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

by Esquibel, Don M.

  “It never gets easier, does it?”

  “No,” she says. “If it anything, it gets harder.”

  She doesn’t explain herself, nor do I need her to. I understand what she says completely. I feel it every time I’m separated from those I care about. In this world, everything is a risk. Anytime someone ventures away from the group, they run the risk of not returning. Even when they do return, the relief is short-lived because you know they will eventually have to leave again. And each time they do, that same question you try so hard to bury comes to the surface: Will this be the time they don’t return?

  “Emily, could you help me for a minute?” Mrs. Taylor asks, catching her daughter’s eye.

  An amused breath escapes her. “She doesn’t need help,” she says quietly. “She just wants to try and keep my mind busy.”

  I smile. “Hope it works,” I say.

  She turns to me, her face void of the amusement that was there just moments ago. “Yeah. Me too.”

  As she goes to help her mother, I climb the stairs to the second floor, finding Morgan in a corner office. He sits atop the metal desk, eyes scanning the world outside the window. One look outside and I understand why he chose this spot, the window offering a good view of the street, as well as the hillside where the others should emerge once they’ve finished with their task.

  I sit down beside him, leaning my body into the warmth of his own. Wordlessly, he obliges, wrapping his arm around me and laying my head in the crook of his shoulder. I don’t speak and neither does he. Anything we say won’t be distraction enough when the only thing weighing on our minds is the absence of our friends. Not only that, sometimes there is comfort in silence—in the quiet peace that settles over you while in the embrace of the one you love. This feeling passing between us means more than words.

  The hours pass mostly in that quiet state. When we do speak it’s in soft whispers, each of us trying to reassure the other. But for the most part, it is quiet. Silent and still. Slowly, the inky black ebbs from the sky. The stars peter out one by one. The blushing blue of pre-dawn settles over the landscape, throwing everything into sharper detail. I can make out the faces of the buildings now, can read the signs above their doors and displayed at the entrances. On the street, a cat darts across its expanse, so quick and lithe one could almost mistake it for a shadow. What I don’t see is movement from the hillside. And as the outside grows lighter, my thoughts grow darker.

  Shouldn’t they be here by now? Is it possible they got turned around? No. Not with Felix and Frank with them. But if not where the hell are they?

  The questions continue, not a single one of which I can answer. Morgan doesn’t say anything, but I can feel how tense he is, his entire body rigid as he struggles to maintain his composure. I wish there was something I could say, but I know how little those words will mean right now. It’s not until the sun has risen, it’s golden rays splashed upon the mountainside across from us, that Morgan stands abruptly, face nearly pressed against the window.

  “It’s them,” he says, pointing.

  I follow his finger and spot them, Felix in front as he leads them down the hill. I pick out those who follow, and with a start, realize they are not alone. Morgan is out the door without a word and I follow close on his heels. Heads turn as we rush down the stairs, alarm on their faces as they sense our urgency. Richard rises from his spot overlooking the road and parking lot.

  “What’s up?” he shouts, already reaching for his AR.

  “They’re back,” Morgan shouts back. “And they’re not alone.”

  Their alarm fades as they hear the excitement in his voice. We reach the bottom of the stairs and rush for the exit, Richard joining us as we sprint across the frozen parking lot. We stop at the edge of the lot and wave Felix over. Richard and I stand with our rifles at the ready, scanning the buildings as they make their way toward us.

  “Sorry for the holdup,” Felix says as he reaches us, unable to keep the smile from his face. “But we had some unexpected company.”

  Lylette comes up behind him and Morgan is already spewing apologies. “I’m sorry,” he says. “We waited as long as we could. We thought—” She throws her arms around him, the gesture enough of a surprise to silence him.

  “Don’t apologize,” she says breathlessly. “Not for looking after my people.” Morgan still looks thrown from Lylette’s show of affection, but he nods all the same. She accepts it and continues. “In any case, you were right to think the worst. We should have been back yesterday afternoon, but as you can see, we had a setback.”

