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

by Esquibel, Don M.

  “What’s the play?” I ask my boy scout. If anyone can get us out of this, it’s him.

  True to form, he doesn’t hesitate in his answer. “You and I lead them away,” he says. “The rest of you wait until they follow and then take off.”

  I can hear the protests from Lauren and Emily already. I don’t give them the chance to voice them, agreeing immediately.

  “Soon as they follow, you run,” I say. “We’ll rendezvous at Tarpley.”

  I speak to all of them, but it’s Lauren’s eyes I meet. I don’t look away until she nods, accepting the plan.

  “Be quick,” Leon says, clapping me on the shoulder. Our eyes meet briefly, but it’s time enough for us both to decipher what goes unspoken—his promise to keep them safe, and my deep gratitude and wish of luck.

  Leon’s hand falls from my shoulder and we take off at a sprint. Fifty feet away we fire off a blind shot toward each set of advancing lights, ensuring we have their attention. It works, the lights veering away from the others and focusing solely on us. It’s a deadly game we play, staying just far enough ahead that we stay in their sights but not so close that we give them clear shots at us. I veer left, dip right, all on Felix’s instructions, trusting him to navigate a trail. He points to a small rise.

  “We’ll lose them there if we’re quick!”

  He doesn’t wait for my response, just shifts into a higher gear, showing off his true speed for the first time. It’s all I can do but keep up with him, my lungs burning, my side aching as I climb. There’s no rest at the top, only a wild descent down the backside until we reach leveled ground again. Minutes later we slide to a halt, both of us struggling to catch our breaths as we listen for the sounds of our pursuers. None reach our ear. We’ve lost them.

  We set a quick pace, circling back the way we came. Thank God for Felix. This landscape all looks the same to me. But I don’t question his navigation. My boy scout has never let me down before.

  An orange glow materializes in the distance, growing bigger the closer we draw. The land tilts upwards in a gentle slope. As we gain elevation, the warehouse comes into sharper focus, the orange glow turning into flames that sway and twist in the winter wind. Shadows move at the base of the flames. People. The shouts echo faintly from our distance. The gunshots that follow however ring in my ears like a clap of thunder. Figures slump to the ground, those who were captured or incapacitated by the explosion put down by Barr and his followers.

  That old hate sparks to life, warring with the dread that fills me as I think of so many I love who are unaccounted for.

  “We have to get back to the DoubleTree,” I say. We need to take stock of our damages.

  “I doubt you’ll make it that far.”

  I go rigid. Felix has nearly swung around when a shot from feet behind us stills him.

  “Next one goes through your fucking head,” a voice warns. “Now, throw your weapons in the snow.”

  Without a choice, we comply. There’s no fighting. Not yet.

  “Now, show me them hands and turn around slowly.” I turn and I am greeted with a flashlight pointed in my face, making me blink and squint. There’s a collective hush. And then several voices speak at once.

  “You’re shitting me,”

  “We got him! We got Taylor!”

  “What are the odds you’d be on the team that brings in the old nephew?”

  The light lowers and I see their faces for the first time. Three are unknown to me, but the fourth is one I know well. A thousand thoughts and emotions hit me at once, so quick all I can do is stand frozen as I gape at my uncle standing across from me. Mitch looks equally as unprepared. Eyes wide, face white as the snow beneath our feet. As his comrades celebrate, he does not. Even as the initial shock leaves his face, I see no hint of the excitement I expected nor the hatred that burned in his eyes when I last saw him. No. Instead, I see what I least expected: sadness. And not only that but something else, something deeper. It hits me like a ton of bricks when I recognize the emotion for what it is. Shame. Regret.

  Like a slideshow, events pass before my eyes, all of which were put into motion because of him. The raid on the farm. Losing Ted. Heath. My breath catches. Aunt Virginia. His own sister. The woman who practically raised him, dead because of what he did. The hate builds, unfreezing me from my stupor. I take a step forward, making the Animals stop their gloating and raise their weapons. I barely notice them, consumed as I am in my anger. Damn his regrets. I can never forgive him for what he’s done.

