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

by Esquibel, Don M.

  Something ignites deep inside me. Something that burns hotter than my rage, my anger—something ancient that slumbers at the core of all men. It’s a feeling I can’t put into words, but one which breathes fresh life into this battered body. My family is still at the DoubleTree. Lauren and Felix, incapacitated from our wreck. That leaves only me. If Barr escapes, it will be because I failed to stop him. I won’t fail.

  A primal roar escapes me as I push myself off the ice and gain my feet. The dizziness and nausea threaten, but neither keeps me from my pursuit. Ignoring the pain lacing through my body and throbbing behind my eyes, I push forward. I’m half delirious at this point, driven only by the desperate need to end Barr. It’s torture, but slowly, I close the gap as they near the edge of a small shopping plaza. The second Animal spots me, and I have just enough time to dive behind a stalled car before bullets rip into its side.

  I hear the Animal yell at Barr to go. I peek around the corner and nearly get my head blown off. But it was enough to see Barr sprinting away. I wait for a pause in the shooting before popping off two shots of my own. Both miss, and I’m forced back down from return fire. I’m pinned. Only two shots remain in my pistol, and any time I peak, I’m staring down a barrage of bullets. Then I peak, and it's not bullets that greet me. It’s the sight of the Animal sprinting after his master. It's the opening I need.

  I use the car to steady my hand. Shoot. Miss. I curse, but now is not the time to let my panic overwhelm me. With a deep breath, I center the sights back on the Animal. Pray. And squeeze my final bullet. It strikes true, directly between the shoulder blades. He goes down hard, his rifle flying out his hands. I toss the revolver into the snow and stagger toward the fallen Animal. His body spasms and I reach for his AR. I pull the trigger. Out of bullets. No wonder he tried to run. A quick search of his body reveals as much. What I do find are a sheathed knife and a hatchet. I take both and take off.

  I follow Barr by the footprints he leaves. Behind me, the sun fades. It won’t be long until night comes and I lose my ability to track. Given my condition, my body may not even have that long. The clock is ticking.

  His tracks lead past the parking lot onto Florida. A disturbance breaks up the tracks, marking the place where he fell. The sight gives me a boost of adrenaline. Picking up the pace I follow into the parking lot of a small apartment complex. Then suddenly, the tracks disappear.

  Instinct saves me.

  I sense more than I see the attack. One second, nothing. The next, Barr materializes on my right like a wraith. I spin out of the way and feel a searing pain along my arm where his blade slices into me. Barr’s momentum carries him several feet away before he can slide to a stop. He turns to face me. He carries no gun but wields a knife in each hand. One is large, the blade partially serrated and over a foot in length. The second is a simple piece. The blade wicked sharp and the handle bound in soft leather. I recognize it immediately.

  “That doesn’t belong to you,” I say, pointing at Richard’s gifted knife. Seeing it in his hands, knowing the history it carries, sets my blood boiling.

  “This, you mean?” he asks, that sneer I loath firmly in place. He casually flips the knife and catches it by the handle. Not a stranger to knives, I see. “Why don’t you come and take it from me, then?”

  “Before the sun sets, I’m going to slit your throat with that knife,” I say, tightening my grip on my scavenged weapons. “Just like I did to your brother.”

  The confession rattles him, his eyes involuntarily flicking to the knife. I use it to my advantage. I rush him and he just manages to deflect my attack. I swing the hatchet, aiming for his throat, his heart, his stomach. But Barr is quick, leaning away and shuffling his feet so I find nothing but air. I swing again and he swats it away with the serrated blade, then counters with a quick slash from Richard’s knife. I jump back, but he scores a deep cut along my abdomen. The pain barely registers, my focus entirely on the battle. He presses his attack, slashing and hacking with both knives in a whirlwind I can barely keep track of. I dodge most of it, but he keeps earning my blood. A shallow cut along my cheek. A gash on my forearm. A knick on my shoulder.

  He raises the blade overhead and I stop my retreat, moving inside the swing and lowering my shoulder into his chest. He goes to the ground hard and I move to strike. He doesn’t give me the opening, flinging Richard’s knife at me. It hits me handle first, bouncing off my chest and onto the ice. It’s the only thing that saves my life. I freeze, the nearly fatal attack leaving me stunned. It’s all the time Barr needs to sweep my legs and put me on my back.

