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

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Echoes of a Dying World (Book 3): A Dream of Tomorrow Page 30

by Esquibel, Don M.


  “Captain to Base. Do you read me? Seeking status update.”

  There’s a long pause. Long enough that I’m convinced there will be no response at all. Then, finally, a response comes. But instead of relief, I feel nothing but dread. My heart stops, the blood freezing in my veins as I hear that hated voice.

  “Hello, Captain,” Barr says. Even through the radio, I can hear him sneer. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but I had some pressing matters to attend to. But I must say, it feels good to be home.”

  It’s a bluff, I think to myself. Somehow he figured out our frequency. But in my heart, I know the truth. He’s taken back the DoubleTree. One by one, heads turn toward Morgan who stands frozen in place. Only his face is alive, animated, a hundred dark emotions flushing his cheeks and flashing in his eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” Barr taunts. “Can’t you hear me? Eardrums damaged? You haven’t experienced any loud noises, have you? An explosion perhaps?”

  Morgan shakes with rage as he raises the radio to his mouth.

  “What do you want?” Morgan asks.

  He forces a laugh. “What do I want?” he asks. “The same thing I’ve always wanted, Morgan: Peace. Order. Stability. I want the world we were trying to create before you came along and made a mess of things.”

  I shake my head in confusion, positive I’ve misheard him. What world does he speak of? How can this man possibly look back at what he and his brother created and call it peace? All this time I’ve hated this man, wondering how he was capable of such violence. Now I know. Everything he’s done, all the sins he’s committed are justified in his mind—necessary evils to create his twisted vision. I feel disgusted just thinking about it. So does Morgan.

  “Peace?” he asks. “That’s the world you believe you were building?”

  “I know it was,” Barr says. There’s no humor in his voice any longer. No mocking. He truly does believe it. “I also know enough to see that we will never see eye to eye on that definition. Will we?”

  “No. We won’t,” Morgan says.

  Barr sighs. “A shame,” he says. “I meant what I said the night we met: you would have made a fine addition to our family. But you never wanted that. And now here we are.”

  “What. Do. You. Want?” Morgan asks, tired of his game.

  “You, Morgan,” Barr says. “You and yours have two hours to turn yourselves over. I will spare the lives of anyone who turns themselves in so long as they swear fealty to me. Those who refuse will be marked as traitors and will suffer the consequences, along with any kin that still resides under this roof. I don’t want that. There’s been enough bloodshed between us. Only one more need die in this war. You know who that person is.”

  Morgan’s knuckles turn white as he grips the radio. “And how do I know you haven’t murdered them all already?” he asks.

  Barr doesn’t immediately answer. As the seconds stretch, I fear he might not. Then a voice comes through, and it isn’t Barr.

  “Morgan.”

  Where many might sound panicked, fearful, Mrs. Taylor sounds as she always does: calm and collected. Still, it does not stop the nausea that rises, leaving my mouth with a sour, acidic taste. Mrs. Taylor promised to protect Grace. That she would keep her safe. But now she’s been captured. What does that mean for my sister?

  “Mom.”

  Unlike his mother, Morgan’s voice is full of emotion, the word cracking the moment it leaves his lips.

  “Yes, now I need you to listen to me,” she says. She takes a deep breath, one which we as a group we seem to hold. “Don’t play into his hands! Do whatever it takes to bring this son of a bitch do—”

  The radio is silenced, the rest of her message cut short. Barr gets on a minute later. “You have my orders,” he says, breathing heavily. “Follow them or your mother will be the first person I kill.”

  Chaos breaks open. An absolute uproar as nearly fifty people rise to their feet, every single one with a different reaction. There’s yelling, screaming, cursing. There are tears. Sobs. Full-on mental breakdowns. Some seize their weapons as if Barr were here among us. One man, one of the worst injured, tries to limp away, raging about killing Barr with his bare hands. He doesn’t make it a dozen steps before he collapses to the floor and has to be helped to a bench.

