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

by Esquibel, Don M.

  “I said it can’t be any worse than our infamous potato soup,” Leon says.

  I force a smile, remembering the nightmarish concoction Leon and I put together during a culinary course back in high school.

  “I hope not,” I say. “There’s no PB & J’s available to get the taste out of our mouths if it is.”

  Leon laughs and launches into yet another story. I nod and smile along without really hearing any of it. I appreciate what he’s doing though, attempting to keep our friend’s minds off the grim situation we’re facing. My mind, however, isn’t so easily distracted. And though my friends compose themselves the best they can, I sense their minds are just as preoccupied as mine.

  I might wonder what they are thinking if I had the energy to do so. I might wonder if they were scheming some master plan to weed out the mole—some genius idea that hours of discussions have yet to produce. I wish they would tell me if they did. The dissension among us continues to grow, each tick of the clock inching us closer to Barr’s ultimatum. I don’t know how much more of this we can take before the fragile balance holding us together unravels. Already, it has grown frayed.

  I look to my right and meet the dark glare of a man in line behind me. I don’t know his name, but I remember him as one of the more outspoken proponents to turn me over to Barr. His nose is busted, courtesy of the scrap that broke out minutes after Barr’s last message. Seeing me emerge from the medical wing, he and several buddies tried to rush me, intending to take me hostage. They failed. A wave of bodies made of my family, ranchers, and Lynn’s people rose up and stopped them. I had them released and their weapons confiscated. Some called for them to be locked up or banished, but I refused both. There’s enough hostility already without adding more. Locking them up might remove them as a threat, but it could just as easily create more if people saw it as an act Barr would do. It’s a risk I couldn’t take.

  “You know, a black eye would go well with that busted nose he’s got,” Leon says, voice loud enough to carry. An ugly scowl crosses his face, but he makes no move toward us. Instead, he shakes his head and turns away, as if we are not worthy of his time.

  “We’re all on the same side, Lee,” I say. “We can’t let the real enemy make us forget that.” I project my voice so it carries further than my group of friends, hoping those who hear might miss the dejected note in my words. My friends aren’t fooled though. They know me far too well for that. But they don’t question it, and Leon, for his part, lets it drop.

  We are served our portion and settle ourselves in a secluded corner of the ballroom. I sip my soup without really tasting it, but thankful for the warmth that settles inside my stomach. I glance at the opposite corner where a huge window pane has been shattered and boarded up. The memory comes back to me in an instant: the room full of terrified prisoners; the sound of gunfire ripping into the room; Vince shooting out the window as Richard and I hurled Molotov cocktails at the rushing Animals.

  In many ways, that’s when this feud truly started—the moment Barr realized that he and his brother were not invincible—that there were some who would not accept their rule without question. Then he learned that I was involved, and any possibility at peace was lost. I try to focus on the fact. Try to reassure myself that this is not my fault and that it would always have come to this. But all I feel is a wave of exhaustion. In Denver, when the EMP first struck, I remember speaking to my friends about the challenges that awaited us and assuring them that as daunting as they may be, we would fight them together. Since then all I’ve done is fight. I don’t know how many rounds I have left in me.

  I look away from the corner, glancing over the many bodies who fill the room. A young boy sits close by, our eyes meeting each other at the same time. It’s as if I can see my own dejectedness reflected in him, his expression lost, the foul energy about the place plainly shown on his face. I force myself to smile, an act that feels as if I’m straining every muscle in my face. The boy’s mouth curves into a small smile of his own as he raises his hand in a wave. I return the wave, feeling a trace of my old self trickling into me as I do so. I may be tired, but this fight is not yet finished. I have to push on. I have to. If not, then all this was for nothing.

  As if the universe could sense what I was thinking, it deals yet another blow. The smile falls from my face as one of Lynn’s men rounds the corner and rushes toward me. A quick glance at his face tells me whatever it is, it’s serious.

