Echoes of a Dying World (Book 3): A Dream of Tomorrow

by Esquibel, Don M.

  I can’t blame my family for their animosity toward Frank and the remaining Animals. It’s so much easier to hate than to trust in the world today. But I fear what will become of us if we let that hate consume us. Faces of my past flash through my mind: Clint, Connor, Boss, Barr. I’ve seen what happens to those that do. Resolve settles deep inside of me. I won’t let that be our fate, regardless of what happens here.

  I lose track of time, but finally, Lylette enters. The reassuring smile she wore earlier has long faded, her mouth set in a grim line that matches the rest of her features. Half of us rise to our feet, eager for whatever news she brings.

  “The council would like to meet with you,” she says. She turns to Frank. “You as well.”

  “About time,” Richard says, making to move past. Lylette holds up a hand to stop him.

  “No,” she says. “Their request is solely for Morgan and Frank.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder, quelling the challenge on his tongue. He looks to me and I stare back, trying to convey my message with my eyes. Trust me. I’m not sure if he gets it, but he nods all the same.

  “I would be glad to meet them,” I say.

  I turn to Lauren, needing that breath of calm I can only find in her eyes before I take my leave. I feel that breath move through me as I stare into those green depths, a message of her own passing between us. You got this.

  Frank and I follow Lylette out into the cold, circling around the back of the house. A path has been shoveled, revealing hints of the stone pathway underfoot. She leads to the back entrance and we enter into a small mudroom. She brushes off any lingering snow with a broom propped on the wall and instructs us to do the same. Finished, we enter into a spacious kitchen, the smell of cooking meat intoxicating. My mouth waters. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve eaten. Several men and women pause their work to watch us pass in mild curiosity. A hallway off the kitchen leads past several closed doors. At the end of the hall, she stops and knocks. The door opens a moment later, Byron filling the frame.

  The room is barebones, the only decor being the ornate wooden table at its center and an oil painting of The Last Supper on the far wall. Around the table sit three men and two women, eyeing us with intense scrutiny. I scan each of them in turn, settling on the man in the middle. The only one I recognize.

  “Gentlemen,” Philip says in greeting. “Please be seated.”

  Frank and I do as instructed. There’s a long pause, Philip and his fellow counselors continuing their appraising stare. Neither Frank nor I speak. This is their show, not ours. And when Philip speaks again, I know he’s the one running it.

  “El Matador in the flesh,” he says. “Your reputation precedes you.” He makes no effort to hide the distaste in his voice, one clearly shared by the rest of the council. I feel Frank tense beside me. We both knew this conversation was inevitable, but it doesn’t make it any easier to have. Philip waits for Frank to respond. When it becomes apparent he has nothing to say, he continues.

  “It’s been brought to our attention that a brother and sister of ours were killed in a recent attack; one that also claimed the lives of a half dozen recruits, as well as the capture of two more of our own, one of whom remains missing. Can you shed any light on the matter?”

  “I’m afraid everything you were told is true,” Frank says. “I led the attack. Your people were killed on my orders. I won’t insult you by making excuses or pretending otherwise. It’s true I only did those things to keep my daughters alive, but that doesn’t erase them, nor does it make the loss of your loved ones any easier to bear. I can see the blame in your eyes, the hatred. I don’t begrudge you either. Some of you might even see this as an insult—my very presence a slap in the face of those you lost. That is not my intention. All I can do is own up to the mistakes I’ve made, and pray you give me the chance to attempt to amend the wrongs I’ve done.”

  A bitter laugh sounds from the woman on the far right. “A pretty speech,” she says. “Tell me, do you think my daughter rests easier now that you’ve said it?” Her words are laced with pain and anger, her eyes like slits as she stares him down. Frank, for his part, knows better than to answer.

  “Nothing?” she prods. “Answer me this then: if it was your daughters who were taken from you, would you be able to forgive the man who took them? Could such a man ever make amends when their blood stains his hands?”

