The Last Humanity (The Last Survivors Book 3)

by T. W. Piperbrook

  Ivory shook his head. "I didn't."

  "I have some things we can eat. It won't take me long to cook them. Why don't you relax a while, and we can talk in a bit?"

  Nodding, Ivory lay on the stone. He propped his head up with his elbow, keeping watch over the city, and contemplated all the things that might be lurking out in the wild.

  Chapter 56: Fitzgerald

  Fitz woke up feeling stiff and groggy. She looked at a ceiling she'd never seen before. Her head rested on a giant soft pillow, and the sheets on the bed were as smooth as a young girl's skin. The smell was odd, though, and as she turned to her right, she saw General Blackthorn in a chair beside the bed, looking at her. She gasped. She was in his bed.

  How did she get here?

  "The girl found you downstairs," Blackthorn explained. His voice wasn't commanding. It wasn't angry.

  Fitz didn't know what to say. She guessed she must have lost consciousness after her… She realized she didn't have a word in her vocabulary to describe what Tenbrook had done to her. Attack was the closest thing she could summon.

  "The girl told me it was Tenbrook that did this to you."

  Fitz nodded and felt stiffness in her bruised muscles, felt the skin around her scabs tear.

  "I had the women clean you and put you here."

  Fitz opened her mouth with a question, a thousand questions. Was this the same brute that had manhandled her into the hallway and thrown her on the floor?

  "You've been since here yesterday," Blackthorn said.

  "Asleep?" Fitz asked.

  "On and off."

  "Why?"

  Blackthorn cocked his head as if he didn't understand. "Why what?"

  Fitz closed her eyes and wiggled her toes. She moved her fingers, feeling a sudden need to evaluate whether all of her parts worked anymore. "I don't understand."

  "Tenbrook." Blackthorn said the name with a sadness that bordered on desperation. "The things the women say." He shook his head. "You learn through the years to discount rumor as exaggeration." He frowned. "To be pointlessly cruel." Blackthorn shook his head again.

  Pointlessly cruel?

  Fitz looked toward a window, not wanting to betray her thoughts at the irony that Blackthorn was seemingly disappointed at Tenbrook's cruelty.

  Tenbrook.

  The sound of that name in her thoughts made her shiver. Her lip quivered as violent memories, raw and depraved, came back to make her cry.

  She sniffled and blinked.

  "Are you in pain?" Blackthorn seemed genuinely concerned.

  She'd never heard that tone in his voice. She'd have been willing to bet he wasn't capable of expressing it. This was the man who had spiked all those people in the square, even her friend Jenny. Fitzgerald wondered if all the pain in her head had caused her brain to cease functioning properly. She wondered if she was still asleep and falling into a twisted nightmare.

  "I have a man who can see to your wounds." Blackthorn leaned over to a small cabinet beside the bed and came back up with a bottle of ale in his hand. "Enough of this might do as much. I have little faith in healers who seem seldom to make anyone better."

  The idea of Blackthorn soothing his pains like a regular man seemed funny for reasons she couldn't explain. Fitz wanted to laugh, but everything hurt so much.

  Blackthorn almost smiled. He held the bottle out to Fitz.

  She painfully propped herself up on an elbow, accepted the bottle, and choked down several long gulps. "Thank you."

  With a nod, he took the bottle back, keeping it in his hands should she require more. He looked away from her. "I'm not used to saying such things, but I feel I must tell you that I apologize for what I did."

  "No," Fitz said. "I shouldn't have let myself into your room."

  Blackthorn looked at his bed and his face transitioned through anger and embarrassment before returning to shame. "I'm afraid I've lived long enough that I've succumbed to an old man's disease."

  Fitz didn't react. She didn't know whether to nod or deny. She understood what Blackthorn was talking about. Some of the very old men lost their ability to control when they pissed. It was a sad thing to see when it happened. For half a second, she felt empathy for the old general.

  "It shames me." Blackthorn looked over at the door out of which he'd tossed Fitzgerald. "It was my shame that caused my anger. It was not your presence. Please accept my apology."

  "Of course," said Fitz. What other choice did she have?

