The Last Command: A Dystopian Society in a Post Apocalyptic World (The Last Survivors Book 4) by Bobby Adair & T.W. Piperbrook

Author:Bobby Adair & T.W. Piperbrook [Adair, Bobby]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Ancient City Publishing
Published: 2016-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 40: Oliver

Oliver recognized the voice of Minister Beck in the tent. He panicked. The voice was one of the sounds of Cleansing Day, one of the voices that sent men and women to the pyre. As softly spoken as Beck's words were, they carried the chill of death.

"Speak, boy."

Not knowing what to say, Oliver chose manipulation. Maybe Beck had some pity in his heart. Oliver whimpered, "I was cold."

"You're dressed warmly enough." Beck shuffled and sat up. "Come closer to the candle so that I can see you clearly."

Oliver looked at the tent wall behind him. He could roll back out the way he came, run into the bushes and be halfway down the hill before any of the distracted guards thought to turn around.

"I mean you no harm."

"That's a lie." Oliver hadn't meant for that thought to turn into words. It just did. Like they all did.

Beck laughed. "Why do you say that?"

Oliver didn't answer. He'd made a mistake with his quick, sharp tongue. He looked back at the tent wall. He knew he should run.

"Come, boy." Beck got onto his knees and moved into the candlelight. "I'll make you a deal. I won't call out to the guards. Come into the light and let's talk."

"I'd rather not." Oliver shuffled away until his back was touching the canvas.

"You can leave if you like." Beck sighed. "But I'd thought you were smarter than that. More curious, at least. You don't need to come into the light. I know who you are."

"How?" Oliver was confident Beck was lying.

"Your voice. I've heard it before. You're Winthrop's youngest novice, Oliver."

Oliver slumped. He'd been outwitted. He knew Beck was smart. Everybody said he was, but Oliver thought he could match wits with the minister. He'd let his arrogance convince him to stay when he should have slipped beneath the canvas and run at the first uttered syllable. He'd let his voice betray him.

"Go, if you like." Beck retreated into the shadows, and Oliver heard him lay back down. "Go."

"You know who I am. You can have the guards find me."

"Not if you run now. I have no doubt you could get away."

"They'll find me in the camp in the morning, or when we march tomorrow."

"You're telling me you'd be stupid enough to stay with the army, knowing the soldiers would be searching for you? Why not run into the forest? Be done with this folly. Be done with Brighton and its ignorance and cruelty."

That seemed like an odd segue of questions. Oliver didn't run. "Cruel and ignorant?"

"You're smart enough to agree on that at least."

Oliver paused, then asked, "Did you send Evan to recruit me?"

Beck laughed. "These tent walls give us some privacy, but don't make the mistake that a determined listener would not hear all that goes on inside."

Oliver found Beck frustrating. "Talking to you is not like talking to Father Winthrop."

"Because you can't toy with me the way you toy with him?"

"No," Oliver lied. It was a defense.

"You do. I've seen you do it, on occasion.

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