  Just then Frank and Leon reach us, carrying Ben between them who can barely manage to hop along on one foot.

  “Ben tweaked his ankle just as we were leaving the sunrise trail. It was hell from there.”

  “I’m sure it was,” Richard says. “But we have all day to go over it. Right now we need to get back inside.” He’s right. We’re too exposed. All it would take is one Animal to spot us, and then the entire pack would pounce. Best not to take chances.

  We cross the parking lot quickly and disappear inside. Richard is the last in, his eyes doing one last sweep before shutting the door with a clang. Inside there is nothing but joy and relief, the ranchers most of all. Seeing Lylette and Ben again, hurt as he is, has breathed new life into them. The two women stand and rush toward them, both of whom are outpaced by a quick little boy. He shouts her name, his smile grand and pure—the kind unique to children. A noise escapes Lylette, half laugh, half sob, as she opens her arms which the boy barrels into.

  “I’m happy to see you too, buddy,” she says. “Sorry I took so long.” She squeezes him tight for a moment and straightens up. “Thank you two for holding things down.”

  The older of the two women brushes the thank you aside. “You don’t have to thank us for watching over our own,” she says. “But what happened?” She looks over at Ben in concern, lingering on the elevated foot which Julia is already accessing.

  “Ben took a spill on the way back,” she says. “Couldn’t put any weight on it so we had to improvise a crutch.” She points to a thick branch I hadn’t noticed until now. “It was slow going after that.”

  “And what of the ranch?” asks the younger woman. “What’s happened?”

  Lylette’s face falls at the question, the light that shone in her eyes as she hugged the boy beside her turning dark. She exchanges a glance with Ben whose ankle appears momentarily forgotten.

  “Nothing good,” she says.

  She takes a deep breath, and then the story is told. They arrived at the sunrise trail just before daybreak. They expected to stakeout the ranch for most of the morning, gathering as much intel on the place as they could before returning. Turns out, they hardly needed to wait at all. An hour after sunrise, the Animals began loading up their trucks with supplies from the ranch. Food, guns, virtually everything of value. The livestock was left behind, however, as were the tools to tend to them. Frank was right. Barr wanted the place for himself. Half the ranchers were loaded into the trucks—hostages and fresh soldiers to join their ranks. The other half was left behind to run the ranch with a small coterie of Animals to act as their overseers. She tells of husbands tied and degraded in front of their families and children being ripped from their mother’s arms. Then she tells of a mother who wouldn’t let go.

  “Even from a distance, we could hear her screams, pleading with them to let her keep her daughter,” she says. Her voice is thick and harsh, a mix of grief and disgust. “But Monica just wouldn’t let go...So he killed her. Took Jenny from her cold, dead arms.”

  “He?” Morgan asks, after a minute’s heavy silence.

  Lylette’s eyes blaze. “Barr.”

  I feel horror at what she describes, but more than that I feel anger. It’s like a fire erupting deep inside of me, it’s flames spreading through my blood till I feel consumed by it. The Animas Animals have taken so much, and yet it’s not enough. It never will be. They’re always reaching, searching f
or more. Supplies to take. Lives to ruin. And nobody does anything about it. They fear the Animals far too much to even consider it. So long as that fear remains, so will the Animal's reign over this town.

  I think back to the day Grace and I walked out on our mother for good. I promised myself then that I would never again let my fear of others dictate my life. I’ve lost sight of that promise. I’ve allowed myself to fear the Animals and all the things they could do to the ones I love. No more. The time for fear is over. It’s time I remember the promise I made and never look back.

