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

by Esquibel, Don M.

  Barr. The hate I hold for him seemingly has no end. I felt so confident when we attacked the DoubleTree, foolishly believing we could end this all in one night. Even after he slipped away, I felt it was only a matter of time before we rooted him out. But the days keep passing. The bodies keep falling. And the fear in those who lived under his rule continues to grow. As much as I hate him, I have to give credit where credit is due. We had the upper hand, but he’s played his cards perfectly. He was never going to be able to take this place back by force. His only chance was to create dissent. Mistrust. And he’s done that beautifully, turning many who praised us that first day against us.

  I shake the thoughts from my mind. All they are are distractions, and I can’t afford them at the moment. This isn’t over. There is still time yet to fix the rift that has grown between us. And it starts with this plan.

  Morgan knocks. Despite the late hour, Owen is quick to answer, only having just retired for the night after holding court in the lobby. While already popular among the remaining Animals, he has now ascended to hero status after “surviving” the attack that claimed the lives of his men. For what it’s worth, he has the brooding hero look down. The faraway stare, eyes puffy and bloodshot. The forced smile that doesn’t quite hide the pain that lies beneath. We watched him for nearly an hour, all the while looking for a tell, some small gesture that might reveal his true motives. But all I saw was a haunted man doing his best to maintain his composure for the sake of others. Still, the question remains: is that really him, or is it who he wants us to believe he is?

  He’s surprised to see us but is quick to hide it, inviting us inside. I search his face up close, again digging for some sign of duplicity. I find none, his smile seemingly genuine as he brushes aside our apologies for disturbing him.

  “I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for you and your team finding me when you did,” he tells me. “I’d have collapsed and froze to death. Not a doubt in my mind. So thank you. I am in your debt.”

  He sounds so sincere, so heartfelt. It makes my stomach twist into a knot. Is it possible Nick got it wrong? Could it all have been a lie? A ruse designed by Barr to break this fragile alliance? One thing is for certain, either Nick or Owen are world-class liars. It’s on us to figure out one from the other.

  “Don’t mention it,” I say, arranging my face into what I hope is a convincing smile. “You can repay any debt by taking care of yourself. How are you feeling anyway?”

  “Much better thanks to the doc,” he says. “Ready for another crack at Barr, too. And this time, he won’t get the drop on us.” His tone turns dark quick as he mentions Barr. “Speaking of which, Barr’s deadline is tomorrow night. I may be on the mend, but I need to know: have you come up with a plan yet?”

  “Actually, that’s why we’ve come to speak with you,” Morgan says. “We still don’t have any leads. Not on the mole or on Barr’s location. What’s more, we’ve been having trouble finding scouts. After what happened with your team, people aren’t so quick to volunteer. They’re terrified they’ll be the next ones killed.”

  This is partly true. Outside of the family and some of Lylette and Lynn’s people, there would be no volunteers. Best to sprinkle in bits of the truth where we can.

  “I can talk to some people,” he says. “I’m sure I can put a team together.”

  I’m sure he could too. His sway has grown large enough that people would volunteer to gain favor. However, a scout team is not on the agenda.

  “Thank you, but we have other ideas in mind,” Morgan says. He leans forward, closer to Owen. “Before we came here there was a group we met. It was just after Barr raided Lylette’s ranch. We barely made it out of that alive. Might not have if we hadn’t smelled the woodsmoke. By then we had been running for hours. We were soaked and frozen. Exhausted beyond belief. So we followed the smell, led us to the fireside of a small hunting party. That they didn’t kill us on the spot was a miracle in itself. An even bigger miracle was when they took us to their place.

  “It was a small operation. Only a dozen people or so. But all of them were strong and hard. I have no doubt they are still alive. They didn’t have much to offer but some shelter and a fire, both of which we were happy to accept. We were there for two days before we parted ways. We might not have been together long, but I got to know them fairly well in that time. Two, in particular, caught my interest. They were brothers, Jason and Kenneth. They’d only been in town six months when the pulse hit. The previous ten years were spent in the marines. They told me stories about their service. If half of them are true, we might have found our solution to Barr.”