  I feel numb. Lost. I haven’t felt this helpless since those dark nights long ago, my mind far away as I tried to ignore Steve’s weight atop my body and the reek of liquor on his breath. Never again. That’s the promise I made myself. Never again would I allow myself to feel so helpless. I promised I would never be caught in a position I couldn’t control. A fool's promise, I now realize. Look where I am. How naive could I have been to actually believe such rubbish?

  Morgan stands frozen across from me. He hasn’t moved a muscle since Barr’s last words, the radio still hovering inches from his mouth. Slowly, he lowers it, his eyes sweeping the room around us. They meet mine, and in those brown depths, I see rage. Anger. But they are merely secondary emotions to the guilt that floods them.

  “My fault”

  I can practically hear the thought echoing in his mind. He will recall his mother's voice. Remember the explosion. He will see the injuries surrounding us and the empty spaces in our ranks where those who died once stood. Most of all, he will remember that it was his plan to move against Barr.

  “We need to return immediately!”

  “And get ourselves killed?”

  “He said he would spare our lives.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I believe he will kill our families if we don’t!”

  “He will anyway. The only way we can save them is by taking the bastard down!”

  The arguments spin in every direction. Voices clang and crash against each other. To hear one is to hear them all. It doesn’t matter what is said, one thing is clear: nobody actually knows what the hell to do.

  A dozen people have had enough of the bickering and break off, intent to attack Barr despite the fortifications he will have in place. It’s madness that grips them. Madness and fear for their loved ones left behind. I’m manic myself, but I know marching on the DoubleTree like this will only end in death. And we’ve had too much of that already.

  “Stop!” I shout. I move until I reach the doors, blocking their way out. “You’re going to get yourselves killed.”

  “Move, girl!” one of the men barks. “My wife’s back at the DoubleTree. I let us be Barr’s pets once. I won’t do so again.”

  “And what use will you be to your wife if you get yourself killed?” I ask.

  “I don’t fear death,” the man says. “So long as I take that son of a bitch with me, it will be well worth it.”

  Before I can respond, another man levels his gun at me. “Get the hell out of the way!” he shouts.

  The action unfreezes Morgan who has his pistol out and aimed at the back of the man’s head quicker than I would have thought possible.

  “How about you drop your fucking gun first?” he asks.

  It’s a chain reaction. Guns are raised on all sides, pointed in the faces of those who stood beside each other only minutes ago. Fucking Barr. The hate is so pure, so absolute, it drives all fear and doubt from my mind. I step forward as if the gun pointed in my face were a child's toy.

  “I know you’re angry,” I say. I raise my voice, looking from the man to the room at large. “I know you all are, and you damn well should be. I know I am. I was raised in hate, but I’ve never despised a man as much as I do Barr. Believe me, I want him dead as badly as any of you. But running off half-assed because your blood’s up won’t do anything but get you killed. If we’re going to save our loved ones, we have to do it together. It’s the only chance we have.”

  I take another step forward so the man’s gun hovers only an inch from my forehead. I stare down the barrel and meet his eyes which stare back at me, cool and calculating.

  “So if you wouldn’t mind, lower your fucking gun and let’s figure this
mess out.”

  My heart beats fast. Despite my resolve, my mind is fully aware of the instrument of death pointed at my face. For a second I think he’s not going to lower it. Then, slowly, he does. Again, it’s a chain reaction as the tension defuses and guns are lowered. The last to lower his weapon is Morgan, who only holsters it at my nod.

  “What magic do you propose then?” the man asks.

  I step around him, joining Morgan who stands at the center of the room. “I don’t offer magic,” I say. “Only a promise that I will play my part in whatever we decide.”

  It’s not what he wanted to hear. I can tell as a shadow crosses his face. He’s not the only one. Most gathered were hoping I’d reveal some genius plan—that I had a miracle up my sleeve. But I don’t. I feel that dark despair deep inside as I realize this for what it is: our last stand. The only thing keeping me from falling face-first into that darkness is the man standing beside me. Whatever happens, I don’t face it alone.