  Pain wracks my back and the air leaves my lungs. Then he’s above me, lunging with the serrated blade. I roll and the blade finds nothing but snow. He lunges again, and again I roll away. He raises the serrated blade above me and I swing wildly with the hatchet. It sinks into his wrist and he howls in pain. He jerks his arm back and both the hatchet and serrated blade go flying from our grips. Blood sprays me in the face as I put everything I have into a final attack. Roaring, I shoot to my knees and bury my knife into his stomach.

  His howl of pain becomes a gasp as he sinks to his knees, bringing us eye to eye. I stare into those dark depths, not knowing what to expect. Anger? Loathing? I see neither. I just see disbelief as he watches the blood leave his body as if surprised to discover he was mortal all this time.

  “I told you the night we met, all I wanted was peace,” I say. “But you just couldn’t let that happen, could you?”

  So much death. So much violence. All of it stemmed from that decision. If Barr and his brother would have just left my family alone, all of this could have been avoided. But then they would still reign over the town. Their power would still grow. Or would someone else have risen to take them down? I shake the thoughts away. My head hurts enough as it is.

  For once Barr has nothing to say. No witty comeback or scathing remark. He knows his time is at its end. I reach to my right where Richard’s knife lies. I raise it so that he can see it.

  “I keep my promises,” I say.

  I swipe the knife. Blood washes over my hands and Barr clutches his throat. He teeters and then falls to the ice as I rise to my feet. Looking down at my fallen foe, I feel no thrill, no joy. There is only a vague sense of relief that this is finally over. It’s over. The realization hits me in all it’s intensity. I feel my legs shake, then they buckle. I sink back to my knees, the cocktail of rage and adrenaline finally running its course. My body is done.

  Darkness dances at the edges of my vision. I feel the ice against my cheek. When did I fall? But if this is the ice, why do I feel so warm? A white light appears in the distance, growing larger and brighter all the time. A figure looms over me. No, several. They call my name, their voices soft as a lullaby. So tired. My eyes close. I feel my body lifted from the ground, the aches and pains leaving me.

  And then, nothing.

  Chapter 28: (Lauren)

  “One. Two. Three.”

  I pull my leg as Val wedges a pry bar between the seat. She strains and I wince, but finally, it pops free. I gasp, equal parts pain and pleasure as I straighten it out. I bend it back and forth a couple of times, checking for any signs of injury. Scrapes and bruises aside, there doesn’t appear to be any lasting damage.

  “How’s it feel?” Val asks.

  I brush the concern away. “My sister. Is she—”

  “She’s alive,” Val assures me. “Girl didn’t have a scratch on her.”

  The relief is so overwhelming that all I can do is sit and stare for a full minute as the feeling washes over me. Thank God that girl is safe. I don’t know what I would do otherwise.

  “And Felix?” I ask, working past the lump in my throat.

  “I’m fine,” Felix grumbles from outside. “Take more than a knock on the head to kill me.”

  Hearing his voice, slurred as it is, is heartening all the same. He woke up as the cavalry arrived, but still the worry lingers. I climb out of the Scout and find him in the back seat
of the idling truck. I smile and squeeze his hand.

  “I know,” I say. He spares me a grin only for it to fall as a pair of headlights cut through the twilight. I feel my own smile vanish, my fear spiking once again. It only deepens when I don’t spot Morgan. Leon exits the van and my heart nearly stops at the grave look on his face.

  “Where is he?” I ask, voice trembling.

  Leon opens the van’s sliding door in answer. Morgans lies on the floor. Blood covers him. His hands. His clothes. Splattered against his pale face.

  “Is he...” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

  “He’s alive,” Leon answers. “But he’s in rough shape. We need to get him to the Doc, quick.”

  We speed back to the DoubleTree, my hand clenched in his as I kneel beside his unconscious form. I listen as Leon and Emily brief Felix on what’s happened. The Animals are gone. Killed to the last man. They are finally finished. And though we were victorious, it was not without a heavy toll. Another thirty at best guess. Combine it with those we lost throughout this conflict with Barr, and it’s enough to make one sick. And while each death is a travesty, it is that of a few that hit the hardest.