  With that out of the way, the two remained in silence for a while. Fitz tried to come up with something else to say. Her discomfort grew the longer the General stared.

  Finally, he broke the silence. "My healer didn't look at you, but he told me that if you awoke, you'd probably recover."

  That surprised Fitz. And it frightened her. Had Tenbrook's cruelty almost killed her? "Could I have died?"

  Nodding, Blackthorn said, "It was a possibility, I suppose."

  She thought of Franklin and Oliver. What were they thinking had happened to her? She'd told no one where she was going when she left.

  "I sent word to the temple a short while ago," said Blackthorn, seeming to read her thoughts. "I should have done so sooner."

  "Thank you."

  He nodded.

  "Why are you being kind to me?" Fitz immediately chastised herself for asking the question. She'd been thinking it since the moment her eyes opened, but hadn't intended to verbalize it.

  Blackthorn's eyebrows pulled together, and he wrinkled his forehead. "I understand why you ask that." He heaved a sigh. "People fear me."

  Fitz opened her mouth to contradict him, but couldn't force herself into that stark of a lie.

  "It's okay. I know they do. I make them fear me."

  Fitz nodded. She knew that was true, from the bottom of her heart. She'd feared General Blackthorn from the moment she was old enough to understand who he was and what he did. He had the power of life and death in his hands, and no qualms about wielding that power.

  "The difference between Tenbrook and me," said Blackthorn, "is that Tenbrook seems to pleasure himself in cruelty. I don't use fear because I enjoy it. It is a detestable thing. For me, it is an effective tool for governance, nothing more. I'll see that he doesn't harm you again."

  Chapter 57: Ivory

  Ivory threw his hands in front of his face, defending himself from a snarling animal. Teeth snapped; claws dug for his throat. Yellow, caustic eyes burned into his. It took him a second to realize he wasn't being attacked, but that he was at Jingo's, and he'd fallen asleep.

  Remembering the bear-man, Ivory peered out of the tower and over the city. He hadn't slept long. He'd only napped. Emerging daylight splashed over his face, indicating it was still morning. His brow was covered in sweat, which had bled through the cold due to the intensity of his nightmare.

  He squinted into the sunlight, but didn't see anything menacing amongst the rubble. Tall rows of buildings sat one behind another, arranged in stolid pattern, their once-smooth edges cracked with decay. The thick green growth that once traveled up the sides and out the windows was brown due to the onset of winter. Ivory thought again how the buildings looked like they'd dropped from the sky and been planted into the ground. If Jingo hadn't told him that the city was built by the Ancients, he might've believed it to be built by the gods. Past the rows of seemingly never-ending buildings, he saw the ocean, silently creeping against the shore.

  Movement behind Ivory startled him. Spinning, he saw Jingo sitting on a rock.

  "I didn't see any kind of bear-man below in the streets while you were asleep. I think we're safe." Ivory's expression must've showed he wasn't convinced. Jingo continued. "Even if someone was following you, it's rare for people to venture into the Ancient City."

  "I know."

  Heart thudding, Ivory sat up and surveyed the bowl of soup Jingo had prepared for him. "I figured you'd be awake soon," Jingo said. "So I heated this up."

  The smell of spices made Ivory's st
omach rumble.

  "What is it?" he asked, rubbing his bleary eyes.

  "Pigeon and herb soup," Jingo replied.

  Wiping the remaining sweat from his brow, Ivory leaned over and picked up the bowl. He inhaled the aroma, letting it calm his nerves. He didn't say anything to Jingo about his nightmare. He was embarrassed.

  "How did you catch the pigeon?"

  "It had a broken wing." Jingo pursed his lips. "I found it on one of the lower levels. It wouldn't have survived long."

  Ivory nodded. He knew that was true.

  "Something else is wrong," Jingo announced, after watching him for some time.

  "Yes." Ivory paused a moment. He took another sip of soup. Suddenly, he wanted to hold in the news as long as he could, as if saying the words would make them true. Or he'd have to accept them.

  Finally, he told Jingo about Muldoon. His voice cracked as he spoke of The Cleansing. He looked away.

