Echoes of a Dying World (Book 1)

by Don M. Esquibel

  The remainder of the shift is uneventful and I wake Felix at midnight to relieve me. He staggers to the front with a yawn, crossbow leaning against his shoulder. I unroll my sleeping bag and flop down on top of it, the night too hot for any layers other than what I’m wearing. I adjust the inflatable pillow, silently thanking whoever thought to grab them. I shut my eyes, a sigh escaping me as my body settles down to sleep. I can't remember ever being so tired. Already my mind becomes foggy, thoughts and worries drifting away, right at the cusp of sleep.

  It’s not meant to be.

  My eyes fling open, mind snapping to attention. Felix stands tense, staring out into the open street. All the while a scream to chill the bone sounds from somewhere outside the office. “What the hell was that?” I ask a heartbeat later by Felix's side. He motions down the street. I see it now. A group of four men have captured two girls, one hardly more than a child. Two men restrain the older girl, while another man subdues the younger. The fourth man stands in front of the older girl with a roll of duct tape, attempting to bind her hands. He has a rough time of it. The girl fights and struggles against her captors, managing to keep him at bay with a flurry of kicks. He gets near her and takes a hard kick to the shin. He curses and smacks her across the face, forcing her head back. She straightens up and spits bloody phlegm into into his face.

  "Enough of this!" he shouts, wiping his face gruffly. He goes now to the younger girl and slaps her hard across the face. The sound reverberates to our ears a split second before her sobs do. It doesn't take much to hurt a child. He looks back at the older girl who now fights so hard against her captors, it's all they can do but hold on. "You still want to fight?" he spits. He doesn't let her answer, slapping the girl once more across the face. The older girl is beside herself, crying and screaming in a futile desperation to free herself. "You want more you stupid bitch?" He forgoes a slap, instead closing his fist and punching her in the stomach. The young girl doubles over, choking on her sobs as the air is knocked out of her.

  "OK!" The older girl screams as her body goes limp. "Gag me, tie me up, do whatever the hell you want with me, just leave her alone!" The young girl’s sobs are heartbreaking, but it's those of the older which make me shiver. It's the rawness in her voice as the fight leaves her, as she resigns herself to the mercy of these monsters, knowing damn well she'll receive none. The man approaches her again and this time she doesn't fight as her hands are bound in duct tape. He cups her chin with his hand, brushing his thumb over her closed lips. "You done fighting?" he asks. "You gonna be a good girl for me?"

  "Yes!" The word leaves her mouth as a hateful hiss.

  "Yes, what?" he asks, the enjoyment in his voice nauseating.

  "Yes, I'll be a good girl for you," she says, knowing what this sick bastard wants to hear. He laughs. "I know you will." He leads the girls into an abandoned storefront with one of his gang. "Keep watch, you'll get your turn," he says to the other two before disappearing into the shop.

  I turn to Felix who looks every bit as disgusted as I do. “We can’t let this happen,” he says.

  “Not a chance.” Felix wakes the group while I slip into my shoes and arm myself. I stand, two fixed blade hunting knives sheathed on either hip, and machete in my hand as I address my half delirious friends. I give a brief rundown of what we saw, my anger increasing through the retelling. “Felix and I are going to check it out and see what we can do. You three stay here, we'll be back soon."

  "No,” Leon says, pushing the sleeping bag away and gathering his things. "I'm going with you."

  "Lee, no," I tell him. He's barely recovered from the first attack. I don't know that he can handle a second so soon. "I need you here."

  He ignores me and stands, knives at his belt and baseball bat held ready. "No, you don't Morgan," he argues. "You want me here because of what happened earlier. I'm good though. It's a new world and coddling me won't change that. I'm going. Besides, you're going to need me."

  "Wait! Everyone just wait a second," Emily says, hands held wide before I can respond. "You three can't be serious. We're lucky we survived the last fight, now you want to go and pick another? You're crazy. It's horrible those girls got taken, but that's not our fault. We should stay out of it. Focus on getting home alive." I can hear in her voice how scared she is—convinced something will happen to us should we try to intervene. I’m scared too, knowing full well what I’m risking. But I also know I can’t just stand by and do nothing. Not when I can still hear the sobs of that little girl and the screams of the older begging those bastards to stop.

  "What if we weren't here this weekend Em?" I ask softly. "What if those two girls were you and Maya?" She looks away, unable to meet my eyes. Maya sits next to her, quiet and pale, hugging herself as my words hit home. "I know we don't have to do anything. But I'm not sure I can live with myself if I don't at least try. We won't be able to help everyone we come across. Hell, nine times out of ten we might not be able to. But we can help here. If we turn our backs now, I'm afraid we'll turn them again and again, and soon we’ll be people we don't recognize. It's not worth living if it costs our humanity to do so."

