“Sort of how we knew you kept your prisoners in the ballroom?” Richard asks, goading him. I feel my stomach clench. As if we need more tension right now. Frank, however, doesn’t take the bait.
“Exactly,” he says. “I’ve always tried to learn from my mistakes.” From his tone, it’s obvious he speaks of more than the windows. He looks to Richard, the stare between them like watching an unstoppable force meeting an unmovable object. But the situation doesn’t escalate, and I find myself breathing in relief as they finally look away from one another.
The tension remains, not only between Richard and Frank but between the groups themselves. It’s in the glares. In the stiff curtness of the exchanges as we continue to discuss our security issues. But for the most part, things are better than I had hoped for. Because we are working through these problems together, I think to myself. There is no us vs. them in the discussion. There are only those within these walls vs. those outside them.
Once we’ve created a basic list of issues, we get to work. A group is tasked with clearing the roof of snow lest it collapse with us inside it. Another group is set to fell some of the smaller trees for firewood. Dig a latrine; organize our supplies; scout the area. The list goes on. At Morgan’s suggestion, each group is a mix of family and Animals. There are clearly some misgivings, but nobody raises an issue about it.
“As much as I’d like to keep em’, we need to slaughter the remaining pigs,” Richard says. “We can’t feed them, and the longer we wait, the less meat they’ll give us.” It’s a blow, but the house unanimously agrees.
“You and Frank have dressed more game than the rest of us combined,” Morgan says. “You’ll have the best results, I’m sure.”
Again, the two men eye one another. Unstoppable force. Unmovable object. It’s Frank who speaks first.
“I’m not afraid of getting my hands bloody,” he says.
A shadow of a sneer crosses Richard’s face, but he doesn’t voice whatever quip comes to his mind. “Neither am I,” he says.
The groups break apart to complete their assigned tasks. My eyes stay on Richard and Frank as the two gather blades and cleavers.
“You sure it’s a smart idea putting those two together with sharp knives?” Felix asks Morgan. He’s only half-joking.
“Stole the words right out of my mouth, Chavo,” Leon says. “Neither are afraid of getting their hands bloody, after all.”
“Caught that implication too?” I ask.
Leon snorts. “Wasn’t exactly subtle.”
Felix shifts anxiously. “I could help them,” he says. “Help keep the peace.” He looks to Morgan who shakes his head.
“They need to figure it out on their own,” he says. “They’re more alike than either of them would care to admit. They just need to see it.” He turns to Felix with a smile. “Besides, there’s no way I’m going into the woods without my Boy Scout.”
Six of us enter the woods, split into two teams of three. Leon, Felix, and Val make up one team. Morgan, Angela, and I make up the second. I’ve yet to speak more than a handful of words to either woman, but I can’t help but be intrigued by both of them. Val led the raid inside the DoubleTree the other night, while Angela was the first to rally to Frank's aide when he held Barr at gunpoint. There’s strength in both of them. Courage as well. It’s exactly what we’ll need in the days to come.
“Keep your eyes out for anything that stands out,” Morgan says, voice low. “Anything dangerous. Anything useful. We’re not going to map out this whole area today, but we can at least get a feel for what’s out here.”
As we scout, we also search for signs of food. I note a likely small game trail and we take a few minutes to erect a simple snare.
“How can you tell?” Angela asks, watching intently as we go about making the snare. I touch on the basics of what Felix taught me, and for a moment I forget where I am. I’m back on the Colorado Trail with Felix, the sun high and bright and warm, surrounded by green and the scent of the forest. Get low, see the land from their level; tracks here; the grass has been flattened here; notice the disturbance in the undergrowth. I would listen and watch as he explained, my attention as rapt as this woman’s is now.
“Wish I had known this shit before this all started,’ she says. Her eyes turn dark. “Maybe things would have turned out different.”
“Regretting the past won’t change the present.” I don’t know what makes me say the words. I only know the pain and self-hate in her voice. I’ve heard it in my own often enough to recognize it now. “All that matters is where we go from here—that we survive whatever comes next.”
