He's on a prescription diet from the vet; not because he's overweight, because he's not (maybe just a little), but because he's got terrible allergies. So, we pay way too much for his food. To show his appreciation, he's out in the yard right now sniffing around a pile of his poop because he's thinking about eating it. His biggest worry in life is that he feels like he doesn't get enough to eat. Heck, two nights ago Kat and I went out to dinner and came home to find that Beezle had taken an unopened can of dog food off the counter and chewed on it until he
'd destroyed it and gotten all the food out. Clearly, he's got too much anxiety over his food.

  So, getting back to my problem: reviews. I know it helps a book's sales if readers leave reviews or just star ratings at the website where they purchased their copies. And I worry too much about how many reviews a book does or doesn't have. So, I'll ask you, now that you've finished the book, please take a moment to leave a review. For my part, I'll try not to worry too much over it and I'll look at the bright side of my problem: at least I'm not thinking about eating my own poop.

  -Bobby

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  Typos

  We do our best to make sure all our books are edited and proofread, but occasionally something slips through.

  If you find a typo in THE LAST COMMAND, let us know at: http://www.bobbyadair.com/typos

  Other Things To Read

  Since THE LAST REFUGE isn't out yet…

  If you'd like to read something else by T.W. Piperbrook, the CONTAMINATION series might be your thing. It's a fast-paced, action-oriented zombie series with a twist. Check out the Boxed Set HERE.

  If you'd like to read something else by Bobby Adair, Ebola K might be a good choice. It follows the collapse of the society through the story of several people struggling through an ebola epidemic. GET IT HERE.

  Text copyright © 2016, Bobby Adair & T.W. Piperbrook

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.