  Then, when the silence in the room is total, static issues from Morgan’s pocket. A voice soon follows. Confused, Morgan withdraws the radio and voices a reply. The room listens in a mixture of incredulity and awe. The voice sounds off, and the radio goes silent once more. Turning to the man, Morgan can’t hide the disbelief in his voice.

  “How’s that for magic?”

  Chapter 23: (Morgan)

  The sun sits high in the sky, it’s rays warm against my face. The world thaws before my eyes, the drip drip drip of melting snow surrounding us as we walk. In a month’s time, all this will be gone. Green will replace white. The days will grow longer. The air, warmer. Soon, those days will be here. But will we? It all depends on the battle looming ahead of us. I feel Lauren’s presence at my side. Leon and Felix’s at my back. My sister and father and so many others flanking them. It’s because of them that my mind does not eat itself. Their presence is a comfort, an assurance that I am not alone. Then, we come to a crossroads, and our paths must sever.

  Most of our party continues on, offering nods and brief words of luck. Lylette comes up and hugs me, her voice surprisingly shaky. “Hold strong,” she says. I nod in assurance. She squeezes my arm and goes to join Byron and Ben. Byron eyes me in stony silence, not offering me even an encouraging nod. I can’t blame him. He was against my plan from the beginning. And now more of his people are lost. It’s only out of necessity that he is here. Allying with me is the only way his people might still have a future.

  I look away from the angry man and find Owen standing before me, his hand outstretched. I take it. “I wish I had trusted you from the beginning,” he says. Guilt still weighs him down. It always will. But as much as I would like to hate him, I don’t. Not when I know the impossible situation he was put in.

  “You’re with us now,” I say. “That’s what matters.” He nods grimly, guilt still heavy on his shoulders as he joins the others.

  I turn to Richard. With his girl’s fates on the line, the warrior within has taken hold of him. Injuries be damned, he wasn’t about to be left behind with the others who are too weak to fight. He grips the staff he uses as a walking stick and winces.

  “They say fortune favors the bold,” he says.

  I smile. “Then we have nothing to worry about.”

  A grin breaks his face and he reaches to shake my hand. “Indeed, little brother,” he says. “You have my full faith. I know you got this.”

  His praise hits me right between the eyes. He is not one to offer words he doesn’t truly believe. It’s odd, remembering the tension that was once between us. If you had told me then we would one day stand in mutual respect as we do now, I wouldn’t have believed you. But here we are. Lost for words, I merely nod. I watch him join the others before turning to my father and sister. I hug each of them in turn, Emily squeezing me as tight as she can.

  “I won’t let that bastard hurt mom,” I say, looking from Emily to my father. “That’s a promise.” A promise I have no control over, but one I must believe in. They know the truth as well as I do, and yet they don’t question it. Emily wipes a stray tear away before telling me to stop being so dramatic. My father's only comment is to keep myself safe. As if I’ll have control over that. But like them, I don’t question it, just assure him that I will do so.

  Leon and Felix greet me with quick hugs. “With Richard hurt, it will be up to the two of you to lead them,” I say.

  “We’ll make you proud, sir,” Leon says with a wink. I can’t help but grin at the smartass. Always trying to lighten the mood. It’s a different story as I turn to Felix. My friend hasn’t even had a moment to mourn his uncle. Add in the worry he must feel for his aunt and cousins back at the DoubleTree, and it’s a wonder he’s kept it together as well as he has. But when he finally meets my eyes, I see a reflection of the man who raised him. Frank taught Felix how to carry himself, raising him to be a man who would not buckle under the strain he carries.

  “We got this, Moe,” he says.

  Any worry I might have had for him drains at these words. My friend will recover from this pain. And the others are in good hands as we make this final stand.

  It’s just me and Lauren now. God help me, what am I supposed to say to her? What can I say that would not sound cliche? That would not sound like a goodbye? Because that’s not what this is. I can’t even entertain the thought. Damn the risks. Damn the odds. Damn Barr and whatever he might have planned. Our story does not end today.