  “I should have let Richard kill you when we had the chance,” I say.

  He holds my gaze a moment and then looks away.

  “I reckon you should have done a lot of things,” one of the men says. “In any case, it’s too late n—”

  The man goes silent, his words lost as if he’s suddenly been struck dumb. He slumps to the ground a heartbeat later, a hatchet buried deep into the back of his skull. The Animals whip around, raising their guns as a shadow unfurls from the dark. Too late. The shadow is already among them, its movements quick and deadly. It collides with Mitch, sending him sprawling through the air, his body crashing against a tree. The shadow launches toward the remaining Animals. One fires but misses. He goes down a second later, sinking to his knees as he clutches his throat that’s been slit wide open. The shadow uses the momentum, spinning toward the remaining Animal who levels his rifle. They act at the exact same moment, a knife spinning out of the shadow’s hand just as the Animal fires. Both go down.

  Felix and I rush forward, him to check on the shadow, and me to ensure the Animals are finished off. The Animal with the hatchet in his skull is dead, and I finish off another with a quick shot to the head. My uncle has disappeared, using the distraction to slip away. I want to give chase, my anger still fresh and raw. But it’s not an option. This fight won’t have gone unnoticed. The shouts, the gunshots. The Animals below will have heard. We need to clear out before reinforcements arrive.

  I find the final Animal on his stomach, inching toward his fallen rifle. I step on his outstretched hand. Then, kneeling, I tilt his head back and drag my knife across his throat. I wipe the blade clean on his jacket and turn my attention to Felix. He kneels beside our saving shadow. I inch forward, a sense of foreboding overcoming me. Then I’m standing over him and I no longer see a shadow. I see a man I love like a father. He’s shaking, his breath coming in shallow spurts. Burns and blisters mare his face, the damage done from the explosion no minor thing. How the hell did he manage the strength to do this?

  My eyes travel from his ravaged face to his chest, a dark pool of blood gushing past Felix’s hands and staining the bed of snow he lies upon. There’s no saving him from this. He knows it too. With his remaining strength, he lifts his hand and rests it atop Felix’s. He tries to speak, but the life leaking out his body leaves him lost for words. Finally, he manages a single syllable, one brimming with pride even though it’s hardly louder than a breath.

  “Son.”

  The word fades. His breath ceases and his eyes go dim. I close my own eyes, not yet ready to see a world without Frank Chavez in it.

  I open them again as a sound of pure mourning escapes Felix: pain mixed with anger mixed with grief. He rocks back and forth, overcome with silent sobs. I can’t keep the tears from falling, memories of Frank cropping up before I can resist. The early morning fishing trips and deep wood hunting camps and everything in between. He taught me so much over the years. If I ever needed him he’d be there no questions asked, a smile on his face and that booming laugh of his. I’ll never hear that laugh again. Never see that smile. Grief threatens to pull me under, to drown me in its dark waters. Then, Felix rises with an angry roar, murder flashing in his eyes. It pulls me back to the surface.

  Felix snatches a discarded rifle and bolts for the warehouse. I lunge and take him to the ground. He snarls and grunts, trying desperately to break my hold on him as we wrestle in the snow.

  “Let me go, Morgan!” he seethes. />
  “And let you get yourself killed?” I ask. He tries to speak but I don’t give him the chance. “No, listen to me God damn it! I know you’re angry but don’t let that blind you. There are too many Animals down there. You try and take them on, and you will die. Frank’s last act was protecting you...don’t let that be in vain.”

  The fight goes out of him. He goes limp in my arms as he breaks down. I hold him tight, his pain harder to bear than my own. I want nothing more than to let him mourn. Better yet, I want to grab my AR and lay waste to those sons of bitches down at the warehouse. I would kill them all save Barr. A quick death is too good for what he deserves. But now is not the time for either. It’s time to move. As if affirming this, a beam of light grows in the distance: the Animal’s first responders.

