The Last Survivors (Book 3): The Last Humanity
Contents
TITLE PAGE
CREDITS
PREFACE
THE LAST SURVIVORS - BOOK 1 & 2 RECAP
Chapter 1 - Oliver
Chapter 2 - Ivory
Chapter 3 - Franklin
Chapter 4 - Ivory
Chapter 5 - Ivory
Chapter 6 - Jeremiah
Chapter 7 - Franklin
Chapter 8 - Fitzgerald
Chapter 9 - Franklin
Chapter 10 - Ella
Chapter 11 - Blackthorn
Chapter 12 - Blackthorn
Chapter 13 - Ella
Chapter 14 - Fitzgerald
Chapter 15 - Melora
Chapter 16 - Fitzgerald
Chapter 17 - Fitzgerald
Chapter 18 - Melora
Chapter 19 - Franklin
Chapter 20 - Beck
Chapter 21 - Winthrop
Chapter 22 - Beck
Chapter 23 - Franklin
Chapter 24 - Beck
Chapter 25 - Bray
Chapter 26 - Oliver
Chapter 27 - Bray
Chapter 28 - Oliver
Chapter 29 - Bray
Chapter 30 - Oliver
Chapter 31 - Bray
Chapter 32 - Oliver
Chapter 33 - Bray
Chapter 34 - Oliver
Chapter 35 - Bray
Chapter 36 - Oliver
Chapter 37 - Beck
Chapter 38 - Oliver
Chapter 39 - Oliver
Chapter 40 - Bray
Chapter 41 - Oliver
Chapter 42 - Evan
Chapter 43 - Ella
Chapter 44 - Fitzgerald
Chapter 45 - Ella
Chapter 46 - Fitzgerald
Chapter 47 - William
Chapter 48 - Fitzgerald
Chapter 49 - Fitzgerald
Chapter 50 - Bray
Chapter 51 - Tenbrook
Chapter 52 - Bray
Chapter 53 - Franklin
Chapter 54 - Fitzgerald
Chapter 55 - Ivory
Chapter 56 - Fitzgerald
Chapter 57 - Ivory
Chapter 58 - Fitzgerald
Chapter 59 - Ivory
Chapter 60 - Fitzgerald
Chapter 61 - Ivory
Chapter 62 - Blackthorn
Chapter 63 - Ivory
Chapter 64 - Franklin
Chapter 65 - Jeremiah
Chapter 66 - Franklin
Chapter 67 - Ella
Chapter 68 - Evan
Chapter 69 - Tenbrook
Chapter 70 - Oliver
Chapter 71 - Tenbrook
Reviews
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Other Things To Read
Copyright Info
The Last Humanity
A Dystopian Society in a Post-Apocalyptic World
Book 3 of The Last Survivors Series
By
Bobby Adair & T.W. Piperbrook
Find us at
T.W. Piperbrook
www.twpiperbrook.com
www.facebook.com/twpiperbrook
Bobby Adair
http://www.bobbyadair.com
http://www.facebook.com/BobbyAdairAuthor
©2015 Ancient City Publishing
Cover Design and Layout
Alex Saskalidis, a.k.a. 187designz
Editing & Proofreading
Cathy Moeschet & Linda Tooch
Technical Consultant
John Cummings
Preface
Before you read Book 3, we wanted to say thanks for continuing on this journey with us. THE LAST SURVIVORS has been a very different and rewarding experience. Bobby and I agree that writing together has created a unique story that neither of us would've come up with on our own. Right, Bobby? (This is where he agrees, or starts ignoring my calls. One or the other.)
Anyway, if you've enjoyed the series this far, you'll know that Bobby and I like surprises. What we didn't anticipate was that some of the characters would surprise us. In Book 3, some of our "minor" characters literally clawed their way onto the page, begging for more "screen time".
But that extra "screen time" didn't come without its scars. In fact, you'll see some of the characters in this book forced into brutal, trying situations, things that will alter how they view and react to the world around them. A few of these characters became our favorites along the way, and have altered some of our plans for the series. Going forward, they will play a pivotal role in how the story unfolds.