  "I'm sorry to hear about your father," Jingo said.

  Ivory was surprised to find his anger had faded. In its place was a dull sadness. "I didn't expect it to happen this way. I mean, I knew it would happen sometime, but…"

  "There's no way to prepare for these things," Jingo said solemnly.

  "I spent so much time hating him, I forgot what he looked like." Ivory sighed. "I don't even remember the last conversation we had, or the last time I looked him in the eyes. I don't have a last memory."

  Jingo remained silent, watching Ivory eat his soup. His presence was comforting. When Ivory had finished, he set the bowl aside and they stared out over the Ancient City together.

  "I have similar regrets," Jingo said. "Some of the people I lost hundreds of years ago, but I still remember the fights we had. The differences we had seem so insignificant now."

  Ivory looked over at Jingo, surprised. In the time he'd known him, he'd always thought of the man as a loner. He still had trouble believing the man was as old as he said he was. "Did you have a family, Jingo?"

  "Yes," Jingo confirmed.

  "A wife? Kids?"

  "Yes. Both of those." Jingo lowered his head.

  "I can't imagine that. Where did you live?"

  "We lived here, at one time," Jingo said, beckoning to the city.

  "Out there? In one of the tall buildings?" Ivory's eyes widened with awe.

  "Yes."

  "I'd like to see where you lived, sometime."

  "The building is so caved that you can hardly get inside anymore. I used to visit, but there's nothing left to see. All that's left of my family is in here." Jingo lowered his head and tapped one wart-covered temple. "Sometime I might tell you about them. But not today." Ivory saw a flicker of sadness in the man's eyes, but before he could apologize, Jingo stood and cleared his bowl.

  "I'm taking you somewhere else today," Jingo said, changing the subject.

  "Where?" Ivory asked, grateful the conversation had taken a turn.

  "It's a surprise." Jingo smiled.

  Ivory nodded, his sadness melding into curiosity. "What is it you have to show me? A lesson? Something I've never seen?"

  "I guess it could be both," Jingo mused. "But it's something you'll like, I think. You'll see when we get there."

  Unable to hide his eagerness, Ivory stood and stretched. His body was sore, but he didn't complain. He wanted Jingo to take him. It'd be better to learn than to spend the day nursing his wounds. After wiping his face, Ivory stood and waited for Jingo to lead the way.

  "I have something else for you," Jingo said.

  "What is it?"

  "Something you'll need." Ducking behind a piece of Ancient stone, Jingo reemerged with a smooth, gray bow.

  Ivory's jaw dropped.

  The bow was made of Ancient metal. The limbs were carved with markings he didn't understand, bent at angles he'd never seen. On the top were wheels, connected by several strings. Ivory's bow had only had a single string.

  He'd never seen anything like it. He studied the unique object in disbelief.

  "What's it made of?" he asked in a half-whisper.

  "Aluminum," Jingo said. "It's a type of Ancient metal, preserved over time. I don't believe this bow has ever been used, though I could be wrong. The strings were decayed, so I restrung it."

  "Where'd you find it?"

  "In the city," Jingo said, with a shrug. "I've been saving it for you. Here, have it."

  Ivory stared at the weapon, afraid to take hold of it. Finally he allowed Jingo to pass it to him. He ran his fingers along the edges, trying to envision the Ancients creating it. The image gave him chills.

  "How does it work?" he asked, his eyes wide.

  Jingo held up a shaky finger and ran it across one of the strange metal wheels. "The wheels make the bow more efficient. The Ancients call this a cable and pulley system. When you pull an arrow back to its holding position, it takes less force to keep it there. The bow shoots faster and farther than the one you had before."

  "I can't imagine that. Even faster than my uncle's…?"

  "It's called a compound bow." Jingo smiled. "Try it. You'll see. Do you have arrows?"

  "Yes, left over in my bag. And here," Ivory said, pointing to the quiver on his belt. He was still in disbelief. "Is this the surprise you wanted to show me?"

  "No. It's something else. Come with me, and we can try out your new bow. Then I'll take you to the surprise." Jingo pulled on a hooded cloak.

