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

by Esquibel, Don M.

  Still, I’m nervous. My pulse races. Sweat breaks past my brow and freezes against my skin. There’s no fooling the mind, the body. It knows on a primal level what I am facing. My legs grow heavier by the step. Soon it’s only by sheer force of will that I continue putting one foot in front of the other. I round a corner and the DoubleTree comes into view.

  I pause in the middle of the highway. As I stare at the hotel, a dozen different thoughts enter my mind in the span of seconds.

  Is this crazy?

  No shit it’s crazy, but can it work?

  How many ways can this go wrong?

  Scratch that.

  Better that I don’t know.

  Will I ever get the chance to tell Lauren I love her one last time?

  Don’t be a fool.

  She already knows.

  They all do. I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve. Some may see that as a weakness in the world today. Barr certainly does. To break me, he uses that against me, dangling those I love as bait, knowing I will bite. In essence, he’s put me in a position where I stand to lose everything I care about. His mistake. He has no idea the beast he has unleashed. I breathe deep and continue my path.

  My adrenaline spikes the closer I draw to the hotel. I feel the doubt leave me. The questions that have plagued me grow quiet. There is no room for either right now. All I can do is play my part and trust the others to play theirs. Because despite all that is unknown, there is one inescapable truth: this ends today. It’s as freeing of a feeling as I’ve ever felt.

  I wade across a bank of snow and enter the parking lot. Snipers focus on me the second my feet set on the property. Radios will sound inside, lookouts reporting to Barr that I have arrived and that I am alone. At least, I hope those are the only reports he hears. I draw closer to the main entrance. Through the glass, the bulk of Barr’s followers have assembled inside the lobby. I scan them quickly before settling on the figure in the center. Barr. His eyes find mine, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have to keep the rage from running away with me. It’s no easy task. I watch with a hatred so pure and vicious I would not have thought it possible in the world before.

  As I reach the steps I am stopped by two thickset Animals. I recognize one as the Animal whose nose I busted the day Leon and I were brought in by Frank. It still hasn’t set right. I take pleasure in the sight. Both keep their guns trained on me and order me to drop my guns at my feet. I don’t challenge the order, setting both my AR and Glock down. With my guns dropped, one pats me down as the other keeps the barrel of his gun resting against the side of my head. They take everything. The two knives on my hip. The one inside my coat pocket. Even Richard’s gift gets taken from my right boot. There will be no taking Barr unaware as I did his brother.

  “You’re a fool to come back here,” Broken Nose says.

  “Ironic,” I say. “I was about to tell you the same thing.”

  I see him tense at the insult, taking a step forward, his fist raised.

  “Leave him,” the other Animal says. “He belongs to Barr.”

  Only at the mention of his leader’s name does he stop. Huffing in hate, he smiles meanly, sweeping his arm back in a gesture of mock welcome.

  “This should be fun to watch,” he says.

  I step forward without comment. I don’t have the breath to waste on the likes of him. The lobby is filled with the noise—the excited cackles of predators as prey walks into their den. I survey the room, looking past their leering faces and focusing instead on their positioning; how they carry themselves; what weapons they have. They don’t notice. Why would they? To them, I am the walking dead. My death is an inevitability in their eyes. Perhaps it is. But if that be the case, it will not be met quietly.

  I stop when instructed, near the center of the floor. No wonder they do not bother restraining me. I am unarmed, surrounded on all sides by Animals. Even if I rushed them, I’d be put down before I reached them. Doesn’t matter. Even armed, I wouldn’t walk out of here alive. Not alone.

  The cackles go silent. My focus tunnels to the spiteful man before me. That sickening sneer of his is firmly in place as he watches me, eyes lit with promised malice. For my part, I don’t let my rage show, keeping it bottled under a layer of cool contempt. He wants me to speak, to ask for my mother and the others. I can tell. And for that reason, I remain quiet. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Only after the silence has stretched so thin that it becomes uncomfortable, does he speak.