Some readers have asked us how long the series will go. Because of the depth of the world and the story, it's going to take some time to tell. Bobby and I agree that we'd rather tell it the right way than end it abruptly and leave you feeling unfulfilled.
Rest assured, we have a definitive ending in mind for THE LAST SURVIVORS. As excited as we are to get there, we're even more excited for the ride.
We hope you are, too.
Tyler Piperbrook
-July 2015
The Last Survivors – Book 1 Recap
Three hundred years after the fall of society, the last fragments of civilization are clinging to life, living in the ruins of the ancient cities in nearly-medieval conditions. Technology has been reduced to legend, monsters roam the forests, and fear reigns supreme. But that is just the beginning.
The wind-borne spores are spreading, disfiguring men and twisting their minds, turning them into creatures that threaten to destroy the townships. Among the townsfolk—the political and the religious—dissension is spreading.
Ella Barrow has discovered that her son is infected with the spore and has spirited him out of Brighton before he can be burned on the pyre. General Blackthorn's soldiers are in pursuit. She has fallen into the company of an unscrupulous Warden named Bray, who for the moment is helping her and her son on the journey.
Minister Beck and his scholars have discovered that through poor management of town resources a famine is inevitable, but Beck is frustrated by his inability to convince the other ministers to do something about it.
Father Winthrop comes to the realization that a council of three ministers led by a brutal General Blackthorn is a form of government that has outlived its ability to rule. His desire to lead a rebellion is growing. He doesn't understand that his pompous, selfish ways have lost the loyalty of his novices Franklin and Oliver, who are unlikely to follow his lead.
Ivory—the son of a man named Muldoon who was taken to the pyre at the last Cleansing—has traveled to the Ancient City where he has met his teacher, an enigmatic man infected by the spore.
The Last Escape – Book 2 Recap
After the massacre in Davenport, Ella, Bray, and William flee into the forest to escape pursuing soldiers while at the same time trying to find Melora, Ella's daughter who might still be alive. William starts to exhibit aberrant behavior due to the spore growing in his body. After a violent encounter with soldiers, Ella, Bray, and William find a disheveled, frightened Melora, clinging to the body of her dead friend.
Ivory learns that his father Muldoon was burned on the pyre on Cleansing Day. Beck, having discovered books on Ivory's person, offers to take Ivory into the Academy as a Scholar if Ivory provides him with more books. Beck believes Ivory has found them in the Ancient City. Confused and disturbed by his father's death, Ivory flees back to the Ancient City to talk to Jingo. He is pursued by the Warden Jeremiah, who Beck has sent after him.
Franklin struggles under Father Winthrop's growing cruelty while he develops a relationship with a girl from The House of Barren Women named Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald later gets caught stealing a
priceless relic from Father Winthrop's personal collection, and Franklin steps in to save her from the pyre.
Blackthorn grooms Tenbrook to take his place as the leader of Brighton. Meanwhile, Blackthorn prepares the army to march to the Ancient City for a battle that seems destined to be the death of them all.
Beck and Evan begin to plot to overthrow the government, or to escape west and start anew with a group of educated settlers. They recruit Oliver as a messenger boy, sending him on several errands. All goes well until Oliver is stopped by a few guards who eventually report back to Father Winthrop. Fed up with Oliver's antics, Winthrop threatens Oliver's life.
Chapter 1: Oliver
With Franklin at his side, Oliver stood under Father Winthrop's seething glare.
The two city guardsmen stood side by side at Oliver's left, smelling of unwashed clothes and muddy sheep dung.
Oliver felt the cold seeping off the soldier's thick leather armor and layers of clothing. The chill that had bled into their garments in the long hours they spent outdoors hadn't had time to thaw. The guards hadn't been inside long. That meant Father Winthrop must have sent Franklin for him immediately upon their arrival. Oliver grew anxious as he worked through the logic as to why he'd been dragged away from his room in such a rush.
