We begin our slow descent, eyes still peeled for game that isn’t there. I’m looking toward the west, scanning the adjoining hillside when Felix stops abruptly. On instinct my rifle is shouldered, my eyes frantically searching the trees for game, humans, any movement at all. Felix curses and points, drawing my eyes above the trees, to the road that lies in the distance. My heart stops then starts again, nearly jumping into my throat. A dozen trucks snake their way along the road, two behemoths plowing the way forward for a stream of pickups followed by an ancient semi with an attached trailer.
Felix curses again, his voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t need to elaborate. The scene speaks for itself. Animas Animals. Nobody else has such a massive fleet or would be so bold as to travel with it.
“We have to warn them,” I say, finding my voice. I look back at the moving fleet. There’s no mistaking their destination.
“We have to get back to the cabin,” Felix says. “Philip’s people can take care of themselves.”
“Like we did you mean?” I ask. “Look at those trucks, Felix. Every one of them will be full of Animals. Barr doesn’t take half measures. You know that. He wouldn’t have come this far if unless he knew he could take it.”
“Then that’s their problem,” he says. “They kicked us out, remember? It’s not on us to come to their rescue, now.”
“You’re right,” I say. “It’s not our problem. But we’re the reason the Animals are here. You know we are. Even if we weren’t, you forget that Philip knows where we are, and somehow I doubt he’s the only one. How long do you think they’ll hold their tongues if Barr gets a hold of them?”
Felix’s curse is his only reply. “I can cut through the trees. I’ll make it before they do. I’ll warn them, maybe give them a fighting chance.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’ll meet you back at the cabin.”
His eyes never waver from mine, a violent clash of emotions raging war inside them. But then the clash is over, and I see the resolve settling in. He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
“You fucking better,” he says. He holds eye contact for one second. Two. On the third he is off, racing toward the cabin.
I fly down the hillside as fast as I dare, slipping and sliding through the ice and snow. I hit the bottom at a dead sprint, using my momentum to carry me forward. Trees flash past, the forest becoming a blur but for the path ahead of me.
Reckless. The word flares hot across my mind. Slow it down. I heed my own warning, slowing my pace so I can keep aware of my surroundings. Still, my feet carry me far and fast, pushing my body to its limit. My legs begin to cramp. A sharp pain racks my side. My breathing comes in gasps and snarls, like the sound of a winded beast. But I don’t stop. I keep pushing forward until I reach the top of a small knoll where I sink to my knees and vomit. I wipe my mouth and stand, my hands behind my head and forcing deep gulps of air into my lungs.
I take the opportunity to take in my surroundings, my eyes drawing to the east toward the road. The light has grown so dim that I can hardly discern the different shapes, but finally I spot them. They’ve parked outside the gate, blocking both the driveway and the road. I watch as figures pour out of the trucks and assemble, their number chilling me more than the cold. There’s easily twice as many that attacked the farm. More in fact. Defenses or not, the ranch will fall.
The Animals fan out and spill into the trees. I tear down the knoll with a renewed vigor. I’ll reach the ranch before they will, but how much time can I possibly give them? Not enough, I realize. Still, I can’t just stand by and do nothing while the Animals destroy more innocent lives. I have to do something, anything that might help. I hold onto the thought, letting it give me the strength to push harder.
Finally, the trees thin out and I enter the sweeping meadow I recognize, the ranch rising like a giant shadow at the end. The darkness deepens by the second, making it impossible to scan for Animals emerging from the treeline. But if I can’t see them, they can’t see me. At least I hope so.
I tear across the open field, the adrenaline in my veins the only thing keeping me going at this point. Three-hundred feet to the gate. Two-hundred. As I come within one-hundred feet, the ranch’s sentries act, flooding me in a blinding light. Immediately I slide to my knees and raise my hands
“Weapons in the snow,” shouts a voice behind the gate. I shrug off my rifle and make a show of unholstering my Glock and tossing it aside.
“My name is Morgan Taylor,” I yell.