  “What’s happened?” I ask, rising to my feet.

  “Barr’s guards,” he says breathlessly. “They’ve been killed.”

  I curse and hurry beside him as he leads us to the scene. More gather in our wake as we pass. By the time we’ve reached the stairs, it’s a collective mob at our back. The sound of shouting reaches my ears as we descend. The hallway is packed with bodies as we draw near the commotion. I elbow and shove my way forward until we reach a small circle cordoned off by the guards on duty. An open doorway reveals several people, but it’s the slumped form of a corpse that draws my attention.

  I turn to Leon and Felix. “They need help securing the perimeter,” I say.

  “On it,” Felix says.

  I enter the room and examine the corpse more closely. It sits upright, his restraints keeping him from sliding to the floor. Even so, there is no mistaking the blood-drenched shirt or red pool that has formed on the floor. Gently, I move his head up, revealing the slit throat I suspected. A quick look to the left and right and I see his fellow prisoners received the same fate.

  “Let us go,” a voice shouts to my left. “Traitors! We did nothing wrong.”

  I turn to the voice and find three bound men staring at me, their faces furious. I barely spare them a glance.

  “What the hell happened?” I ask Richard.

  “These heroes decided it was time they stood up to Barr and take some revenge,” he says, unable to mask the bitterness from his voice. “As you can see, they were successful.” I look back at the corpses, imagining what it must have been like to be bound as they were, unable to defend themselves as these men came and slit their throats. I don’t care what they’ve done, they didn’t deserve this. I don’t know that we ever could have lived together, but to be killed the way they did isn’t right. We’re better than this. Or at least I thought we were.

  “Why?” I ask them.

  “Because they deserved to die,” the man in the middle says. The brains of the operation. “They chose their side a long time ago, only you couldn’t see that. Even with Barr calling for your head, you kept them alive. Fool. They’d have turned on us the second they had the chance. We just made sure they never got it.”

  Behind me, there are cheers of agreement, the cordon around the room growing smaller as people push forward to get inside.

  “I don’t need to tell you how sticky this situation is, right?” I ask.

  Richard laughs bitterly beside me. “That’s putting it lightly.”

  I ignore him. “We can’t let what they did go without consequences...but how do we do that?” I point my finger to the mob behind us. “Things are delicate enough right now.”

  “We could cast them out,” Lynn says. “Sets boundaries and sends a message to anyone else who might try and take up their mantle.

  “That could just as easily spark a protest,” Richard says.

  That’s my biggest fear. One scared, angry person pulling out their weapon could start a chain reaction that could never be undone. I tell them as much.

  “Agreed,” Frank says. “Forcing them out is essentially a death sentence.”

  “Not only that, it could end up backfiring on us,” I add. “Just because they’re gone, doesn’t mean they’ll no longer be a threat...we can’t forget what happened with Mitch.”

  Hated looks cross many faces at the mention of my uncle. I feel it myself. After what happened between him and Lauren, I couldn’t believe I could have so much hatred for a man I once loved. I struggled to believe the uncle I once looked up t
o, the man who would buy me junk food when my parents wouldn’t and signed me out of school on snowy days so we could ski, was the same man who tried to rape the woman I love. It was that struggle that made me banish him from the farm instead of killing him. I had to believe I was doing the right thing by letting him go.

  Now, I count that decision among my worst. Damn the reasons, if I had the chance to go back and do it all over, I would have put a bullet in him myself. Maybe then the Animals would never have found us. Maybe we could have relocated to Philip’s ranch, and this war could have been avoided. I shake the thought from my mind. I can’t allow myself to be swept up in the mistakes of the past. I have to maintain my focus on what happens now.

  “We keep them locked up for now,” I say. “Half rations. At least until we bring everyone up to speed. If we make too hasty of a decision or punish them too severely, it will only hurt us.”

  “I can agree to that,” Richard says. “A little cold and hunger might bring some sense to them.”