  “I knew you would come,” he says. He makes a show of looking around and past me. “But I didn’t think you would come alone. Did the others not believe me to be a man of my word?”

  “Why would they?” I ask. “You haven’t given them many reasons to trust you.”

  “Yet here you are,” he says.

  “A mistake it would seem,” I say. “All I see are your dogs.”

  The Animals bristle at this. I hear them shift in anger, their bodies tensing at the insult. Good. Better that their blood is up. They won’t think as rationally.

  He smiles at this and nods to one of the Animals on the right. “I may be a lot of things, Morgan,” Barr says. “But a liar is not one of them. So you can believe me when I tell you I wish it didn’t have to come to this.”

  The Animal reappears, my mother in tow. Relief floods me at the sight of her. I look her up and down for any sign of injury. Her mouth is gagged, but otherwise, seems to be uninjured. I meet her eyes, and she stares back at me with so much fear it nearly crushes my resolve. Not fear for herself, but for me. Then I look from her to the man who walks in after, and I feel my resolve harden at the sight of him.

  In the light of day, I see the features that were hidden in the dark. It’s as if he’s aged five years in the few months since we last saw each other. Dark circles ring his eyes. Sallow skin splotched red from alcohol and narcotics lie under a scraggly beard. Based on his thin frame, I’m assuming he’s been drinking his calories, likely trading away food and anything else for his next drunk or high. But what truly ages him is the gloom that haunts his eyes. This morning I looked past it, my hatred so deep I could only see the deeds he had done. Now, there is no looking past. Processing it, on the other hand, is a different matter.

  Barr waves his hand at my mother. “As I said. I’m a man of my word.” He turns to me. “Now, would you like to tell me where the rest of your friends are or do I have to make good on the promise I made to them?”

  “No need,” I say. “They are a mile south of the city limits. Holed up inside an abandoned barn.” He considers this, eyes narrowed in suspicion as I try my best to keep my face neutral. I don’t dare look at my mother. I can’t see her face fall as she hears this.

  “And why are they not here?” he asks. “Was I not clear on the consequences?”

  “You were very clear,” I say. “But we have many injured. Most barely survived the explosion.” Barr smiles at this, relishing the plan that ended so many lives.

  But not all you bastard. Not all.

  “They will need transport. The handful of able bodies stayed behind to care for them.”

  Annoyance flickers inside those cold orbs that are his eyes. “Does this look like a damn hospital?” he asks. “If they can’t make it here on their own, their lives are forfeit.”

  “Then you will lose the army you want so badly,” I say.

  He laughs. “Look around you,” he says. “I’m hardly desperate for soldiers.”

  “Not at the moment,” I say. “But winter is nearly over. Come spring, you will need more than psychos who can pull a trigger. You’ll need labor and lots of it. It’s why you kept the Ranch out west intact. It’s why you and your brother started recruiting people in the first place. It wasn’t because of some noble dream or whatever bullshit you tried to sell them. It’s because you knew you needed them. It’s also why despite your threats, you have no plans on executing those you captured this morning. You need them. But tell me, what incentive will they have to obey you if
those they love die outside these walls? That’s why you’re going to send transport. Because you don’t get one without the other.”

  Barr watches me cooly for almost a full minute. Then, he smiles.

  “Damn, do you have a set of balls,” he chuckles to himself. “You’re not wrong though. It would be foolish to weaken our position solely out of spite...But what I have trouble understanding is why you would give this information so willingly? You’ve made it clear you don’t trust me.”

  “I don’t,” I admit. “In fact, I’ve never hated anyone more in my entire life. But I am not so foolish that I can’t see what’s in front of my face. I’m going to die within these walls. Likely soon...But that doesn’t mean it’s too late for the rest of them.”

  Finally, I meet my mother’s eyes. Bad decision. The pain inside them is almost unbearable. Hold strong, mother. Everything will be alright. I wish I could convey this to her, but I don’t dare. I can’t risk Barr seeing.