  Chapter 8: (Morgan)

  The night is dark and frigid, the moon only a sliver in the starlit sky. I’m grateful for the concealment though I could do without the icy wind that assaults us. I can’t remember the last time I felt truly warm. The day the ranch fell would be my best guess. That was over a week ago. The days that have followed haven’t been easy. The rations grow smaller. Tempers grow shorter. It seems like every time I turn around there’s a fight about to break out. Thankfully, those fights have not yet escalated past words, but as each day passes, I fear it’s only a matter of time. One might think that with all we’re dealing with, people could see past their differences and come together. But that just hasn't happened. We may share resources, burdens, risks, but we are still divided. It’s frustrating as all hell.

  Felix drops to a knee and holds up his fist, signaling for us to stop. I kneel beside him, shaking the bitter thoughts from my head. Now is not the time. I scan the bridge and the opposite bank of the river, searching for any movement in the darkness. Nothing stands out to me. After a minute’s surveyance, we continue on. Felix and I move first, Lylette and Angela close behind us. We pick up our pace on the bridge, none of us thrilled with being exposed without cover. The windows of the riverfront buildings leer down at us as we draw closer, moonlight reflecting off the glass like gleaming, malevolent eyes. Anyone could be watching us from within those darkened confines. But no shouts call down to us. No bullets shatter the night air. We make it to the trail without incident.

  We turn right, the windows above still looking down on us, leaving me with the feeling of being watched. My eyes scan them constantly, but still, nothing seems amiss. Still, it’s with a breath of relief when we finally pass them. The trail slopes upward as a large commercial building looms ahead of us. We follow the trail, leaving it as we approach a rear entrance to the building. We get into position on either side of the door. Felix holds up three fingers. Two. One.

  We enter cautiously, flashlights sweeping through the hallways and rooms we pass. I strain my ears, listening for anything above the quiet tread of our feet. Felix’s light splashes across a sign halfway down the hallway: Pharmacy. We move toward it. The door opens without restraint and we move inside. I hop over the counter and find myself in a room with rows of shelving units, praying we find what we came here for. But even at a glance, I can tell the place has been wiped out already, the shelves nearly bare save for a handful of discarded bottles. It doesn’t take long to check them against the list of names we’ve memorized. Nothing. Not even a single match.

  I ball up my fist and only just manage to resist the urge to punch the wall. I don’t need to add a busted hand to our problems. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been half a year since the world went dark. It was too much to hope that we would find what we needed here after all that time. Places like this would have been one of the first places hit. Still, we had to check, had to do something. I think of those waiting for us back at the safe house. I think of the desperation that shone in some of their eyes and the urge to punch something doubles, knowing we will return empty-handed.

  “Maybe Richard found something,” Felix says.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Let’s hope.” We tell each other this because we have to. Because neither of us wants to admit what it might mean otherwise. But I can hear the truth in his voice, and when he looks at me, I know he can hear the same in mine. Neither of us expects Richard’s search to be any more successful than ours.

  We trace our steps back into the cold night, the wind less biting than when we entered the building. Or perhaps I’m just numb to it. We follow the trail to the bridge, the housing units and their dozens of blackened windows once again leering at us from above. We reach the bridge. As Felix scans the opposite bank, I keep my eyes on the windows, looking for anything stirring inside. Though nothing stands out to me, the feeling of being watched intensifies. It comes as a relief when we finally cross.

  Across the river, it’s an easy route back to the safe house. We follow the river trail, past Serious Texas BBQ and the mini-golf course, past the mall and the dozens of abandoned vehicles buried under the snow, on till we leave the trail for the road. On our right, two hotels sit adjacent to one another, the Stadium 9 movie theatre hidden behind the closer of the two.

  “Another hotel. Seems like every year this town just gets bigger and bigger. One day we'll blink and we won't even recognize the place.”

  It wasn’t the first time I heard my father say something along those lines. Growing up, I heard it time and again. Of course, he wasn’t wrong. Before everything changed, this town was constantly changing. Hotels. Condos. Banks. Every time you turned around it seemed like one or the other was under construction, any scrap of land available snatched up for development. And each time it grew, the town seemed to lose just a little more of the identity that made it so unique, so special. His concerns were valid. At the rate it was going, I wonder what this place would have been like twenty-odd years from now. A chill goes through me as I wonder what this place will be like in that time. Will it be better? Worse? I shake the thought away. Right now I have more immediate concerns that require my attention.