She looks at me, her eyes even darker. “What makes you think my biggest concern is my survival?” she asks. She moves past before I even have a chance to respond. Not that I have one to give. I turn to Morgan in silent question.
He shakes his head. “Just a guess, but I don’t think her story is a happy one.”
We join her once again, continuing our loop of the place. There are two more likely game trails, both of which we take the time to set a snare. Angela sets the second one herself, refusing our offers to help. Our biggest victory however is not the snares, but the discovery of a small creek.
“I hope the place has some netting,” Morgan says. “This could be huge for us.”
Not long after, we retreat back to the home. The sun has long dipped behind the foothills, leaving us in shadow. We meet up with Leon, Felix, and Val as we near the edge of the woods and enter the property.
“Anything useful?” Morgan asks.
“Not much,” Felix says. “Set a couple of traps. Saw some droppings. Nothing man-made. Nothing that might hurt us. What about you?”
“More or less the same,” Morgan says. Then he grins. “Oh, and we found a creek.”
Leon and Felix return the grin. “We’ll have to find some netting,” Leon says.
I let out a breath of laughter, Leon’s response almost the exact same as Morgans. Their heads turn to me, and I can’t help but laugh again. “What’s the joke?” Leon asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing,” I say. “I wouldn’t be able to explain it.”
As we approach the house Richard and Frank emerge from the smaller of the two sheds. Both are bloody, but based on their demeanor I assume it’s not either of their own.
“Have them both hanging,” Richard says when they reach us. He hefts up a black trash bag. “Cut off a sampler though.”
I feel my mouth water at the thought of cooked meat. And I’m not the only one, it seems.
“A fine idea,” Morgan says. “A stew would go a long way after the day we had.”
Richard’s face drops a little, his eyebrows pinched together. “That’s what he said,” he says, turning to Frank. He shrugs. “I can see the logic in it. Tomorrow we’ll have to return to strict rations. But tonight a little indulgence might be what we need.”
“Did hell just freeze over?” I ask as Richard and Frank enter the house together. Leon and Morgan laugh, but Felix remains silent, watching his uncle’s back with a strange look on his face.
“I don’t know about hell, but I sure am,” Leon says. “Let’s get inside.”
As darkness gathers, and the various groups return to the house, we gather once again on the second floor. We still sit opposite one another: family and Animals, tension still lingering between us. But unless I’m imagining it, the discussion seems more optimistic than before. Less contentious. Or perhaps that’s simply the effect of a warm bowl of stew in my belly. It’s hard to tell.
“I agree, a gate is needed,” Frank says. “But I think the bigger concern is trying to secure these windows.”
“Agreed,” Mrs. Taylor says. She looks out into the twilight. “A gate will only keep vehicles from entering the property. I’d rather we had something to keep bullets from entering the house.”
It’s an analogy that’s hard to argue with. The discussions continue for a time, but it's not long before they dwindle down. Nigh
t has gathered, the view outside black and still. I can see the room reflected in the dark windows: hands covering yawning mouths, heads drooping, bodies slouching as the day’s events finally catch up with us.
“I think we have enough to go on,” Morgan finally says. “We should all try and get some sleep. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
Frank and his family head for the stairs with the Animals, while the rest of the family vie for sleeping spots on the second story. Felix, I notice, doesn’t follow his family down the stairs, but lays out a sleeping bag on the living room floor. He turns to us.
“Wake me up for the 2nd shift,” he tells Morgan. “Trent and Jerry have already volunteered for the third. Leon and Em’ will relieve them after.”
“You don’t have a watch-partner?” Morgan asks.
Felix shrugs. “I’d rather do it alone tonight,” he says.
Morgan looks like he wants to argue, but thinks better of it. “If you’re sure,” he says. “Sweet dreams, Chavo.”