  She shakes her head, still staring at her lap. "I can't do this without you," she says. She looks up now, eyes wet. "We don't have a chance if anything happens to you guys."

  I go to a knee and put my hands on her shoulders. "I promised I would get you home, and I will. But I have to do this. Trust me, we'll be back." She lets out a shuddering breath and nods. "I trust you." I squeeze her shoulders once and stand, Leon and Felix behind me. "We'll be back," I promise—yet another I know I have no way of guaranteeing.

  We leave from the rear exit, allowing us to draw nearer through the alley without being spotted. We peer out at the mouth of the alley and eye the storefront, the two guards still standing watch over the entrance

  “Idea’s?” I whisper.

  “Maybe,” Leon whispers back. “Felix...how good are you with that crossbow?”

  Leon weaves unevenly down the middle of the street, singing a bawdy song of his own creation. He staggers as he approaches the intersection and overcorrects himself, nearly falling on his face and drawing the attention of the two guards. He looks around confusedly. Spotting the guards, he smiles wide and heads their way. "How's it going fella's?" he slurs. "Beautiful night eh’?" I'm cringing on the inside, praying he doesn't get his head shot off during this damn plan of his. The guards shift and I can now make the shotgun and pistol they carry respectively. The sight does nothing to alleviate my nerves.

  “Beat it, nigger,” Shotgun says, raising it halfway in warning.

  “Whoa! Easy man, easy!” Leon says, still smiling. He holds the bottle he carries up high. “I come in peace," he says with a chuckle. “Nobody likes drinking alone. Thought you two might care to join me?” Pistol mutters something in Shotgun's ear. After a brief pause, Shotgun nods and Pistol waives Leon forward. Leon doesn't hesitate, all smiles as he enters the lion's den. His smile falls when Shotgun raises his weapon and aims it at his chest. "Hands against the wall," he says.

  I think my heart's about to explode it's beating so hard. But I don't freeze up, continuing to stalk forward, silent as the shadows I weave between. "Whoa man, you don't have to do this!" Leon says as he's shoved against the wall. "Just being neighborly is all." Somehow, he manages to keep the panic held at bay as Pistol pats him down and Shotgun holds his gun in place. "He's clean," Pistol says when he's finished. Shotgun lowers the weapon, and I sigh in relief. "Had to be sure you weren't trying something," Shotgun says as way of explanation.

  Leon doesn't miss a beat, laughing it off as if it were some great joke. "All good man, I get it. You scared the shit out of me, though." He laughs even harder at that. Pistol has the bottle in his hand and makes to drink before Shotgun stops him. He takes it from him and hands it over to Leon. “You first,” he says. Shrewd bastard.

  Leon doesn’t hesitate, twisting off the cap and taking a long pull. “Woo! That’ll wake you up
in the morning,” he says with a small cough. He offers the bottle again their way. This time Pistol snatches the bottle and takes two big swigs. He smacks his lips appreciatively and hands it over to Shotgun who takes a moderate shot. Shotgun passes it back Leon's way, but he shakes his head. “Go for it man, I already killed one earlier,” he slurs. I have to give him credit, he's damn convincing in his act. If I hadn't just witnessed his first and only shot, I'd think he was trashed.

  Shotgun shrugs and takes another pull before handing it back to Pistol. “What the hell you doing out here alone anyway?” he asks, more at ease now that he believes there to be no threat. His mistake. “No way I'd be strolling these streets without someone watching my back," he laughs, accepting the bottle once again.

  Leon continues to smile, and it broadens when his eyes meet mine in the shadows. “Who said I don't have someone watching my back?” He asks in a clear voice. Shotgun’s eyes narrow and then widen as he figures out he's been played. Too late. Before he can raise his weapon, Leon shoves him hard and immediately drops to the concrete. Shotgun flies backward, coming my way fast. My eyes track his head as I would a baseball before I take my swing and cave in the back of his skull with the chrome bat. Pistol gapes cluelessly as he watches his companion fall. His eyes find mine, and I watch as they round with surprise a split second before a crossbow bolt pierces his heart and he falls to the floor.

  I scan the rooftop across the street, but already Felix has disappeared. Leon and I check Shotgun and Pistol's pulses, needing to make sure there will be no surprises from them. Neither heart beats. The knowledge doesn't affect me as I thought it might. They each carried packs we will inventory later, but for now only the guns need our inspection. Felix joins us as we pry the weapons away from the bodies and he identifies each. The shotgun: a 12 gauge, pump action Mossberg 500. The pistol: a Glock 17 9mm, and three magazines. Both weapons are locked and loaded.