A beating was coming, and that was the best he could hope for.
Oliver shivered, not because he was cold, but because by the end of the day, he feared he might be on the pyre pole.
Winthrop harrumphed and looked back to the guards. "Show the boy what you have." He settled back into his puffy throne-chair and looked down his nose.
The guard, the simple one, sheepishly stuck an arm out, palm up, and opened his hand. In it lay three shiny coins.
On top of the dread he was feeling, Oliver was confused. He'd been thinking of a lie to explain the note the guard had seen. He'd also been trying to concoct another lie to explain his presence in the street at night. The sight of the coins gave him the briefest moment of hope. Maybe all of this had nothing to do with his nighttime excursion.
The simple guard dashed those hopes into cruddy nothingness when he looked at a guilty faced Oliver. "Novice Oliver, you dropped these when you stopped to talk with us last night." Then, rushing through the words, he said, "I didn't mean to keep 'em. I…I…meant to get 'em back to you."
Oliver couldn't take his eyes off the coins.
Maybe if he stared at them long enough, he'd delay what was to come next.
Maybe he'd think of a plausible fiction to explain the coins, the guards, and why he'd been carousing around at night.
He started hyperventilating.
The simple-minded guard stepped closer to Oliver. "They must have come out of your sack. My apologies."
A tear rolled down Oliver's cheek.
"Take the coins, boy!" Winthrop bellowed. "Take the bloody coins!"
Oliver lifted his hand but didn't want to reach out, didn't want the incriminating evidence to touch his skin.
Misunderstanding Oliver's trepidation, the simple-minded guard said, "They're yours. I found them right in the snow where you were standing."
"Not right away, mind you," the smart guard said. Anybody could tell that was a lie. "No, not then. We saw them later. After you were gone. When we were making our rounds."
"Yes," said the simple guard.
The guards looked at Winthrop, fidgeting and glancing around.
In a wave of flowing robes and belly rolls underneath, Winthrop scooted suddenly forward in his chair. He boomed, "Take the damn coins, Oliver!"
Everyone flinched.
Oliver extended his hand. The simple guard silently dropped the three glittering circles into Oliver's palm before retreating a few shuffled steps. The smart guard, half bowing, said, "Our apologies, Father. We came here to return the coins as soon as our duties allowed."
The simple guard cast a glance toward the door. "We should go."
"To the circle wall," clarified the smart guard. "We have a duty."
"Go," Winthrop commanded, shooing them with a limp-wristed gesture. He looked away from the guards, his angry eyes settling back on Oliver.
Oliver looked at the coins still glistening in his upturned palm. He wanted to clench his fingers over them, maybe stuff them into his pocket, and hide them. He wanted to toss them away. He wanted to hand them over to Winthrop. He wanted to chase after the guards, shove the coins back at them, and insist they were mistaken.
He needed a fantastic masterpiece of a lie to make all of this reality appear to be something that it was not.
The Sanctuary's heavy double doors slammed shut behind the retreating guards, leaving only the sound of Winthrop's clipped breathing through his big, hairy nostrils.
Without looking up, Oliver felt Winthrop's scowl burning into the top of his head. In the mousiest of voices, Oliver started to speak, hoping inspiration would find its way into the syllables as they came out. "I—"
"Torture me not with your lies!" Winthrop shouted. "My weariness of your wicked ways has run its course. My patience for your petulance has been pissed upon for the last time. You're a stupid runt. An incorrigible pig chaser, just as your father was. Demon fodder. Pyre kindling."
Franklin gasped.
Oliver thought he might lose control of his bladder.
"Please," said Franklin. "Please."
Oliver's tears flowed as he bit his lips, trying not to cry out loud. He was a boy, not a baby.
"Please?" Winthrop's scowl fell on Franklin. "Please, what?" He huffed, pushed himself back in his throne, and started pounding on the arm of the chair with a fist, each blow harder than the one before.