  Frank looks up, his eyes finally meeting hers. It’s a testament in itself that he does not look away. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he says. “Lord knows I could never forgive a man for taking my daughters away from me. I would want him dead, and I would want to be the one to pull the trigger. I know you feel the same.”

  He pauses, his eyes sweeping from the woman to each of the councilors down the line. “Don’t think I haven’t considered the repercussions from coming here,” he says. “The second I entered this room, I knew there was a chance I might not leave it.”

  There’s another pause, heavier than the last. “Then why come?” the man on Philip’s left asks. “Why risk your life just to speak with us?”

  “Every move we make in the world today is a risk,” Frank says. “Risking my life is a small price if it might keep my family safe.”

  His answer does little to soften the council's glare, their expressions a wide range of disgust and anger. I focus mainly on Philip, knowing on some level he’s the most influential of the group. But his face remains stony as ever, even as he turns to me.

  “We were informed you were discussing an alliance with us before the raid, and that you were captured during the process,” he says.

  “Yes sir,” I reply. “I was.”

  “We were also informed that this man led an attack on your people that same night: one that destroyed your home and killed several of your people.”

  I feel my heart twist and anger rise at the casual mention of my family. But I don’t let it show. Don’t let the venom seep into my words. I reply as neutrally as I can.

  “No sir,” I say. “You’ve been informed wrong.”

  Mutters rise between them, their stares flicking from me to Frank, to Byron. It’s only after Philip stands and calls for quiet that the noise dies away.

  “You’re saying the Animas Animals did not destroy your home and kill your people?” he asks.

  “No sir, that much is true,” I say. “But Frank did not lead the attack. He sabotaged it. Without his interference, my family would either be dead or captive. So would I.” I turn to where Lylette stands with Byron near the door. “So would she.”

  Philip turns to Lylette. “Is this true?” he asks.

  She steps forward. “I wasn’t present at the attack,” she says. “So I cannot speak of what happened there. But it is true that Tony and I were set free by a woman under his command.” She continues on, giving a brief description of what happened inside the DoubleTree that night. Judging by the council's reaction, they are hearing of it for the first time. When she’s finished, Philip looks toward Byron.

  “Thank you,” he says. “We were unaware of these details.”

  The woman at the far right breathes heavily in frustration. “And what difference does it make?” she asks. “One night does not erase all the nights that came before it. Our people are still dead because of him.” She looks at me. “Your people are still dead despite his noble actions. You know what he’s done—what his little band of Animals has done. How can you possibly trust him given all that?”

  I rise from my chair abruptly, unable to remain sitting any longer. Several of the council stiffen, and I notice Byron’s hand settle on the pistol at his hip. I ignore them all, leaning closer to the woman.

  “You loved your daughter,” I say. “I can see it in the pain in your eyes. Tell me, is there anything you wouldn't do to bring her back?”

  “Nothing,” she hisses, eyes like chips of ice.

  “Would you have died for her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kill the ma
n who killed her?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about an innocent man?” I ask. The question catches her off guard. “What if all it took to keep her alive was killing another in cold blood? Would you? What about two men? Or three? What if you had to take another mother’s daughter from her? Could you do it?”

  I lean away, giving the woman space as tears swell in her eyes.

  “You’re a mother,” I say. “I won’t pretend to know the bond you shared with your daughter. There’s no way I could possibly understand it. But I do understand what it’s like to care for others more than you care for yourself. I was in Denver when the lights went out. Getting here was hell. I only made it because I knew my family needed me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them...at least I would like to think there isn’t. The truth is though, I can’t be sure. If a man held a gun against one of their heads and ordered me to kill an innocent man, I don’t know what I would do. I’ve never been in such a situation. Neither have you.” I point to Frank. “He has. It’s hard to judge a man for something you know nothing of.”

