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

by Esquibel, Don M.

  The door closes, sealing the two of us inside. I’m not prepared for this. I don’t have a clue of what I am supposed to do. What can I do? None of this makes sense to me. Since the day I met Morgan, he’s always been in charge. In control. Even when the stakes were high and the outlook bleak, he never wavered. Never faltered. To see him like this? It breaks something inside me.

  I sit and take his hand, remembering the night he came back from Salida after being taken captive. I remember how the fear gripped me, driving me mad. And then there he was. The relief was so intense I didn’t recognize it at the time for what it was. It wasn’t until our lips met for the first time that I understood. The feeling that had been growing inside me finally made sense—a feeling I had never let myself feel before. When he collapsed from his injuries, the fear returned. But it was different. Deeper. More potent. That kiss changed everything. Since then we have been bound to one another in every possible way. It’s not that we love each other—it’s that there is no deed we would not do, no line we would not cross to protect the other. To keep them safe. It’s a feeling I have only ever felt for one other.

  Growing up I knew I would do anything for Grace. From the moment I held her in my arms, she was mine. It’s why I endured my mother and Steve for all those years. I’d die for her. Kill for her. Everything I did was always for her and her alone. And then it wasn’t. I felt all that love, all those protective instincts now shared with another. It terrified me. Love is the greatest gift one can give. But it can also be a burden. I’ve carried that burden these past months. Through the Trail, through this war with Barr. Now I feel crushed beneath the weight of it. Looking at the man I love, I feel lost. I can’t see a way forward. Not without him. I tell him as much.

  “I don’t know what to do here, Captain,” I say, voice thick. The words loosen something in my chest. With them out, more follow.

  “You’re not supposed to be hurt like this. Not now. Barr is finally out of the way...you made sure of that. You stopped him, just like you promised you would...But that can’t be the last thing you do in this life. You have other promises to keep. We still need you. I still need you. They said that what happens now is up to you. So I need you to fight. I need you to find your way back to me. Until you do, I’ll be here. I made a promise to you too. You’ll never have to do this alone.”

  I lean in and kiss him on the forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  And so my watch begins. The family comes and goes in twos and threes. They talk to him, voices strained as they try and keep themselves composed. None stay overly long, leaving the two of us alone for the most part.

  I feel restless, unsure of what to do. Even though the lounge is just beyond the door, the room is quiet, the thick door blocking most of the noise. I do my best not to let the silence linger, filling it any way I can. I tell stories. Some true. Some fiction. There are fairy tales. Recounts of our more colorful adventures. Sometimes I sing. Songs I like. Songs he does. Once, I sing a pop song he openly admitted made him cringe. I smile, lost in the memory of the night I first sang it for him. I watch him, half expecting his eyes to be open, a grin on his face as he berates my song choice. He doesn’t of course.

  When all else fails, I speak of the days to come. I tell him of the things we will achieve. The life we will create. I speak of building a community, of our family flourishing in the new world. The ideas flow and flow, each spoken with a conviction as if they were foregone conclusions. Inevitabilities to our story. In truth, it’s not hard. I am merely describing the dream he’s spoken of so often.

  Hours pass. Night cedes to morning. I no longer have words to offer. Or perhaps, I don’t have the energy to speak them. I feel spent. Depleted. The others notice and I have to protest their pleas for me to rest. To take care of myself and sleep. They only relent when Mrs. Taylor tells them to leave me be. She squeezes my shoulder before she leaves, and I know she understands. My place is here. Still, my body can only handle so much. Bouts of sleep catch me, my exhaustion finally winning out. I doze off and on. Each time I wake it’s in confusion, my heart hammering as I look wildly about. Then I find Morgan, and the coldness returns.

  At one point they try and get me to eat, bringing me a bowl of stew and a canteen of water. I take the water but refuse the food. Anything I force down would surely come back up. I won’t waste food like that. The family continues to check in sporadically. Leon and Emily keep me updated on what’s going on beyond these walls.