Franklin looked over at Oliver, seemingly lost for words. "He's not stupid."
"All evidence points to the contrary," Winthrop groused.
"He was raised with his feet in the mud and the filth of the pig sty on his hands." Franklin took a step forward. "He doesn't know how educated people behave."
"Educated?" Winthrop spat the word to get the taste of it out of his mouth. "You spend too much time in the company of Scholar Evan. All of my novices have fallen into bad habits."
"I'm sorry, Father," said Franklin. "I didn't mean to use the word that way. I simply meant that he was raised in such squalor and ignorance that he has difficulty learning even the most basic behaviors, things that come naturally to eminent men like you."
Winthrop glared at Franklin. "You learned."
"I started at a younger age," Franklin said, nodding emphatically. "I was able to begin before I picked up too many bad habits of the pig chasers and dirt scratchers."
Winthrop shook his head and heaved a great sigh. He leveled a finger at Oliver but looked only at Franklin. "In all my years, I've not had one like him. I'm at my end. My anger boils so strongly that I fear I'll be in a sour mood the whole of the day. Even the thought of the runt turns my stomach to acid and flusters me with frustrations. I cannot fix that boy. I will no longer try."
"We can't give up," said Franklin, sounding more like a woman than a man. "We must try."
"Orphanage or ash." Winthrop's voice found its fire again, echoing through the big empty temple. "All I must decide is which."
Chapter 2: Ivory
Ivory forged directly down the rocky, snow-covered slope, his feet sliding left and right in his boots as he fought for traction, trying to outrun the bear-man. He looked over his shoulder, but having descended the crest of the hill, he saw no sign of the pursuer that seemed to have been tracking him since Brighton.
The mountains on either side watched him like majestic gods, waiting for him to slip so they could swoop down and devour him. But that was only his imagination.
The real danger was that if he fell and injured himself, the bear-man would overtake him. Either that, or he'd die of starvation, thirst, or cold before making it back to town.
Don't think like that.
Concentrate on your advantages. Do like your uncle taught you.
Alth
ough he couldn't see his pursuer, Ivory was pretty sure his pursuer couldn't see him, either. And Ivory had much less weight to carry. If he fled fast enough, he could outrun the bear-man. He'd disappear into the woods, find a way to cover his tracks, and lose the man.
Ivory hastened his footsteps. He studied the ground. Several times he slipped on ice-capped rocks, cursing under his breath as his ankles complained. He walked low and kept his arms at his sides for balance, but he didn't let up, and he didn't look back.
Soon he'd traveled half the slope. The tree limbs in the forest were like arms reaching out for him, offering a blanket of protection. Once he got there, he'd risk a glance backward and see how the bear-man had fared. Maybe the man had given up and turned around.
Maybe he'd never been following him at all.
Ivory still wasn't sure what the man's intentions were. If Ivory hadn't been journeying to the Ancient City—a practice forbidden by law—he might've risked calling out to the bear-man, gauging his intentions.
He wasn't going to wait to find out what the man wanted.
Ivory cursed under his breath. The trip was supposed to give him time away from Brighton, time to reflect and make decisions about his future, about the life as a scholar Beck had offered him. When he got to the Ancient City, he planned to discuss it with Jingo. Instead, he was embroiled in a chase with potentially fatal consequences.
Damn the gods.
A ray of sun pierced through the clouds, creating a white glare over the snow. Ivory cursed and shielded his eyes from the sparkling slope. Suddenly, he was blind to what he was stepping on. His ankles rolled every which way. He tried to slow down, but he'd gained too much momentum. Ivory cried out as he lost his footing.
He toppled down the sharp slope.
Rocks jabbed his back and stomach. His backpack jostled. His body rolled over and over, spiraling down the hill. The contents of his stomach swirled around and around. He could taste the rabbit he'd eaten the night before; the fruit he'd had in the morning. Powerless to stop, he thrust out his elbows, hoping to slow down, biting his lip as he scraped the rocks. A loud crack pierced the air.