  The light turns on in Owen’s eyes. “You want to try and recruit them?” he asks. “Use them to help find Barr?”

  “It’s desperate, I know,” Morgan says. “But we’re at that point. They didn’t want to join our cause at first, and I can’t blame them. What we accomplished, was no guarantee. There were a hundred different ways it could have all gone wrong. But now? They might be more inclined to help us.”

  Owen considers this a moment. “Even if they are willing to help us, I doubt they could find him by tomorrow night. And to be honest, I’m very concerned about what will happen if we let the deadline pass and another body drops.”

  He does look concerned too. It makes it so much harder to believe what Nick said was true. I don’t want to believe Owen would betray us.

  “You’re right,” I answer. “We won’t have enough time to do so. The best we can do is give the Mole as little opportunity to kill as possible.”

  “And how do you propose that?

  “By congregating,” I say. “Starting tomorrow morning, everyone will take up space in the lobby or ballroom. If the mole can’t get us alone, he can’t strike.”

  “You want to corral us all together?” he asks.

  “It has to be done,” Morgan says. “Only our lookouts will be exempt, and they will travel in platoons of six. It’s not ideal, but it will give us time to root Barr out.”

  Owen looks uncertain. “I don’t need to tell you things are tense right now, Morgan. I’m not sure putting us all together is the best idea.”

  Does he say this out of genuine concern? Or is his only concern the added difficulty of getting one of us alone?

  “I know,” Morgan says. “But I am out of ideas and the clock is ticking. We have to try something Barr won’t expect. This is the best we could come up with.”

  Owen curses. “You may be right,” he says. “I’d be lying if I said I had a better plan.” He pauses, thinking. “So who will we be sending out to recruit these people?”

  Morgan pats my knee. “Just the two of us,” he says.

  It’s a wonder Owen can’t feel my eyes burning into him with the intensity of my stare. I search his face for anything I can, any emotion that might reveal themselves with this information. But all I see is surprise.

  “Are you sure? If something happens to you...”

  “Then the place will remain in good hands,” Morgan says. “They look to you and see someone worth looking up to. So be that person. Lead them. Keep the place together while I am away.”

  As I watch him, it’s as if a great weight settles onto his shoulders, as if Morgan’s words of praise were a burden rather than a gift. I don’t know what to make of it.

  “Ok,” he says finally. “If you’re sure it’s for the best.”

  “I’m sure of nothing,” Morgan says. “But this is our best shot at finding Barr. We have to take it.”

  Now that we’ve convinced Owen, we hash out some of the finer details. His main concern is the security of the place if people find out Morgan has left. We assure him it will be alright, that between him and Richard, they can keep things in line until we return.

  “This is for you,” Morgan says before we leave.

  Owen takes the folded paper with a raised eyebrow. He unfolds it and discovers the map we have drawn.

  “We’ll leave before dawn,” Morgan says. �
�Assuming they haven’t abandoned the place, we should reach them by noon. Richard’s the only person outside this room who knows where we’re going. I don’t expect to have trouble, but I’ve learned it’s hard to predict anything where Barr’s concerned. I need to be sure someone else knows where we’ll be, and more importantly, the people we’re trying to recruit. Just in case.”

  It’s as if I can see the weight increase on Owen’s shoulders. He looks between us, a shadow of something I can’t decipher flashing across his face as our eyes meet. I try to place it, but it’s gone so fast I’m not entirely convinced it wasn’t a trick of the light.

  “I won’t take this lightly,” he says, extending his hand to Morgan.

  “I know you won’t,” Morgan says, shaking his hand. “Now get some sleep. I expect tomorrow will be an eventful day for both of us.”

  We leave Owen’s room a minute later. The traffic in the halls has lessened, our only company being the patrols we’ve put in place to catch the mole. All for the better. My knees feel shaky as I walk, my pent up nerves reaching their breaking point. We climb the stairs and I dash inside our room. I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, the door at my back the only thing keeping me upright.