  A mass grave is being dug for our fallen, a ceremony to be held tomorrow at dawn. I think of all those who fell, imagining their bodies laying beside each other in the frozen ground. They deserved so much more than that. So much more than we could ever give them.

  Grace visits me later that afternoon. When she hands me a protein bar, I know there is no refusing her. She’s grown stubborn. I blame it on her time with Emily.

  “He’s going to be alright, you know,” Grace says, nearly making me choke on the bar as my throat constricts. She speaks with greater confidence than I feel.

  “I know he will,” I say, forcing myself to swallow.

  She grabs my hand, knowing I am only saying as much to appease her. She knows me too well by now.

  “He’s going to be alright,” she repeats, her words firm. “We’re finally going to have the chance to start new like he always wanted. There’s no way he would miss it.”

  Her words rattle in my head long after she’s left. I think of the stories I told Morgan only hours before, the ones filled with all the wonderful things we will achieve. Is that really all they will ever be? Stories? Fiction? Make-believe? Deep down, there was always a part of me that feared Morgan’s vision to be just that: a dream. Something too good to ever be real. But now, with the Animals destroyed, what’s to stop us from making that dream come true?

  I study every contour of his pale face, tears building in the back of my eyes. What is the point of building something if Morgan never sees it? How can I find joy in whatever comes next if I can’t see the smile on his face, hear the laughter in his voice, feel the warmth of his arms around me? I hold his hand in both my own, my eyes closed, forehead resting against my fists. And I come undone.

  The fear. The exhaustion. The anger. It all comes rushing out of me in one torrential downfall. I can’t remember ever letting myself fall apart like this. A lifetime of staying strong for others has taught me otherwise. But here? Walls separating my family, and consciousness separating me from Morgan, there is nobody to stay strong for. I sob, great heaving things that shake my entire body. Tears make slick my fists. It hurts to breathe, each lungful sharp and painful. I don’t know how long I sit here, choking, coughing, crying. But eventually, the tears cease. My breathing levels out. Still, I don’t move. I don’t have the energy.

  “Please God, let him be ok,” I say aloud. “I can’t do this without him.”

  But there is no divine intervention. No puff of smoke and flash of light that suddenly fixes him. Not that I expected it to. The world doesn’t work like that. God, fate, they are just words, just stories people tell themselves in order to believe that something better exists that will make all the bullshit worthwhile...Sounds familiar. On the Trail, I deluded myself into believing in it. Morgan claimed he did just yesterday. But the truth is he had it right from the start. There is no such thing as...

  Pressure grips my hand. My heart stops, then hammers in shock. I look up, blinking the tears away. More brim, as his eyes find mine, those deep brown depths alert. Warm. Alive. He grips my hand tighter and uses his free hand to brush away my tears.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he says.

  Chapter 29: (Morgan)

  I could live inside her eyes. Before I woke, my world was dark and cold. Bleeding out on the ice. Removed from the warmth of friends. My only companion, Barr, dead at my side. But to wake to her? To feel her hand in mine, to look into her eyes and feel my heart swell. It’s like coming back to life. If it weren’t for the aches and pains riddling my
body, I might think it a dream. Even crying, she’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

  She says my name, and that’s when it fully hits me: I’m alive. I didn’t bleed out on that patch of ice. It unravels something deep inside of me. My body shudders, the breath catching in my chest. The tears come before I can stop them. I weep. For what, I’m not entirely sure. My mind is a mess, thoughts and emotions rising so fast I can barely make heads or tails of them. I’m alive. I shouldn’t be. An image of Frank, face half-melted, sacrificing himself for us fills my vision. Others weren’t so lucky. How many more died since our failed attack on Barr’s warehouse? I don’t want to know. The moment I do, the more real it will become.

  Lauren climbs onto the cot and wraps her arms around me. She never says a word. Just hums quietly as I cry into her chest, her hands weaving through my hair and along the back of my neck. I’m not prepared for this. I don’t understand it. I’m alive. I should thank God for the breath in my lungs, for the warmth of the woman beside me. But all I feel is an aching guilt, knowing the cost of it all. And I don’t even know the full of it. With a shuddering breath, I straighten myself out and meet Lauren’s eyes.