  We follow the road, passing beneath the traffic bridge spanning the river, and toward Bodo. The myriad of buildings filling the industrial park loom ahead, rising against the hillside for several blocks and running parallel to the highway for over a mile. We avoid it almost altogether, veering off the road and cutting across a small field till we reach the squat, two-story building sitting at the park’s most southern tip. Our safe house. The door opens for us as we approach.

  “Thanks, cuz,” I say as the others file past.

  Trent nods. “Did you find anything?” he asks.

  “We didn’t,” I admit. “Has Richard’s party returned?”

  “Not yet,” he says. “Maybe he found something.”

  I force a smile. “Let’s hope.”

  I move past, the sound of coughing growing louder the further I go. Even behind closed doors, there is no mistaking it. Six have grown sick in the days that have followed our midnight escape from the cabin. Frigid temperatures and wet clothing. Sparse diets and close quarters. It's no surprise that so many are sick.

  I find most of us in a large, open office space. They sit at desks or sprawl out on the floor, steam puffing from their mouths with each breath they take. One look around is enough for me to know that Felix and Lylette have informed them of our failure. The worry is thick among us, both for our loved ones and for ourselves. We’re all worried we’ll be the next ones to fall ill.

  I approach Lauren who sits with Leon and Emily at a corner desk when I notice Abigail on the opposite side of the room. I change course and approach my younger cousin. She stands outside a private office, face nearly pressed against the glass as she peers inside. The blinds are just open enough to make out the shape of my cousin Julia, shirt wrapped around her face as a makeshift mask as she looks over my Uncle Will who coughs into his hand. Two others lie in the room: Frank’s right hand, Val, and Becca, one of the former Animals who was orphaned during the battle on the farm. I’ve watched Abigail grow close with the little girl these past weeks. It’s no guess who she watches now.

  “How’s it hanging, Abe?” I ask as brightly as I can manage, face contorted in a smile so forced I doubt it fools anyone. It certainly doesn’t fool her. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t even turn around and tell me off for calling her Ab
e as she normally would. She just continues to look into the room, eyes on her sick friend as her breath condenses on the glass.

  “You didn’t find any medicine,” she says. “I heard Felix tell Aunt Marie.”

  Her words steal the air from my lungs, the deep worry filling her voice so wrong coming from her. Since she was born, she was like a little ray of sunshine. Always happy. Always smiling. Even now, after everything has fallen apart, she has the ability to light up a room with her energy. I hate seeing her like this, but I’m at a loss as of what to do.

  “Richard’s still out there,” I say. “He might have better luck.”

  Abigail shakes her head. “No,” she says. “He won’t.” Unlike me, she truly believes what she says.

  “He might,” I say, hoping, praying that I’m right. She doesn’t even respond, just continues to watch her friend, the fog on the glass steadily thickening with each breath. “You know we still haven’t finished that puzzle we found the other day. What do you say? Want to give it a try? I doubt I can do it on my own.”

  She just shakes her head again. “No thank you,” she says, dejected as ever. “I want to be here when she wakes up...Maybe if she sees me it will make her feel better.”

  My throat constricts. Pressure builds behind my eyes. “I’m sure it will,” I say, struggling past the lump in my throat. I leave her be, telling her to get me when she’s ready to finish the puzzle.

  “Thank you for trying.” I turn to find my cousin Jenna half-concealed behind a desk.

  “She’s really taking it hard, huh?” I ask.

  “I’m worried about her, Morgan,” she says. “She took mom’s death so hard. How couldn’t she? They were so damn close. But she seemed to be doing better lately. Playing and laughing. Making friends with that girl, Becca. Now all these people are sick. I think she’s afraid they won’t get better—that they’ll end up dying too...I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to help her.”