  Uncle Will. Byron. Angela. Lynn. All of them wanted nothing more than to live in peace. It’s why they fought—so they might see a day when they wouldn’t have to. A day when their families might know a life unmarred by constant violence. It’s all the more cruel that they should die now, just when that day might finally be more than just a dream.

  I brush the hair away from Morgan’s face, terror consuming me that he might soon join them. Tears falling freely, I lean down and press my lips against his forehead, the memory of our last kiss coming back to me. He tried to say something before I cut him off.

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

  He smiled and said that was a promise. What was he going to say? I love you? Keep yourself safe? The message itself doesn’t matter, I know. But I can’t help but feel robbed of something.

  I straighten up, half praying that I will see his eyes blink open as I do. He doesn’t of course. If fairytales ever existed, they died the moment the world went dark. Still, I can’t help but hope for some magic.

  We pull into the DoubleTree, a cluster of people parting as we reach the front. Leon slides open the door to the sound of gasps as people take in Morgan’s grisly visage. The gasps turn into curses. Questions. They go ignored as Emily and Val wave the crowd back to make room. Leon and I share a look, and I can see his concern rivals my own. He looks back at Morgan and I can’t help but wonder what goes through his mind. They’ve been best friends nearly all their lives. All the angst and pangs of growing up were had together, their memories so interwoven at times it would be difficult to tell them apart. For him to see Morgan like this, a man who is his brother in every meaningful way, must be painful.

  Wordlessly, he scoops Morgan into his arms and carries him through the parting crowd. We reach the lobby and there is a sea of turning heads. Then again they come. The curses. The cries of shock and barrages of questions. I keep my eyes focused straight ahead, afraid of what I might see if I turn. Still, I can’t block it out completely, the alarm in their voices impossible to ignore. Morgan was a symbol of hope for many of them. Even with Barr dead, it hits them as they watch us rush his unconscious body toward the medical lounge.

  We enter the lounge and find it in full swing. Dr. Sonya and Julia lead the operation along with several assistants. Julia turns to us and it’s as if the air leaves her body when she sees her cousin. Her father has just died, and yet here she is, helping give aid to those still living. She rushes to us in alarm, and I can practically hear her thoughts: not him too.

  “What happened?” she asks as Leon lays him down on an empty cot.

  “He was in a car wreck and a fight with Barr,” Leon says. “Don’t know which did more damage. We found him unconscious on the ice.”

  She takes in his wounds as his parents join us, Grace following behind. The look on their faces is nearly enough to make me lose it. Mr. Taylor’s fear is clear as day. It’s in the strangled sob lodged his chest and wild terror reflected in his eyes. Mrs. Taylor, on the other hand, is more subtle. One might look at her and not see it at all. I do. I see it in the slump of her shoulders. The paleness of her face and the dullness in her eyes. It’s dread I see. The same dread that all mothers fear—the fear that they will outlive their children. Grace takes my hand. It’s a fear I know all too well.

  Dr. Sonya comes at Julia’s call and inspects Morgan herself. He’s been cut in several places, but none nearly as bad as the gash across his stomach. Any deeper and it would have been fatal. It still might be.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood,” she says. “He’ll need a transfusion.”

  “Take mine,” his father says. “We’re both O-positive.”

  “Very well,” she says. “We’ll get started. In the meantime, I need the rest of you out. We’re already stretched to capacity in here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I say.

  “You will if you want me to operate,” she says. She eyes me a moment and then her voice softens. “I promise, we’ll do everything we can. But I need to focus. I can’t have distractions.”

  I’m about to argue when Mrs. Taylor’s hand settles on my shoulder. I turn, the look in her eyes stilling my tongue.

  “There’s nothing either of us can do, love,” she says. “Let the woman work.”

  It’s as if an anvil has been placed on my chest, forcing the air from my lungs. I’d do anything for Morgan, but the hard truth is there is nothing to be done. All I can do is wait. Pray. God, is that really what it comes down to?