  “Now comes the easy part and dispersing the crowd,” Frank says.

  He’s right about that. People are running on pent up anger, frustration, and fear. It’s not a combination I look forward to addressing. But there’s no choice in the matter. I move out of the room, into the small circle of space that has remained clear.

  “Everyone, quiet!” I yell. Even with me shouting at the top of my lungs, I have to repeat myself twice more before it quiets enough for me to speak. “As you’ve heard, three of our guards decided to shirk their responsibilities and kill those we held captive.”

  “Good riddance,” yells a woman. I ignore her.

  “I know there is no love lost between the captives and you all, but that is beside the point. It was decided to keep them alive, and they deliberately disregarded that decision. That can’t go by without consequence. So until we can decide on a course of action, they are to remain here, under guard.”

  “Under guard by who?” asks the man who attacked me earlier. “Your people?”

  “By people who won’t let them go the moment our backs are turned,” I answer.

  “So your people in other words,” the man says. “This is bullshit. We were here first. What right do you have to come in here and act like your word is law? You’re starting to sound more and more like the man you claim to hate.”

  “That’s not what we’re doing,” I say. Is it? I try and put myself in their position, of the conditions they suffered under Barr and his brother. And then we moved in. We removed the shackles that bound them and thought what? That their graciousness would be enough to keep them peaceful? That they would accept the decisions we made without question? In truth, I see where he is coming from. But that doesn’t mean I can back down from this position any more than I can take back the actions that put me here.

  I feel their eyes settle on me in all their intensity, as if the gravity of the hallway has condensed into the small circle I stand. They’re waiting for me to speak, to say something. But I can’t squeeze the words past the pressure in my chest. Thankfully, I’m saved the trouble as Richard steps forward.

  “Do you see a gun pointed to your head?” he asks the man. He doesn’t answer, but his face flushes red. “Are we threatening you to follow our orders?” Again, he doesn't answer, nor do any who stand behind him. “No? Then quit comparing us with Barr! We’re nothing like him. And as for laying down the law? We’re just trying to hold this place together. I don’t see you doing anything other than bitch and moan, and try to mutiny against the man who’s done more than any of us to make this work. So until you can come up with a plan of your own, I suggest you quit bitching and shut your mouth!”

  If the man was red before, it’s nothing to the shade that flushes his face now. He’s embarrassed in the worst way a man like him can be: publicly. He doesn’t say a word though. Instead, he turns away and is the first in the mob to clear away. Those who backed him watch him go, and after exchanging glances, follow him down the hall. The rest of the crowd isn’t so easily calmed, but eventually, we manage to break it up without any violence. A small miracle.

  I’m not fooled. They may have moved from the hallway, but they will gather in the lobby and the ballroom upstairs. Their dissent will not be so easily silenced. All we’ve done is buy us time. I think of Barr’s ultimatum once again. Time is the one thing we do not have.

  “Thank you,” I tell Richard, voice low so only he can hear me.

  “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “All I did was speak the truth. I’ve known men like that my whole life. They’ll bitch all day about how things are run but don’t have any ideas of their own on how to improve things. I couldn’t stand them back when things were good and I’m not about to listen to their bullshit now.”

  He squeezes my shoulder. “We’ll sort this out,” he says. “We’ll deal with this and then we’ll find a way to get that bastard once and for all. This will all be a memory soon enough. You hear me?”

  “I hear you,” I say.

  “Do you believe me?” he asks, offering his hand.

  I clasp his hand. “I do, brother,” I say. “I do.”

  My hand drops to my side with the weight of the lie. For him and for those watching I keep my mask in place, airing confidence the best I can. But I feel nothing but cold emptiness inside me. The lumps keep piling on and piling on. And try as I might, I can’t see past it. All I can do is hope something shifts. Changes. But as of right now, I feel stuck.