“Shut your mouth,” the voice warns, cutting me off.
“Listen to me, you’re under at—”
A warning shot rings out, the bullet kicking up snow a foot to my right. “I won’t warn you again,” the voice shouts. I literally have to bite my tongue to keep quiet. “Bring him in.”
Two figures approach, guns raised and pointed at me. They move slow and cautious, making me want to scream at them that I’m not the enemy.
“Don’t do anything stupid now,” one of them warns as they draw level with me. He keeps his rifle on me while the other circles around and binds my hands behind my back with plastic restraints. The barrel of his rifle nudges me forward. “On your feet,” he says. I do as I’m told, squinting against the glare of the spotlight.
“Morgan?” Relief spreads through me at the voice.
“Lylette!” I shout. “It’s the Animals. They—” A punch to the stomach steals the words from my mouth.
“Let him speak you lackwit!” she scolds the man.
I cough, forcing air back into my lungs. “Animas Animals,” I gasp. “They’re coming.”
She curses. “Back inside the fence! Now!” She turns and starts issuing orders. “Alert the rest of the sentries. Send word to the council. Get every—” A gunshot sounds, turning her words into a scream. Blood sprays my face, the man in front of me going down as a bullet cleaves through his head. I watch him fall, the spotlight highlighting his face perfectly. His eyes are still open, wide with fear. He hits the snow as more shots ring into the night and bullets race around me.
The ranch returns fire, giving me and the second man cover as we sprint for the gate. I overtake the man and I hear a grunt of pain behind me closely followed by the thud of a falling body. I don’t stop, don’t look back, closing the last few feet in a desperate dive for cover.
“Cut me loose,” I yell desperately. Lylette slides to her knees, knife in hand. The blade slices through the plastic, opening a gash on my wrist in the process. I hardly feel it.
“You have to evacuate,” I yell.
“Are you crazy? She seethes. “We have to fight.”
“You don’t have the numbers or the firepower,” I argue. “There’s too many of them. You fight, and you die.” She opens her mouth to reply when shooting sounds from the far side of the ranch. She curses and is off at a sprint, shouting orders for those she leaves behind. I follow after, swiping an axe as I go. I feel naked without my Glock or my rifle, but at least it’s a weapon.
People are in a frenzy, guns in hand as they race toward the two firefights. We’re not halfway across the camp when more gunshots sound to our right, toward the main house and the trees that lurk behind the property. Lylette changes course and I pound after her. A crowd has gathered around the entrance of the house, the light from inside spilling out and bringing the figures into relief. All are strangers except the man at the center.
“Daughter,” he says as we reach him, voice full of relief. He pulls Lylette close, holding her tight. He lets her go quickly, his eyes landing on me for the first time. A feeling of being x-rayed hits me, his stare tense and calculating.
“You found the cabin?” he asks.
“I did.”
He pauses, face screwed up in thought. Finally, he nods and turns back to Lylette. “You must leave,” he tells her. “Now. Before it’s too late.”
She stares fiercely at her father, the same defiance flashing in her eyes as when she challenged Byron to bring us before their council.
“I’m not going anywhere, she says. “I’ll fight. I’ll kill them all if I have to.”
The shots grow louder behind the house. So do the screams. “Yes, you will fight. But not here.” He pulls her into a tight embrace, speaking so softly into her ear I can’t hear over the shouts and gunshots. Finally, he straightens out, tears shining in his eyes. “Please,” he says. “Will you do this?”
She stands defiantly for one second. Two. And then the defiance breaks, the fierceness she wears like armor vanishing as she nods her head.
Philip turns to me. “Morgan—”
“Save your words,” I say, cutting him off. He doesn’t need to voice the question aloud. It’s written in his eyes. “We’ll help any way we can.”
He nods, reaching out his hand and clasping mine. “You’re a better man than me,” he says, voice filled with gratitude. He turns his attention to those around him. It’s then that I truly notice them. Most are too young for the battle raging on the ranch, their ages ranging from a toddler crying in his mother’s arms to a boy maybe sixteen or so, trying his best to stand brave but unable to keep the tears leaking from his own eyes.