  “How did it go?” Richard asks.

  “As well as could be expected,” Morgan says. “He believed us in any case.”

  “You’re sure?” Richard presses.

  “Can we really be sure of anything?” Morgan replies, the same answer he gave Owen. “He sounded like he bought it at any rate. It didn’t take a lot of acting on our part to appear desperate.” There’s too much truth in the statement to warrant any humor. The truth is, we are desperate. This whole ploy to unmask Owen could fail miserably. Even if he is the mole, there’s no guarantee he takes the bait. All we can do is hope for the best.

  “Felix and Frank already depart?” I ask to break the tension.

  “Yes,” Richard says. “They slipped away while you were talking with Owen.”

  The plan is already in motion. There’s no taking it back now. Richard reads his watch.

  “I’m going to check on my girls,” he says. “I suggest you two get some sleep while you can.”

  He leaves the room. The door closes with a gentle thud, but it seems overly loud in the silence. Despite what we might say aloud, I know how tense both of us are. I can feel its presence in the room with us. I meet his eyes, and only then do I see how exhausted he is. I’d be surprised if he’s caught more than a few hour’s sleep since the first body dropped. Sleep is what he needs now more than anything.

  “He’s right,” I say. “We should get some sleep.”

  “I think I’ll keep watch for a while,” he says.

  I take his hand in mine. “Trust the patrols, Morgan, “ I say. “Leon and Vince won’t let anything happen to us. And we both need to be prepared for tomorrow.”

  He sighs. “If only sleep were enough.”

  Another hard truth.

  Sleep, it turns out, is elusive. I stare at the wall, the sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains just enough to give it texture from the darkness of the room. Behind me, Morgan sleeps, his exhaustion winning out mere moments after his head hit the pillow. Better him than me. From the moment I met him, I’ve been amazed at his mental toughness—at his ability to feel so much and not be crippled by the burden that comes with it. But months of stress and setbacks must have taken their toll. How much longer can he carry on like this?

  Even as he sleeps, I fear the dreams he weaves. I fear how abrupt he might wake, his pulse racing as he looks around in a panic, in confusion. I’ll take his hand in mine, and whisper soft assurances that he’s fine, that we’re safe. He won’t see the silent tears that fill my eyes or feel how my heart breaks for him as the tension leaves his body. And then after, as his breathing deepens and he drifts back to sleep, I will lie awake once more, hatred flooding my veins as I think of the man who has us living such a life. I feel that same hatred course through me now.

  Tomorrow, I assure myself. Tomorrow we will root out the mole. Tomorrow is the beginning of the end for Barr. It’s the thought that sends me off to sleep.

  All too soon, I wake to find Morgan lacing up his boots, his winter coat on the table beside him.

  “I was just about to wake you,” he says.

  “Time to disappear?” I ask.

  He nods. “Dawn’s less than an hour off,” he says. “We need to be gone well before then.”

  We dress in extra layers but still the cold is brutal, that first breath of frigid air making my lungs constrict and sending an icy burn through my chest. The snow crunches underfoot as we hurry along the river trail, away from the building that is both a blessing and a curse. We were let out by our own people, but that doesn’t mean we are invisible. Owen could be watching us even now, waiting to see that we are following through with the plan we laid out for him. We won’t be. It just needs to appear so.

  As soon as we are out of sight of the hotel, we leave the river trail and enter the parking lot of another. We take refuge inside the room Felix and Frank have cleared out for us. A bundle of blankets sits folded on the mattress along with a note.

  “Stay warm. We’ll contact soon.”

  Morgan wraps the blankets around us as we huddle close as possible for warmth. He offers to keep an eye on things if I want to try for more sleep. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Though my sleep was short, I feel wide awake, my nerves a more effective stimulant than caffeine. The chill subsides, the heat of our bodies warming me so I hardly notice the cold. Or perhaps that is a side effect of my wandering mind—of the raging stream of thoughts that run without end, images flowing before my eyes as vivid and real as if they were in the room with me.