  “Tell me everything,” I say.

  She does. The number is crushing. But what’s truly devastating is the names that accompany it. Uncle Will. He had an opinion on everything, but when it came down to it, he only ever tried to help the family. Byron. We had ups and downs, but despite all of our disagreements, I always felt the mutual respect between us. I think because we both knew we were only doing what we felt best for our people. Angela. Ruby. Lynn. I didn't know any of them nearly as well as they deserved, but I respected each in their own way.

  And of course, there were those who fell before the mayhem. Frank. My second father. A man I learned much from; who exemplified what it means to do anything for family. And Mitch. Love and hate both rise at the thought of him. He betrayed us, got my Aunt Virginia killed in the process. But he also saved us. Without his help, Barr would be in power and we would be at his mercy. Does that negate his sins? No. But neither does it damn him in my eyes.

  I can hardly stand to think of them, the pain is so consuming. All of them worked so hard, sacrificed so much to rid themselves of Barr with the hopes of building a future. Now he’s gone, but so are they. It hardly feels like a victory. It’s not right that I am here and they are not. Every one of them deserved to know a life of peace. All I can do is promise to not let what they did be forgotten—to honor them the best I can. I can’t do that lying in a hospital cot.

  “I have to see them,” I say.

  She nods. “I’ll get the doctor.”

  “No,” I say, sitting up straighter. “I don’t need her fussing over me. I’ll be here all day if that’s the case.”

  “Maybe that’s what you need,” she says.

  I can hear the worry in her voice. See it her eyes. It was with her hand in mine that I woke, the sound of her crying that brought me back. She must have had a night of hell, wondering if I would pull through. Even now, she has to be wondering if I am out of the woods. I reach and brush the hair from her eyes.

  “All I need is you,” I say. “But if it will ease your mind, call the doctor.”

  Dr. Sonya is in the room not five minutes later. She changes my bandages. Examines my stitches. Shines a flashlight in my eyes to check my pupils. A dozen questions later and I am discharged with orders not to overexert myself and to keep my wounds clean. It’s better news than I could have hoped for. I dress and pop one of the pills I was handed as a parting gift. The pill is a luxury I would usually abstain from. As it is, the pain throughout my body is enough to convince me. I only hope it doesn’t numb my mind too badly. Then we enter the lobby and a numb mind doesn’t sound like the worst of things.

  They’ve cleaned up what they could, but the scars of battle are everywhere. Blood stains the floor. Cold wind flows through the shattered windows. I step further into the lobby and I can smell it. The coppery tang of blood. The faint stink of piss and shit. The musk of death. It’s a peculiar scent. One I’ll never get used to. And yet, more disconcerting is the aura of the room itself. It’s not just the somber feel of a house in mourning. It’s resentment, fear, confusion, anger. I can feel it as heads turn our way. I don’t dare meet their eyes, afraid of the blame I might see. God knows I deserve more than I’d like to admit.

  Don’t go there. Not now.

  We don’t pause, brushing off the dozen or so who call my name. I feel guilty, but I have to see my family before anything else. Down a hallway and then we enter the ballroom. My family is one of the many gathered. They cluster around the fallen. White sheets cover the bodies, organized into orderly rows. There’s so many of them, not one who will go unmissed. Knowing the number is one thing. To see them like this is quite another. I’m left speechless.

  Grace looks up, her eyes brightening at the sight of me. Despite the scene, she rushes toward us, only stopping short of crashing into me when Lauren flings her hand out in warning. More softly, she folds her self into me, her head resting against my chest as I hold her close. Warmth spreads through me. I didn’t realize how badly I needed my family until this moment.