  Frank’s face shows not a hint of emotion, his jaw set, stare leveled and unreadable. It’s a mask—one I’ve worn often enough to recognize it on another. The council is another story, the hate on their faces cracking for the first time as they contemplate what I said. I continue before they can get their bearings.

  “When I first spoke with Byron, he said that the time for standing alone has passed, said that we need the strength of a community if we’re to survive the long haul. He was right. My family and I struggled for months, worked tirelessly on measures to defend our home from those who would take what was ours. But in the end, it wasn’t enough. Nothing we do ever will be so long as the Animas Animals remain in power. We can’t stand on our own, and neither can you. Only together. Only by building something stronger than they are can we ever hope to stand against them.”

  There is no mistaking the unease, the fear that goes through them at the mention of the Animas Animals.

  “And why should we concern ourselves with this?” The woman on Philip’s left speaks for the first time. “The Animas Animals are miles away. They don’t know our location. They don’t know our number. They don’t know the defenses we have in place. Why would they risk an assault under such terms?”

  “Because you exist,” I answer. “So long as you do, you’re a threat to them.” I turn to Frank, who seamlessly picks up where I left off.

  “He’s right. Even before the attack, you were on their radar. Boss had scouts out for weeks, searching for you, interrogating anyone you came into contact with. We didn’t gather much info, but we had enough for a rough estimate: seventy to one-hundred people, at least fifteen miles from town, access to clean water, capable of sustaining yourselves with produce and livestock. Of course, that hardly narrows down your location, but I don’t doubt Boss would have done so eventually. He was as tenacious as he was cruel. And his brother...he’s something else entirely. With Boss dead, Barr won’t stop until he finds you.”

  Their unease has deepened, their deepest fears running through their minds. Byron was at the farm when it was attacked. He will have told them how hard it fell when the Animals showed up en masse. Do they see their home destroyed? Their loved ones bleeding and dying? The must. Little else can put such fear in the eyes of men.

  Philip finally clears his throat. “You have given us much to discuss,” he says. “For now, we have no more questions.” He consults the watch on his wrist. “It’s late. You may sleep in our bunkhouse tonight. We will have a decision in the morning.”

  Chapter 2: (Morgan)

  Lylette escorts us back to the bunkhouse, my mind replaying the meeting over and over. I pick apart every word, every flare of emotion, trying to get a sense of where we stand. Certainly, we left the room in better standing than we entered it. Not that that’s saying much. The disquiet and agitation we left them in are hardly an improvement.

  We step out into sinking twilight, the temperature colder than when we entered the house and falling further as night gathers. I always wondered how the homeless of my town survived in winter—how they managed to stand against elements such as this without roof or heat. I feel myself shiver, more from fear than cold. Tonight my family will sleep, warm and safe. But what awaits us tomorrow? What will we do if we are forced from this place?

  I shake the thought away. My family will look to me the moment I enter the bunkhouse. I can’t let them see me grave and worried. It will spread like wildfire if they do. I feel my face contort, a confidence I don’t feel shining through my features. Mask or not, it’s what they need to see. We enter the door and I feel their eyes settle on me in all their intensity.

  “The council has heard from us and is currently weighing their decision,” I say, forestalling the inevitable questions. “In the meantime, we’re to stay here tonight. They will have a decision for us in the morning.”

  I smile, the gesture so forced it’s a wonder they can’t see through it. “Don’t look so troubled,” I say. “We’re still here. That has to count for something.”

  The reassurance is not shared by Byron’s men who look at Lylette in disbelief.

  “If you don’t like it, speak to the council,” she tells them.

  Whatever arguments they might have die instantly. Her order comes directly from the council. They know better than to challenge it. They sweep from the room, glaring at me as they pass. I can’t even bring myself to be bothered by it.

  “The bunkhouse is yours,” Lylette tells me as I approach. “Try to keep it in one piece.”

  I feel a smile, genuine this time, grace my lips.