“You are to follow Lylette,” Philip says. “She’s in charge, so whatever she says goes.” he turns to two men behind him, both of whom stand at attention. “You will accompany them. Keep them safe.” Both nod, their loyalty and respect for Philip evident in their voiced assurances.
He pulls Lylette close one last time—the kind of desperate farewell had between loved ones when neither knows if they will live to see each other again. It lasts only a second before Philip forces himself to pull away. “Everything’s going to be alright,” he says. “Now go!” With that, he turns and runs toward the skirmish behind the house, a half dozen of his people following behind him.
Lylette turns to the small group whose eyes have fallen on her. “Stay close,” she says. She leads us away from the house, ordering the youngest to hold hands and the two men to cover our flank. We pass around the side of the bunkhouse where my family slept only the other week. I remember how crushed I was when we were forced to leave this place—how afraid I was of what waited for us outside these gates. Now all I feel is relief that my family is far from the chaos erupting around me.
“We’ll climb the fence there,” Lylette says, pointing to a stretch just past a metal outbuilding on our right. We’ve nearly drawn even with the building when the shadows move. I act on instinct, pushing Lylette and the children behind me to the ground. A shot rings out a half-second later, the bullet hitting nothing but empty air. I wheel around and let my axe fly, the muzzle-flash acting as a target. Miraculously, I hear it strike home with a grunt of pain, closely followed by several more as our two guards unload their weapons.
I pull Lylette to her feet. “Thank you,” she says, her tone clipped and resentful. It’s not me she’s angry with, not even so much her attackers. It’s herself. Angry that she was taken unaware.
I rush to the bodies of our attackers, only one of which still stirs. A quick shot to the head from one of the guards and he goes still. I don’t retrieve the axe, stripping my victim of his rifle and spare magazines instead. Three others lie beside him, their weapons either clutched in their death grips or fallen to the snow. I cast a quick glance at Lylette.
“Can any of them shoot?” I ask. Her face fills with disgust at the idea, but so too does the cold acceptance of our situation.
“Hunter, Andrea, Michelle.” Three teenagers step forward at her summons. She places a gun into each of their hands. “Only if necessary,” she says. None of them balk at her words, if anything standing a little taller, determined to hide their fear from her. I wonder if she can see it as I do, or if her own fear over the lives entrusted to her clouds all else.
We rush for the fence but we don’t make it within ten feet before more attackers materialize out of the darkness. A dozen figures rush the ranch on the opposite side of the fence, their movement quick and silent. This time it is Lylette who saves us, her warning shot allowing us to open fire first, buying us precious seconds to retreat. We back up to the metal outbuilding, the only cover from the incoming fire. I hear a grunt of pain and a body hit the dirt as I reach the building. I turn to see one of our guards on the ground, crawling the last few feet to cover. Lylette curses, dropping to her knees to assess the wound.
“Leave it,” the man grunts, swiping her hand away. “Get them out of here. I’ll hold em’ off.” She makes to argue but a barrage of bullets hit the front of the building, the clang of echoing metal filling our ears. “Now! Before it’s too late.” I can see the self-hate in her face as she forces herself to her feet and rushes her charges away.
We move low and fast, angling our path to keep the building between us and the Animals. We reach the stables as gunshots sound behind us, the muzzle flashes clear against the dark. And then nothing. Silence and shadows. The same cannot be said for the rest of the ranch. Fires have erupted throughout the place. The screams have grown more panicked, the gunshots more sporadic. Animals have breached in more places than behind us. I can see them illuminated by the flames, giving chase to the residents of the ranch. Some are gunned down, but not all. Some are tackled and subdued, no doubt meant to be added to the Animal’s ranks.