  With a last glance at Morgan, I let Mrs. Taylor lead me out of the lounge. I feel numb as I hit the lobby, a cold dread filling me. Already my eyes linger on the curtain separating the two areas, my mind on the happenings beyond it. I know where this will lead, how my thoughts will grow darker and darker as time passes. In an effort to stem it, I look around me, focusing on the damage of the battle for the first time.

  Bullet holes riddle the walls and furniture. Blood sits in pools on the floor, is smeared across its expanse like brush strokes. Follow the smears and they lead in one of two directions: outside where a pile of dead Animals has been dumped, or toward the ballroom, where people visit those who fell during the attack. So much death. And though it's horrible, all I can think is please don’t let Morgan join them. Then my eyes land on Aunt Claire and I am rocked by a wave of guilt.

  Morgan is still alive, may still live to see tomorrow. But Uncle Will? Frank? The others who fell because they challenged Barr and his followers? They’re gone. And as deep as my fear is, I need to be thankful. More than that, I have to be there for them. We’re family after all. Putting my fear aside, I do just that.

  “I’m so sorry,” I tell Caire, releasing her from a hug. Her eyes are blood-shot, cheeks sunken. It’s as if she’s aged five years in the span of hours. She thanks me, and I turn to offer my condolences to the rest of the family. Jerry seems to be taking it the hardest. He looks lost, barely able to manage a word of thanks his grief is so deep. Vince, on the other hand, remains composed. I notice the way he watches over his mother and brother. Watches over his wife who dozes in a chair, their baby making her stomach swell. For them, he stays strong.

  I leave them after a minute and continue on down the line, visiting the others I know. The line is longer than it should be. With each hug, each quiet word, my heart breaks a little more. It’s not just because of their loss, but because I feel the loss myself. Seeing the cold remains of someone you cared about is always hard. Seeing it splayed out like this is another matter altogether. It's all I can do to keep my composure. It’s not easy though. When I feel the sob catch in her chest as I hug Felix’s aunt, as I see the sag of Lylette’s shoulders and imagine the weight they now carry, I almost lose myself. My gut twists when they ask of Morgan, my only reply that they are d
oing all they can for him. I don’t mention my worries, my dread. It’s the last thing they need right now.

  Eventually, I see them all. Talk to them. Console them the best I can. Before long I find myself outside the lounge. I sink to the floor, my legs suddenly heavy. My mind spent. How many hours now since I last slept? I honestly don’t have a clue, nor do I know how much longer I have to go. I don’t dare close my eyes, afraid of what I might see, of what I might wake to. Better to fight the sleep.

  I grow irritated. Waiting is always the hardest part. The only thing making it bearable is knowing I am not alone in this worry. Around me sit Mr. and Mrs. Taylor. Emily, Leon, and Grace. Across the room, Felix sits with his Aunt and cousins, trying so hard to be the rock his family needs him to be. And though he is with them, his eyes glance our way repeatedly, as if expecting the sheets separating the Lounge to part at any moment. Then finally, they do.

  Mr. Taylor emerges, answering our questions before we can voice them. The transfusion went smoothly and Morgan’s wounds have been treated to the best of their ability. But without power, without proper equipment, there is only so much they can do.

  “They say it’s up to him at this point,” he says.

  I try and find comfort in that. If it’s up to him, then surely he will come back. Right? Or has he already come back one time too many? The questions eat away at me, twisting the knot in my stomach so tight I feel nauseous. I close my eyes against the feeling. It’s not until I open them again that I realize they were addressing me. Mrs. Taylor doesn’t make me ask.

  “We can see him,” she says.

  I nod and stand, expecting her to join me. She doesn’t, nor does anyone else. Mrs. Taylor smiles tightly. “Go ahead,” she says. “If my boy will come back for anyone, it’s you.”

  A lump rises in my throat, tears sting the back of my eyes. I push through both. Not trusting my voice, I merely nod before disappearing behind the curtain. Julia is there, guiding me into a small storage room off to the side. Morgan lies on a cot inside, an IV of clear liquid hooked into his arm. The space is small, room enough only for a chair on either side of the cot. Still, this privacy is a gift. One Morgan has earned.