  “And you would condone this?” Barr asks skeptically. “After all we’ve been through, you would just hand them over?”

  “I don’t condone it,” I say. “But it was their choice to make, not mine. I can’t deny them the right to choose their own path.” I narrow my eyes in hate. “I’m not you.”

  He smiles. “No. You certainly are not,” he says. "If you were, you would have seen through Owen and recognized him for what he was.” He waves a hand at Victor, the second mole I failed to recognize. “You wouldn’t have allowed him to manipulate you just as you are trying to manipulate me.”

  I try to speak but he rolls over me, all humor gone from his voice. “No! Don’t deny it! I can hear the lies seeping out of that mouth of yours. Every word you say reeks of bullshit. So I’m going to make this really simple for you.” He unholsters his pistol and levels it at my mother’s head. My heart stops, a deep chill going through me.

  “Where are the others?” he yells. “The truth!”

  The truth is the one thing I cannot tell him. All is lost if I do. “I already told you!” I shout, praying my fear helps me sound convincing. “Give me a truck and I will pick them up myself.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he says. He clicks off the safety.

  “Wait!”

  The voice stops him. Almost as one, the eyes of the room flick to my uncle. What the hell is he doing?

  “What did you just say to me?” Barr’s voice is a low growl.

  Sweat pours down my uncle’s face as he stammers a reply. “It’s just...she has nothing to do with this,” he says. "You want the truth? Take him downstairs. Killing her won’t make him talk.”

  Barr watches him pensively, eyes narrow and shrewd. “That’s your concern is it?” he asks. “Finding the others? Or are you doubting our aims? Perhaps your loyalty lies with the family that abandoned you instead of the one who gave you a second chance at life.”

  “No, sir!” Mitch says. He looks from me to my mother, face twisted in disgust. “I have no love for either of them. Morgan’s the one who set them against me. Chose a fucking whore over his own flesh and blood. And she believed that whore. Took her side over her own brother. They’re already dead to me. Have been from the moment they cast me out. Everything I have now is here. With this family!” He looks back at Barr. “With you.”

  Barr is not moved. “A traitor would say anything to save his own skin,” he says.

  “I am no traitor!” Mitch insists. He reeks of desperation. He knows where this line of questioning leads. “Ask anything of me, and I will prove it to you.”

  Barr looks at him for a long moment, considering. “Alright,” he says. You want to prove your loyalty?” He walks forward and places a pistol into Mitch’s hand. “Let’s see what family you really belong to. Kill the bitch!”

  I take a step forward but I am halted by over a dozen rifles rising simultaneously. The message is clear. Try it and I’m dead.

  “Sir—”

  Barr steamrolls over Mitch. “Victor, if Mitch fails to prove his loyalty, shoot him where he stands.” Victor’s rifle goes from me, to the back of Mitch’s head.

  “Your choice, soldier,” Barr says.

  I’m about to be sick. I can feel the nausea building, my insides churning in disgust. I’ve never felt fear like this. Not just for my mother. Not just for me. For all of us.

  My mother is another matter. If she fears death, she does not show it. She is as she always is—the eye of the storm—the calm amid the chaos. Her eyes fill with tears as they meet mine. Not out of fear, but out of love. Tears leak from my own eyes at the sight of her, and I know whether it be seconds or years from now, that I will remember this moment for the rest of my life.

  Mitch looks lost, the gun shaking in his hand. His eyes flick to me, a look of disgust on his face. I shouldn’t be surprised. Not after the things he's done. But as he squares his shoulders and levels the gun at the back of my mother’s head, I can't help but feel betrayed.

  “I’m sorry,” Mitch says.

  Chapter 24: (Lauren)

  “Take care of yourself, Captain,” I say.

  “And you, McCoy,” he says.

  Keep it together, I tell myself. This isn’t the last time I speak with him. The last time I hear his voice, search his eyes, feel at home as he holds me in his arms. It can’t be. And yet I am afraid to let him go. How many times have we managed to cheat death already? I can’t even begin to guess. We’ve been lucky. What if today our luck runs out?