“There!” Lylette says, pointing to a patch of fence beyond a flaming storage shed. We run forward, nearly reaching the flames when I hear a pleading scream sound to my left. I turn to see an Animal atop one of the ranchers, his hands savagely feeling up her body, a gleeful cackle coming from his mouth. Suddenly I’m not seeing the Animal, not seeing the woman. All I see is Mitch with his body pressed against Lauren, jeans pulled down to her knees as she struggled against him. I lose it. My mind goes blank.
“Morgan!” I snap out of it, looking up to see Lylette staring down at me. “We have to go.” I look back down, the Animal dead beneath me. I pull my knife from one of the dozen wounds that have been carved into his chest, my hands red with his blood. I stand and follow Lylette to the fence, the rest of the group already climbing over it. The woman the Animal attacked has joined us, her eyes meeting mine with a mixture of gratitude and fear. She looks away quickly, dropping down on the other side. As I reach the fence I hear my name shouted behind me. I turn.
Barr stands with a pack of Animals beside the flaming shed, the hatred on his face an echo of what stirs inside me at the sight of him. I don’t think, just act. I raise the rifle to my shoulder and take aim, faster and more fluid than I’ve ever done so. Barr’s reflexes are too fast, pushing one of his followers forward in the split second before I pull the trigger. The Animal takes the bullet, giving Barr the opportunity to dive behind the cover of the shed.
Part of me, that illogical part that thirsts for revenge and Barr’s death, urges me to pursue him, to disregard the Animals and their weapons and do all I can to bring him down. But then I think of Lauren. My mother and father. I think of the promise I made to Felix and the feel of his hand on my shoulder as he replied. “You fucking better.” The words echo in my mind and it brings me to my senses.
The Animals scatter and dive for cover as I lay down fire, using the distraction to quickly pick myself over the fence and disappear into the darkness beyond. I catch up with Lylette and the others, Barr’s venomous voice chasing after me.
“You can’t hide from me, Morgan!” he shouts. “I’ll burn this whole damn world to the ground to find you!” The voice grows fainter as we reach the forest, the thick expanse of trees drowning out his words.
“What...the...hell was that?” Lylette pants ten minutes later. I feel dizzy, the amount of running I’ve done tonight dangerous with my low caloric intake.
“Barr,” I say. “He’s not my biggest fan.”
She remembers the name. “Barr,” she repeats. “The one Frank warned us of on your farm?”
“One and the same,” I say, straightening out. “Which means we have to keep moving. He’ll have already sent men after us.”
She curses but doesn’t object. We push forward as fast as we can, the dark and snow both slowing us down considerably. Two flashlights are held between us, but I shoot the idea down immediately. A flashlight out here is as good as a beacon signaling our location. Not that our noise is doing us any favors. Panting, coughing, crying. Lylette and the other two women do their best to calm and quiet the younger children, but there is only so much they can do. They’re terrified and for good reason. Many of them have been on the ranch since the start of this. And while that couldn’t have been fun, they’ve been spared much of the brutality that has risen in this new world. Tonight, they experience that brutality first hand.
“Light’s behind us,” our remaining guard says. I turn with sinking dread, spotting them flash through trees in the distance. I curse. We’ve not even made it halfway to the cabin yet. There’s no way we’ll reach it before they catch up to us. Not at this pace. I reach down and pick up one of the children, a girl of maybe six who has not stopped sobbing since we left the ranch.
“Let’s go.” Our guard follows my lead, picking up a little boy and carrying him as I do. I set a faster pace, but I know the Animals gain on us with each passing minute. My legs are nearly shot, the extra weight of the girl making every step a challenge. But I don’t stop and I don’t set her down. Reach the cabin. Have to reach the cabin. I repeat the words over and over in my mind, the thought of reaching my family the only thing keeping me from falling to my knees.
A shot rings out of the darkness behind us, making the girl on my back scream into my ear. She’s not the only one, half of our group screams and cries as more shots ring out into the night. We weave between the trees, their thick trunks the only thing keeping us safe from the bullets racing our way. I chance a look behind me, seeing our pursuers have closed to within two-hundred feet of us.
Echoes of a Dying World (Book 3): A Dream of Tomorrow Page 6