  “C’mon, Chavo,” I say. “We have to go now. Staying alive is the only way we’ll have a chance to avenge this.” I let go and rise, extending my hand to Felix. He looks up at me. I can still see the rage in his eyes, can sense his longing as he turns and spots the approaching light. He watches them a moment before turning back to me. The rage remains. I expect it will for some time. But there is also resolve. Acceptance.

  He takes my hand and I haul him to his feet. We grab our weapons and this time it is Felix who follows me as we disappear into the night.

  Chapter 22: (Lauren)

  Each lungful of air burns like fire. Every stride through the deep snow is a battle that must be won. And yet I keep forcing deep breaths, keep pumping my legs for all they’re worth. I welcome the pain. Better that than thinking of the carnage back at the warehouse. Better than the thought of all we left behind. The image of Morgan’s face appears. Even in memory, his eyes plead with me trust him, to run and not look back. Only I do look back, wondering if I made a mistake by listening to him.

  How many did Morgan and Felix lead away from us? Not that the number really matters. It was certainly too many for them to take on alone. I might have made a difference if a firefight ensued. Guilt floods me, blinding me to all the ways following them might have hurt instead of help. Guilt’s harsh that way.

  I clear the thought from my head, dragging myself out of the shadows my mind has wandered. I have to have faith Morgan and Felix slipped their pursuers, just as I have to have faith that more of our people survived the explosion and escaped the ambush. Forcing myself back to the present, I consult with Leon and Emily.

  “We still have another three miles before we reach the highway,” he pants. “We have to push through. If Barr planned this, there’s no telling what else he might have planned.”

  Though he tries to hide it, I hear the fear in his voice. I feel it myself. Coupled with anxiety, it becomes the fuel we use to move forward. Soon the moonlight gives way to the inky blue of deep morning, the transition period where night meets day.

  “Up ahead!” Emily says. I squint and spot what’s caught her eye. A dozen people trudge ahead of us. Leon surveys them through his rifle scope.

  “They’re ours,” he confirms. We pick up the pace and call out, catching up with them at the edge of a wide field.

  “Emily!” The word is more of a sob than a shout, the embrace that follows more of a tackle than a hug. But there is no denying the love that radiates from Mr. Taylor as he squeezes his daughter close. My gaze travels from them to those they travel with.

  “You!” I hiss, eyes zeroing in on Owen. My pistol is out and leveled at him a second later. “What the hell are you doing here?” The Explosion. The Ambush. None of it could have happened without someone tipping off Barr.

  Owen doesn’t appear fazed by the gun in his face, his words clipped, almost bored. “I had nothing to do with what happened,” he says. “I’m on your side.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t believe you,” I say.

  “Then believe me.” I recognize the voice but have to do a double-take on the man it belongs to. Richard looks like hell, the left side of his face wrapped in a make-shift bandage. His clothes are singed black, nearly in tatters. It’s only then that I notice his arm around Owen’s shoulder, the younger man helping him stand.

  “He saw them moving through the trees,” Richard says. “If he hadn’t raised the alarm, we might all be dead. If he hadn’t beaten the flames off me and dragged me to safety, I would be dead. He’s on our side.”

  Richard isn’t one to vouch for someone unless he was sure of them. It’s enough for me. I lower my pistol, but I don’t offer an apology. Owen, for his part, doesn’t seem to expect one.

  “Someone betrayed us though,” I say.

  “I know,” Richard says.

  “Have you had word with anyone back at the DoubleTree?” Leon asks.

  “No,” Richard says. “Can’t get a damn signal this far out. No luck on your end?” he looks around. “Where’s Morgan and Felix?”

  “We were being chased,” I say. I glance at Mr. Taylor and have to immediately look away. “They led the Animals away, gave us a chance to escape.”

  There’s a heavy silence. Despite the crippling losses, the absence of Morgan can’t be ignored.

  “We’re to regroup at Tarpley,” Leon says. “They’ll meet us there if...”