  I keep my composure the best I can as I am greeted by the rest, but it’s not easy. Several times I get choked up, that familiar lump rising to my throat. The absence of Uncle Will, of Frank...of Mitch. It hangs heavy among us. Death has become an all too common occurrence since the world went dark. I’d wager not a soul alive has made it this far without losing someone. It never gets easier. If anything, it gets harder, knowing how they scraped and clawed to make it that far. And then they’re struck down, never having tasted the life they fought so hard for. It’s crushing, the only salve to the pain the fact that there might yet be hope for those still living.

  I give my condolences to my Aunt Claire. She has no words, just holds onto me as one might a life preserver, as if afraid to let go. I let it continue as long as she needs, ignoring the flare of pain that comes with it. It’s the least I can do. I hug each of her children in turn. Julia, then Jerry, and finally, Vince. Growing up, he was the older brother I always wanted. He took me under his wing, his cool demeanor and easy smile a constant presence in my life. He smiles now though it is a sad reflection of its former self, weighed with grief and loss. I return it all the same, hoping mine is more convincing as I pull him close.

  “Anything you need, just ask,” I say, voice low so only he can hear. “I’m here for you, brother.”

  He grips me tighter, a quaver in his voice as he replies. “I know, Cap,” he says. “You always have been.”

  When I greet my mother and father, I couldn’t say which of the three of us is the most relieved. I hug my mother first. Of my parents, she’s always been the collected one, the one to keep her composure and remain steady regardless of the situation. But as I hold her, I feel the tremor go through her body, the only indication of the deep fear I know she’s held since they brought me in. I hug her tighter and whisper that it’s ok, that I’m fine. She just rests her hand against my cheek and smiles as if she’s in on a secret I’m unaware of.

  My father is more transparent. “Thank God,” he says, hugging me close. “When I saw you, I feared...well I suppose it doesn’t matter now. You’re alive, my boy. That’s what matters.”

  “Because of you, I’m told,” I say. “The Doc. said without that transfusion, I wouldn’t be.”

  He laughs and grips my shoulder. “For you, I’d carve my heart out myself if it meant keeping you alive.” That damn lump rises again. Not because of what he says, but because I know he really and truly means it.

  “You look worried, Princess,” I say as I greet Emily. Incredulity flickers across her face, yet she still smiles when she hugs me.

  “I shouldn’t have been,” she says. “Cockroaches will survive anything after all.”

  I laugh. “Cockroach?” I ask, releasing her. “Surely you can do better than that?”

 
“I’m off my game,” she says, straightening up. “Been distracted, wondering if my ass of a brother would pull through.”

  I smile and pull her in for another hug. “Love you,” I say softly.

  A spasm goes through her. “Me too,” she says, squeezing me tighter.

  “Speaking of princesses, did you get enough rest Sleeping Beauty?” Leon asks.

  “I think it was earned, no?” I ask.

  “Earned?” he scoffs. “And what have I earned? Or who else do you think loaded you up and carried you to that comfy cot you woke in?”

  I laugh. “My apologies,” I say. “Blood loss will do that to you.”

  He makes a dismissive gesture. “Excuses,” he says.

  Then he pulls me close. “Never pull that kind of shit again,” he says into my ear. “Not without me.”

  At this point, the lump is like a brick I’m forced to swallow. “You have my word,” I say, finally working past it. I look away as he lets me go, taking the opportunity to run my hand against the back of my eyes. As if sensing he was there, they land on Felix. He stands at the bank of windows, eyes peering out at the river.

  “Went out with him and the others to collect the bodies at the warehouse earlier,” Leon says. “Haven’t been able to get more than a few words out of him since we found Frank...he’s in bad shape, Moe.”

  Of course, he is. Given what he’s been through, I think it will be a while yet before he’s truly alright. But that doesn’t mean I can sit back and watch him suffer through it. I move forward even though I have no clue what to say. What can I say? My poor friend has endured more than most. He waited so long, sacrificed so much to make his family whole again. It started with his aunt, taking out the bastards who held her captive on the Sawyer Ranch. Then again with his uncle, rekindling the fight with Barr in the process. Now Frank is gone, and no words or actions will ever be enough to fill the void he leaves behind.