  Stop. Don’t let the thought take root. Just memorize this moment: The love in his eyes, the taste of his lips, the warmth that stirs inside me when he looks at me like this. Hold it tight. Feel it all. And then let go.

  Beneath my hand, I feel his heartbeat once. Twice. On the third, I let go. I turn and join the others so he may go and do what only he can. Mr. Taylor wraps his arm around my shoulders and leans in.

  “Have faith,” he says, voice low and assuring. “When has my boy ever let us down?”

  Never. No matter the situation, no matter the odds, Morgan has always managed to come through. Even times when it seemed impossible; when hope felt little more than a prayer. This is such a time, and I know I am not the only one praying for a miracle. Maybe that’s all faith really is: hoping for something so desperately, you believe it. We certainly have the desperate part down.

  “I have faith in him,” I tell Mr. Taylor. I have to.

  Felix leads us. He scouts ahead, setting such a quick pace that many have trouble keeping up. We can’t slow down though. This is all for nothing if we miss our window. I take a position on our rear, keeping my eyes peeled for any potential threats who might test our flank. I see little. Though that’s hardly a surprise. If my forays through town have taught me anything, it’s that few will risk being seen in the daylight. The Animas Animals have made sure of that.

  Richard marches beside me on the premise guarding our backs. Still, I notice how much he struggles to keep pace, his injuries more severe than he would admit. If it were just about anyone else, they would have kept him back at the school. But that was never an option for him. One look was enough to confirm as much when Morgan suggested it. Now he pushes through the pain, hopped up on painkillers and adrenaline. He soldiers on.

  We leave the riverside buildings behind and emerge onto a highway atop the hill. I recognize it as the same highway we took when searching for Frank all those months ago. My eyes settle on Felix. The weight on his shoulders must be staggering, his uncle’s death still fresh and raw in his heart. There might have been moments of tension between them, but there is no doubt the love they shared. Now here he is, leading us forward as his uncle would have done. Not even time to mourn. There is only this. Only moving one foot in front of the other in the hope that we might find vengeance.

  We melt into the neighborhood at the end of the highway, using the alleyways instead of the main roads. I lose track of the blocks we pass, the homes and buildings all becoming a blur. Only a handful of landmarks stand out. A school
with an open field. A tire shop. The bed and breakfast were we first met with Lylette and Byron. But they are few and far between. I find myself trying to map our route and stop myself. What’s the point? Even if I could find my way back, where would I run to? Everything in the world I care about waits at the DoubleTree. There’s no running from that. It is either my liberation or my death I walk toward. I likely won’t know which until the moment it happens. There’s fear in that. But more than anything, it gives me a sense of clarity. It makes things so much more simple.

  We reach 3rd Avenue and I glance to my right. Only days ago we scoured this place in search of Barr, hoping we could find him before he and his mole did more damage. We didn’t find him, but we found Nick. He rejected us at the time but later came forward with the information that outed Owen as the mole. How differently would this have played out had he never done so? Would we have ever caught him? Would we have torn each other apart as Barr intended? Would those who were killed last night still be alive? Or would the second mole have found a way to bring Barr down on us all the same?

  It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. There is no undoing the past. I learned that long ago. All we can do is keep moving forward.

  Past 3rd Ave. Past Main Street. We come to the stoplights on 9th Street and Camino. Crashed cars clog the intersection, their crushed remains blanked by snow. Funny how time has a way of blunting things, making them sting less and less till you hardly notice it at all. On the Trail, when the blackout was new and horrible, it consumed my thoughts. The who, the how, and the why of it all. I remember seeing pileups like this and wondering how many deaths occurred in the same instant. Sometimes I would peer inside the cabs. It didn’t take long to realize that was a mistake. I would see the bodies and wonder about the souls that once filled them. I’d wonder if they died on impact or if they lay trapped and suffering before the end. I’d ask myself the same question all of us still living have asked at some point: why was I spared? Why was I still alive when so many died?