  He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to. When the silence becomes too oppressing I clear my throat. Brooding won’t change what’s happened or get us any answers. All we can do is push forward.

  “Come on,” I say. “We still have a lot of ground to cover.”

  More join us as we travel, flagging us down as they recognize us. Many are injured. Burns, sprains, broken limbs. Two have been shot, one cleanly, the bullet entering and exiting through her arm. The other will need to have the bullet removed from his leg, a procedure we can’t do until we reach the DoubleTree. It’s a slow procession. Leon and Vince scout ahead with the radio, hoping they might get a signal out. An hour later they return, their faces grim.

  “No reply,” Leon says. “We tried both the main and emergency frequencies. Nothing.” A chill goes through me, my thoughts immediately going to Grace.

  “Could we still be out of range?” I ask, desperate for an explanation.

  ‘Shouldn’t be,” Richard says. He pauses. “It’s possible it got damaged during the blast...hard to say.” Even as he says this, I can hear the worry creep into his voice. He doesn’t believe it’s damaged. But what else is he going to say? We are hurt so badly already. These people need to cling to what hope they still can. I do as well.

  We push forward. We’ve no other choice but to do so. With the radio silence, the pace quickens. We reach the highway and try the radio again. Still nothing. I look at our ragged group and I have to fight the temptation to go on ahead, to run back to the DoubleTree and find my sister. But then what? If something has happened, what will I be able to accomplish alone? Like it or not, we need each other.

  I’ve just come to the conclusion when there’s a shout from behind. I turn and spot two figures trudging through the deep snow. Even from the distance, I recognize him. Morgan and Felix have spotted us now and make a beeline our way. Morgan crashes into me, the force of his embrace enough to send me to the ground if not for his arms holding me upright. His breathing is ragged, his heart beating fast.

  “Thank God you made it out,” he says. His words send an electric charge straight through me. I feel like I can breathe again. Then his arms drop and I see his face for the first time. His eyes are red and swollen, streams of fallen tears frozen on his face.

  “What’s happened?” I ask, dreading the answer.

  “My uncle is dead,” Felix says. I’m not the only one who’s rocked by the announcement. Even those who still held a grudge seem upset by the news. Despite their feelings, they know he was an asset we can’t replace. To those who knew him best, he was so much more.

  “Felix, I’m so sorry,” I say. I make to embrace him but he holds up a hand, shaking his head.

  “Don’t,” he says, voice gruff. “There will be time for mourning later. Right now we need to m
ake sure the others are safe. Have you managed to contact the DoubleTree yet?’’

  “No,” Richard says. “And you?”

  “Lost the radio during the explosion,” Morgan says.

  I watch him survey our battered group. Less than half remain from what we set out with. Of that, most are injured to some degree. Frank wasn’t the only casualty either, and it shows. We’re all affected, the attack leaving us exposed and vulnerable. But there is still more at play. I take Morgan’s hand. At my touch, his eyes find mine. He holds my gaze for a moment, one where I can see his pain and worry as clearly as he can see my own. Then he nods, understanding now is not the time to breakdown. These people need something to believe in.

  “We’re still here,” he says. “That means Barr’s plan didn’t work as well as he hoped it would. We just have to push through.”

  I can hear how strained his voice is. How he forces out every word. The others do not. They need to believe them. It’s the only thing that will keep them moving. With Morgan with us, we make better time. Tempting as the road is, we stick to the treeline. It would be only too easy for Barr to set a trap for us there. We radio in twice more, each time getting no response. My stomach churns with each failure, leaving me praying the radio was damaged during the explosion. The alternative is too brutal for me to consider.

  We reach the outer edge of the town, homes and buildings now popping up in earnest, forcing us to the road. Yet we barely make better progress. The resolve that pushes us forward loses steam. These people need rest, and we need to get our bearings. We cut across a grid of townhomes and end up on the campus of a local middle school. The doors are open, and we file into an open cafeteria. People collapse onto the benches and seats, their exhaustion winning out. Morgan withdraws the radio and hails the DoubleTree again.