  We ascend to the ground floor. As expected, the packs have formed. Many who stood against the man when he attacked me, back him now. He speaks amid a great circle, no doubt telling all who will listen of what transpired and how we must demand the men below be released. At least, I assume he does. He is careful not to let his voice rise so high, keeping the scene from dissolving into a mob as it did downstairs. He won’t risk pushing the issue until he’s certain there is more support than opposition.

  I walk past the crowd, toward the lobby where my family has gathered. Most of the ranchers and Lynn’s people have joined them as well. Even here, I sense that some waver in their stance. Not surprising. Not all agreed with the decision to keep Barr’s followers captive. They merely went along with it because I insisted it was the right thing to do. But they still felt what they felt, and for my part, I understood it. It’s hard to feel sympathy for monsters—to offer protection over those who would stab you in the back if they but had a knife. Yet I did so, all so I would not become a monster myself. Now those monsters are gone, and many look to those who slew them and wonder what crime they truly committed. In the stories, are such acts not rewarded? And here I am, locking them up because they did not do as they were told. I’m not Barr. But I can see why some glare at me as if I was.

  “They don’t know what it means to make the hard choices.”

  That’s what Richard told me. Perhaps they’re better off for that. Because those choices strike a heavy burden. They change a man. I know better than most.

  “Where are you going?” Lauren asks.

  I pause and turn to face her. “I need a minute to process everything,” I say.

  “You sure?” she asks. Sure that you really want to be alone? I hear what goes left unsaid.

  “Ten minutes,” I say. “I just need to get my bearings.”

  She nods and squeezes my hand. “Ok,” she says.

  I don’t bother smiling, knowing how easily she’ll see through it. Instead, I kiss the back of her hand once and move quickly past her. The knot in my chest tightens as I reach the stairwell and the din of the lobby is muted. I hurry up the stairs, feeling as if I’ll be ill. Just another dozen steps, I tell myself. Just another dozen steps and the mask can drop. I fumble for the room key only to discover the door sits ajar. I enter cautiously, Glock raised. Then I see her and I holster the weapon once more. I turn and shut the door.

  “How did you know I would be up here?” I ask.

  My mother’s smile is one reserved for small
humors, one that says I should already know the answer.

  “Because you are my son,” she says simply.

  “That’s not really an answer,” I say.

  “But it is,” she says. “You may be grown, but I know you as well as I did when you were a child covering for your sister and cousins.”

  “Aunt Virginia was right then?” I ask, settling on the mattress across from her. “You knew I was covering for them all that time?”

  “Of course I knew,” she says. “Your heart has always been so big, Morgan. I’ve always loved that most about you. But from the moment you came back home, I knew how it would grow to be a burden on you.”

  I don’t bother contradicting her. She’s right. Lauren has told me as much already. Aunt Virginia too. I hate that they see through me so easily. It makes me feel weak—like a boy who can’t handle his own emotions.

  “Is that why you’re here?” I ask, lashing out like the sullen boy I fear myself to be. “To tell me to stop beating myself up, and assure me everything is going to be alright?”

  The smile from her face falls, my mocking replacing it with a steely gaze.

  “No, Morgan,” she says. “That’s not why I am here. Truth be told, things are pretty far from being alright, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. Even if Barr were to drop dead tomorrow, we’d still have a long way to go before we get to that point.”

  I’m taken aback at the abrupt honesty. I was so sure she came to offer me some kind of comfort, of reassurance. The unexpected truth is sobering. She leans forward so that I am forced to look her square in the face. Staring into her eyes is like looking into my own, and has been the case throughout my life, I cannot get a read on her.

  “I’m here to tell you that whatever you’re feeling, whatever emotions you’re bottling up inside you, you need to let them out. Here and now while nobody can see. If you don’t, they’ll destroy you worse than Barr ever could.”

  The knot inside my chest constricts, rocking my entire body as if it were a physical thing. Unable to meet her eyes, I hang my head, hands forming into fists as I resist doing as she says. But she won’t be ignored.