  Ivory smiled, his anticipation of the next surprise as great as his joy at the new gift. He slung the bow over his shoulder, unable to stop turning his head to look at it. All he could think about was shooting it as they made their way down the stairs that led from the center of the roof.

  Despite Jingo's age and joint pain, he maneuvered down the steps and over the rubble as if he was a much younger man. After traveling down a few flights, Jingo stopped, motioning toward one of the more stable layers of the tower. They stepped off the stairs and onto the floor. Brown plants snuck through the cracks, providing contrast to the stone. Sunlight splashed in through one of the missing walls.

  "Why have we stopped?" Ivory asked, confused.

  Jingo pointed across the room. Propped against one of the intact walls were several bundles of grass.

  "I made them from the streets below," Jingo explained. He smiled and pointed at Ivory's back. "I did it so we can practice safely. Why don't we try out your bow?"

  Swallowing, Ivory retrieved an arrow from his quiver and held up his bow. He fiddled with the arrow as he nocked it, struggling to make sense of the foreign device. Jingo leaned in and helped.

  Ivory was surprised to find how lightly he had to hold the arrow, after the initial pull.

  "This will save your strength," Jingo explained.

  "I barely have to hold it," Ivory agreed, in amazement.

  He aimed at one of the sacks and let go of the arrow. The arrow thunked into one of the grass bundles. Ivory watched incredulously.

  "I can't believe how fast it flies, and on a much flatter arc," he observed. "So much faster than my other bow…"

  "It'll take some getting used to, but you'll do well with it."

  After Ivory practiced a while, Jingo announced they should get going. Ivory accompanied Jingo down the remaining layers of the tower, gripping his bow with the excitement of a child holding his first silver coin.

  Chapter 58: Fitzgerald

  "The look on your face is what I'd expect." Blackthorn was clearly disappointed.

  Seeing the disappointment along with all the other emotions that crossed that face, Fitzgerald was confused. She'd always pictured Blackthorn as chiseled from emotionless stone, but now he almost seemed human.

  "I've never sought understanding or approval for what I've done," he said. "I accepted the responsibility of my place in this world, along with the limitations of my abilities."

  Fitz shook her head slowly. "I don't understand."

  "Perhaps a smarter man would know how to keep order without the barbarity that I use. Perhaps
a man with more charisma could have made people want to work the fields, march in the army, and suffer The Cleansing without the threat of pain and death. Sadly, I was not that man. I never was. I was born for the saddle. I was reared to be a fighting man. The rules I learned served me well when swords were raised, and the demons were gnashing their teeth."

  Fitz nodded, though she still didn't accept any of what Blackthorn was saying. Surely there had to be other ways to rule the people.

  Blackthorn adjusted his position in his chair as he changed the subject. "You've heard the tale of Lady and Bruce?"

  "Yes," said Fitz. "Every child knows it was those two who founded Brighton after the demons conquered the world and killed the Ancients."

  "There is an obscure part of the story that is not known by all," said Blackthorn. "The clergy tell it among themselves. Some of the more learned men in town pass it down to their children. The simple folk tell the simple version."

  Fitz watched Blackthorn with the question on her face.

  "It was after the town was established, right here within the circle wall. It was before the first fifty-seven lived here. There were more people then, seventy-eight I think. Lady, being a barren woman, had her authority challenged by a group of survivors, twenty-one of them. The story goes that with little more than the power of her fists, she cast those men out. Afterward, the first fifty-seven laid the foundations of Brighton and became the ancestors of all people alive today."

  Nodding, Fitz said, "I've heard that version of the story."

  Blackthorn half smiled. "People see Lady as a hero, correct?"

  "Yes," Fitz agreed.

  "In her way, she was the mother of the first fifty-seven," said Blackthorn. "The part about the story that never gets talked about, though, is the stark reality. Lady was a cruel murderess."

  Fitz gasped. To call Lady, a person as near to godly status as anyone in history had ever been, a murderess was the kind of blasphemy for which Winthrop would tie a person to the pyre pole.

  "Is there another way to think of it?" Blackthorn asked. "Lady put those twenty-one outside the circle wall. Logic tells us they all died."