Morgan and I leave the warmth of the fireplace and head for the stairs, climbing it to the deserted third floor. We enter the master bedroom, the glass door leading to its private patio offering us a sweeping view of the front of the house. Below us, Frank and the Animals will keep watch over the house’s backside. Morgan grabs the plush comforter from the bed and drapes it over us as we settle down.
For a long while there is silence between us, both of us lost deep in thought. So much has happened so quickly, that I’ve hardly had time to process it all. Three nights ago we were searching for a man who, in all likelihood, had been killed. It was only for Felix’s sake that we went at all. Meeting Lylette the way we did and learning of her community felt like fate, like the beginning of something new. But then Frank came in like a wrecking ball, leaving death and destruction in his wake. I know the position he was in, and that he ultimately turned against Barr, but the damage had already been done. I can’t blame Philip for turning us away. Given everything that’s happened, and the convoluted relationship between our family and Frank’s, it was an easy decision to make.
I’m glad Frank is with us. Maybe a dozen words have passed between us, but I feel as if I know him from the stories I’ve been told. Earlier, when our eyes met and a small smile graced his lips, it was like seeing a glimpse of the man he was before. I want him and his family to have a second chance. I truly do. Just remembering their teary reunion warms my heart. But part of me can’t help but feel resentful of his presence. I can’t help but feel that if it weren’t for him, we would have had a fresh start on the ranch.
“What are you thinking about?” Morgan asks.
I flush with guilt. “A lot of things,” I answer, instead. “The past few days have given us plenty to think about.”
He breathes heavily, the sound tired and burdensome. “Yes, they have,” he says. He pauses for a long moment. “I’ve been thinking about the Trail a lot lately. Ever since we left the farm.”
“The Trail?” I ask, the admission taking me by surprise.
“Yeah,” he says. “The whole time I was on it, all I could think about was getting here and finding my family. I drove myself crazy thinking about them, worrying about them. But you know that, of course. You witnessed it first hand. I didn’t know what I would do when I found them, how I would help. I just knew I had to find them.
“This might sound strange, but part of me almost wishes we could go back to that time. Living on the Trail may not have been easy, but it was simple. I had a goal in my mind: reach my family. Each step I took was one step closer to accomplishing it. Now I have a new goal: keep us safe...but how do I do that? On the Trail there was only one path, one way forward. Now there are a hundred different paths, and I don’t have a clue which one is the right way forward. It’s frustrating as hell. I just wish things could be simple again.”
He looks at me and I turn to meet his eyes. “You think I’m crazy,” he says, shaking his head.
“You’re a lot of things, Morgan,” I say, taking his hand in mine. “Strong. Honest. Caring. But crazy? No. You’re just a man burdened with a beautiful dream. A lesser man would have buckled under the weight of it by now. Would have given up on it. But I know you: know the soul that stirs within. You won’t give up until you make that dream a reality. Neither will I. I promised you the first night on the Trail that I would do everything I could to keep us safe and moving forward. I don’t intend to break that now.”
His stare is so intense. So full of love. Even after all this time I haven’t got used to it. Tears leak from his eyes and I reach up and wipe them away, that smile I love creeping onto his face as I do so. “God, I love you,” he says.
I return his smile and lean in until his lips meet mine. “You should,” I say when we finally part. His arm wraps around my shoulders and I rest my head atop his chest. Not another word is spoken, the remainder of our watch passing in tender silence, our beating hearts and closeness of our bodies saying more than words ever could.
Chapter 4: (Morgan)
An icy wind whips around me, its stinging lash reaching through my layers, chilling me to my bones. Below spreads a world of ice and snow. Beautiful, but harsh and unforgiving. It’s not just the cold, not just the elements that concern me. It’s the hidden threats as well. It’s footprints in the snow, the faint smell of woodsmoke carried on the air. It’s the predators that prowl this land as we do. At least, they are one of my concerns.
Ten days have passed since we lost our home. Nine since we were kicked from Philip’s ranch and relocated to the abandoned cabin we now occupy. I had hoped the tension between my family and the defected Animals might lessen, that they might find common ground and see that they are not so different. I’m not naive. I knew it wouldn’t happen overnight, but I hoped to see some improvement with over a week together. I was wrong. The tension is as high as it’s ever been.