  Tears sting my eyes as her hands frame my face and she brings my forehead to hers. “Do you believe in fate, Morgan?” she asks

  Again with that question, one that seems destined to resurface time and again. I still remember what I told her the night before I left for Salida—that there was no such thing—that it was all just chance. But standing here, feeling her tears stain my cheek and the warmth of her breath against my lips, I feel differently. After everything we have been through, all of the pain and the strife and heartache, we’re still here. The promise of a future together so close I can taste it. That means something. It has to.

  “You bet your ass, I do,” I say. My voice comes out as a growl, filled with so much emotion I can barely get the words out. And maybe I’m just fooling myself. Maybe I’m only saying what both of us need to believe. But when you have nothing else to go on. When your will alone is what keeps you moving forward, what you believe can make all the difference in the world.

  That’s where I am right now. No place to go but forward. Whatever stands in my way does not matter. Today, I am a wrecking ball. Today, I make my own fate.

  Her laugh is shaky but genuine, humor battling with whatever dark thoughts plague her. “It’s about time,” she says. I smile even as dread fills me, knowing the moment has come where we must part ways.

  “Lauren, I—”

  Her lips find mine and the world outside our little sphere dissolves into a swirling mist. Gone is the fear and dread. Gone are the problems we face and the threats surrounding us. My world is warmth and light. It’s the smell of her skin and the feel of her hair sliding through my fingers. It’s a moment stolen from time, one I know will end in the span it takes to blink. It seems like that’s all we’ve ever had: moments of peace and love gone too soon. That’s what hangs in the balance of today. I’m tired of mere moments. We deserve more. We deserve a life.

  As if sensing my thoughts Lauren pulls back and fixes me with that stare of hers. In her eyes I see it: all the days that stretch from tomorrow on. Good days. Bad days. Days of mourning and grieving and strife. Days of laughter and joy and celebration. A life is what I see. The life I’ve always wanted for us.

  “Whatever you want to say to me, tell me after we’ve finished this,” she says.

  I smile. “That’s a promise.”

  She returns the smile, raising her hand to wipe away a stray tear before setting her hand over my heart.

  “Take care of yourself, Captain,” she says.

  “And you, McCoy,” I say.

  She re
mains standing and I count the heartbeats beneath her hand. One beat. Two. On the third, she removes her hand and joins the others across the bridge. I watch them go until they disappear behind a building. It’s as if the temperature drops ten degrees in their absence. With the sun arching toward the horizon, I steel myself and set course for the DoubleTree.

  I walk in the open, no sense in sneaking around at this point. Barr knows I am coming. It’s eerie being so exposed, knowing that nobody is at my six, watching my back. From the beginning, there was always someone. Leon and Felix, Richard and Frank. So many others. I never knew how much I depended on that until now. But some paths must be walked alone. This is my path. I will see it through. I repeat the notion in my head until it becomes a mantra. Still, the thoughts come, the questions I have no way of answering.

  Is it already too late? Is this all just a ploy, a trap? Have we already lost?

  I try and block it out, but the floodgates have opened in my mind. All I see is violence. Blood and death. I hear the voices of my loved ones, desperate, terrified, defeated. Worse, I see their broken bodies, their faces twisted in pain. I can’t shake the thoughts away. They are relentless in their assault, leaving me cold and shaky.

  I adjust the strap of my AR when my hand brushes against a lump in my coat pocket. I fish it out and lose my breath. I stop in my tracks as I stare at what I’ve found, my surprised reflection staring back at me from the watch’s face.

  “Now it will be like we’re right there next to each other.”

  That’s what I told Lauren the night we exchanged watches. We never did swap them back. Seeing this watch now, to feel it in my hands is like having a part of her with me—as if it were her hand I hold instead of metal and leather. I clasp the watch onto my opposite wrist and look at the scribbled note it came with: You’ll never have to do this alone.

  The dark thoughts vanish. I’m no longer alone.

 

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