  “I’ll do my best,” I say. “And thank you for all you’ve done. You didn’t have to stick your neck out for us. The last thing I want is for you to catch heat because of it.”

  She pauses for a moment, looking past me, toward my family. “You’re good people,” she says quietly. “There’s already too few of us left in the world. If we don’t look out for each other, who will?”

  With that, she takes her leave, not even giving me the chance to form a response. Not that I have one. Whatever I expected her to say, it wasn’t that. Dazed, I turn and make my way over to Lauren. I settle down beside her, her eyes stripping me of the shield I wear and seeing the truth underneath it all. She reaches up and knocks her knuckles softly against my forehead.

  “Get out of that head of yours,” she says.

  I laugh. She can always tell. She hands me a beet and a serving of salted pork that was our dinner. I eat slowly, chewing mechanically and avoiding everyone’s gaze. It’s no easy task. I can feel them looking, searching, analyzing my body language as if it were a ledger of the meeting I had. Lauren, for her part, doesn’t ask questions or tell me everything will be alright. She just sits quietly beside me, the touch of her hand and tenderness in her eyes more comforting than words ever could be. If only the night could pass in such a way. Just me and her. Just one night where our problems and worries didn’t exist—where the only thing that mattered was each other. Perhaps one night it will be. But tonight is not that night.

  Soon as I finish eating, they gather. Just as I knew they would. Richard. My mother and father. Leon, Felix, Emily. Uncle Will and Vince. They form a semicircle around me, their backs to the rest of the room. In this corner, with the din of conversation around us, we can speak with relative privacy.

  “What happened?” Richard asks.

  I look past Richard to where Frank sits with his wife and children. Despite so much uncertainty hanging over us, the joy they share is impossible to miss. It’s in their smiles, their closeness. It’s in the way Frank and Christina look at one another, the love and relief in their stares clashing with guilt and incredulity. Both sacrificed so much to keep their children alive. Christina, her body. Frank, his soul. To be here now, after so long apart, must seem more fiction than reality. If anyone deserves a fresh start, it’s them. But looking back at our meeting, I fear su
ch a start won’t happen here.

  “It wasn’t a meeting,” I say. “It was an interrogation.”

  I give a brief overview of what transpired, I tell them how they grilled Frank about the attacks yesterday, and the humbled responses he gave. I relay what I said about my desire to build a community, and how the biggest threat to any of us is the presence of the Animas Animals. I tell them that it was impossible to get a read on them one way or another and that I have no clue which way they might lean. A wave of exhaustion sweeps over me as I finish, my mind and body absolutely spent. But they are not yet through with me.

  “Did it not occur to you to emphasize that we are not together?” Richard asks. “That we had no part in the things Frank and those Animals did?”

  “They already knew,” I say. “They tried to rattle me with it, asking how I could still trust him when their attack resulted in the deaths of three of our own. I told them the truth: that without his interference we would all be dead or captured right now.” I shake my head. “Not that it matters. Like it or not, we’re all lumped together in their eyes. Their decision will be the same for all of us.”

  Richard shakes his head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” It’s all he says before standing abruptly and leaving. I can hear the disappointment in his voice. The blame. It’s clear he thinks I should have done more to distance us from Frank. It’s what he would have done. Watching him return to his girls—Hailey fast asleep, head resting in her sister's lap—and Heather, silently stroking the younger girl’s hair and watching us with growing worry, I wonder if I should have done so.

  Vince and Uncle Will leave shortly after, what few questions they had answered in short order. I can tell they too are disappointed with my lack of information, but I have nothing else to give them. My parents are the next to leave, offering me words of reassurance I can not feel but which I thank them for all the same. Leon, Felix, and Emily remain sitting with us. None of us speak for the longest time, each deep in their own thoughts. Tired as I am, I appreciate them being here, their presence a comfort I can’t put into words. It always has been. Ever since we left Denver behind and started on the journey that led us here. Thinking back on all those nights we’ve spent together, my mind settles on one in particular.