Both will work together, but only grudgingly. Both will talk to one another, but only about matters of security and survival, with arguments only ever a misplaced word away. Otherwise, the communication between them is mainly silent, told in cutting glares and twisted sneers. The one bright spot, if you could call it that, is the fact that none of these arguments have come to blows. Richard and Frank’s brief brawl remains the only one of its kind. For now, at least. Based on what I’ve seen, another fight isn’t a question of if, but of when.
I shake the thought away. I need to focus on the task at hand. My eyes scan through the trees, across the small clearings below, hoping for movement. But things remain as quiet and still as they have all afternoon. I think of the empty traps we checked this morning, of the ever-shrinking food stores we have back at the cabin. Slowly, my stomach clenches, yet another of my concerns entering the forefront of my mind.
Food. If there’s one thing I’ve come to respect since the collapse, it’s the importance of food. Not only on a physical level but on a mental one as well. Because though a lack of food can wreak havoc on the body, it’s just as devastating to the mind. I’ve experienced the effects first hand—the mania, the desperation that grips you when you’re starving and have no idea when your next meal will come. We’re not there yet, but if something doesn’t change, I fear we will soon.
Which brings me here, to this snowy hillside that seems all but void of game. The sun dips past the hill’s crest, plunging me and the world below into shadow. Only an hour or so until dark. Plenty of time for our luck to turn. Even as I think the words, there’s no mistaking how hollow they ring inside my mind. There may be time, but my hopes are not high.
The light grows dimmer, the shadows deepening. With a sinking feeling, I concede defeat, knowing the time has come to leave. A whistle sounds to my left, confirming the notion. I walk toward the sound, finding Felix at the base of a wide tree. The sack on his belt is empty, I notice.
“Nothing in the nets?” I ask.
“Not a one,” he says. “We’ll have better luck tomorrow.”
We said the
same thing yesterday. The day before that too. Why should tomorrow be any different? I don’t say this of course. I just force a grin and clap him on the shoulder. “Of course we will, Chavo.”
We begin our hike back to the cabin, straddling the ridgelines of the connected hills to maintain our high ground on the off chance we might see something. Felix takes point with me following several paces behind, just as we’ve done for years. My eyes flick to my friend, remembering a time when his back wasn’t as broad and the rifle across it wasn’t so deadly. How many afternoons have we spent together like this? Too many to count. Growing up, Frank had us out hunting and fishing at every opportunity. He would laugh and joke as he taught us, his energy infectious. There is no laughter now, no energy gripping us as it once did. That time has passed. I think of Frank. Things have changed.
Felix is still avoiding his uncle. When they do speak it’s stiff and cordial. It’s as if they were strangers. The easy relationship they once had has been splintered. Broken. And I don’t know if they can mend it. What’s worse is they are not the only two affected by it. The rest of the Chavez family has been caught in the middle of the rift that’s opened between them.
“He’s your family. Your blood. I don’t care what he’s done, you never turn your back on family.”
I didn’t mean to walk in on the conversation between Felix and his Aunt Christina. But when I overheard them, I couldn’t bring my feet to walk away.
“I haven’t turned my back on him, Tia,” Felix said, his voice heavy and somber. “But I can’t just forget the look in his eyes when he saw me that day. Believe me, I’ve tried.” There was a pause, a choking sound like a suppressed sob. “I still love him, he’s still the man who raised me...But I can’t be around him. Not yet.”
I found my feet then, hurrying away as quickly and silently as possible. My heart breaks for my friend. He wanted so badly to find his uncle, to make his family whole again. Now he’s been found, but the family is no more whole than it was before we left in search of him. It’s a cruel joke. I wish there was something I could do to mend things between them, but I know only Felix and Frank are capable of that. All I can do is be there for my friend, and hope for the best.
Echoes of a Dying World (Book 3): A Dream of Tomorrow Page 5