  Before long, Morgan is on his feet, pacing the length of the room as is his custom. I watch his progress, wondering if it helps at all. We try small talk for a time but quickly disband with it, both of us preferring silence to that tripe. We certainly prefer it to the heavier discussion of what could be unfolding elsewhere. My eyes are constantly drawn to the radio sitting on the end table as if by doing so I might make it come to life and give us the answer we seek. But it remains silent, no news reported from either our people at the hotel or Felix and Frank. My nerves deepen as the sun rises, the light growing stronger through the small gap of curtains.

  “We should have heard from them by now,” Morgan says.

  “We can’t be sure of that,” I say. “There’s still time.”

  I say this though I feel the same myself. If Barr were to spring a trap for Morgan, surely he’d be in position by now. Wouldn’t he? More time passes, and my nerves have turned to dread, my rampant mind turning darker as no word is had. It was agreed last night that we would not contact Felix or Frank. But now, we are both tempted to do so, our worry for the two of them growing by the minute. I’m just about to suggest we break protocol and contact them when static sounds from the radio.

  “Cap--do--py?”

  The voice is broken up and distorted, the signal weak.

  “This is Captain,” Morgan says, grabbing the radio a moment later. “Is that you Boy Scout?” No reply comes. “I repeat, this is Captain. Do you read me, Boy Scout?” Nothing but static. Morgan tries one more time and still, there is no reply. He curses and lets the receiver go, filling the room with nothing but the radio’s white noise. We wait in tense silence, me hugging my stomach which has suddenly bottomed out, and Morgan, gripping the radio so tightly I fear it might crush beneath his hand. Then finally, there is a reply.

  “Boy Scout to Captain. Do you copy, Captain?”

  “I hear you Boy Scout,” Morgan says, exhaling in relief at hearing Felix’s voice. “What’s your status?”

  “The mice went after the cheese,” he says.

  My blood turns to ice. First in understanding, then again in anger. Morgan goes rigid, the news hitting him hard. “You’re sure?” he says.

  “Positive,” Felix says. “
Saw Mickey in person. Almost risked extermination, but we were too far off.”

  “You made the right call,” Morgan says. “Do you still have eyes on them?”

  “Negative. They’ve cleared out already.”

  “Copy,” Morgan says. “What’s your ETA?”

  “Should arrive within the hour.”

  “See you then. Captain over and out.”

  The radio goes silent. Morgan looks to me, and in his eyes, I see a dozen emotions flare to life. Pain. Betrayal. Anger. But above it all rises a cold certainty, an acceptance of what must be done with the knowledge we now have. Still, there is a question in his stare. One which I answer.

  “Send word to Richard,” I say.

  He holds my gaze a moment longer and then nods. He picks up the second radio and makes the call. “Captain to Uncle Dick. Do you copy?”

  Richard’s answer is immediate. “Uncle Dick here. What’s the news?”

  “The mice took the cheese. Keep the rat in your sights but do not engage until we arrive.”

  Richard’s reply is a cold growl. “With pleasure.”

  For the second time, the radio goes silent. His eyes meet mine once again, and I can see my own anger reflected in his. But that is not all we share. I also see the dread, the worry. Just because we know this truth, does not mean we can predict what will unfurl because of it. The only thing I do know is that things are about to get very interesting.

  Chapter 19: (Morgan)

  Owen is the mole. I feel a fool for not realizing it sooner. All that talk of hating Barr, of finding him and putting an end to his regime was just an act. He never meant any of it. I think of the first life he took, of the Animal who praised me so highly the night we took the DoubleTree. He was so grateful, so full of hope at what the future might hold. I think of the scout team who left with Owen in search of Barr. They risked their lives on the chance that it might lead to the discovery of the snake. They couldn’t have known they traveled with one all the same—that they would be struck down just to send me a message. Well, the message has been received. Now, the time has come to send one of my own.