  "Alright, Felix you open the door," I say, planning the breach. “I'll enter first and clear the right side, while you follow on my ass and clear the left. Leon, you follow him and sweep the middle. Don't shoot unless you have a clear shot. This is all for nothing if we end up shooting one of the girls."

  I can feel my nerves bubbling beneath my skin as we get into position. Still I keep my composure, feeding off the adrenaline. Felix eyes me and I hold up three fingers. Two. One He swings the door open and I sweep right with the Glock extended, Felix and Leon shadowing my movements as they enter behind me. It's empty. We stand in a deserted waiting room, chairs lining the walls on either side of us. A reception desk sits directly ahead with an open door to the right. I pull out the flashlight and click it on as we pass through the door and enter a narrow hallway. Three closed doors are spaced evenly down each side, a restroom at the far end. A strip of light spills under the third doorway on the right, alerting us to their location. "Same as last time," I whisper as we get into position. The door opens. I sweep right and pause, completely disgusted with the display before me.

  It's an office. In the left corner the older girl lies bent over a wooden desk, not a stitch of clothing on her. Her hands are bound behind her back in duct tape, and a belt has been tied around her neck like a leash. The man I took to be the leader pulls on the belt, forcing the girl's head backward, her face pointed at the ceiling. His clothes lay in a pile on the floor, save for a pair of boxers which tent out in front of him.

  In the right corner sits a large man with a ruddy beard in an oversized office chair, a wife-beater and boxers the only clothing he wears. The young girl sits on his lap, stripped down to her underwear. She whimpers, her face slick with tears as the man strokes her cheek with a meaty paw, while the other traces up and down her thigh. She's maybe twelve years old.

  Both men react almost instantaneously to our entrance. The leader turns to face us, nostrils flaring in anger. "What the hell did I tell—" he doesn't finish his question. A crossbow bolt pierces through his eye, the tip exploding out the back of his skull before he gets the chance. He falls as the other stands, his face paling at the sight of us. The girl goes spiraling to the ground as he reaches futilely for the revolver that lies an arm’s length away. I don't give him the time to reach it. Two shots hit him in the chest and send him reeling backward where he collapses against the wall. His mouth gapes like a fish out of water, eyes fluttering open. I point the Glock between his eyes and squeeze. I feel no remorse, no sympathy. Guilt doesn't eat away at me like earlier. I feel nothing but lingering disgust and a grim satisfaction the world is rid of these despicable souls.

  The younger girl has crawled against the wall furthest from the carnage. She curls into herself, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her tear streaked face a mask of terror. I spot a blanket atop one of the men's packs and snatch it. She recoils even further when I crouch before her. I splay out my hands, trying to convince her I'm a friend. “It’s ok,” I tell her in the softest voice I can manage. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Before I can say another word, I’m knocked to the side by the older girl who rushes past. She kneels beside the younger girl, running hands through her hair and cupping her face, whispering words I cannot hear. We watch uncomfortably, all too aware she has yet to cover herself. I don’t know what to say or what to do in this situation. I’ve been so focused on our mission to rescue them, I hadn’t given any thought about what comes after.

  “Hey, are you—” I’m cut off mid-sentence. At my voice she snaps to attention, springing into complete defense mode. She stands and swivels to face us, completely nonplussed at being nude in front of three armed men. Perhaps because she too is armed, a revolver pointed between my eyes. I didn't even see her snatch it. “Back the hell up!” she yells, cocking back the hammer of the gun. Her words are harsh and dripping in an anger so powerful, I instinctually do as she says even as I draw my own weapon, Leon and Felix doing the same on either side of me.

  “This is bullshit!” Leon says incredulously. “We save you two, and you point a gun at us?”

  “Saving us?” she asks scornfully, as if the very idea were ridiculous. “Please, you just wanted their spoils. Well sorry to disappoint you, but my sister and I aren’t going to be your play things." I’m getting angry now. We put our lives on the line to help them, to do the right thing, and this is the gratuity we are paid?

  “Are you serious right now?” My words are clipped and bitter, barely making it past my lips. Right now I don’t care: about what she just went through, about her younger sister who sits bawling on the floor, about the fact that underneath her words I can hear the fear and desperation in her voice. But I’m lying to myself. I do care. I care because when I look past the revolver's barrel and look into her eyes, I see myself. She’s only doing what she feels she must in order to keep her sister alive. Who the hell am I to judge her?

  This situation can get out of hand real quick and I don’t trust the gun in her hands—not when I know the lengths some will go to to protect those they love. So I do the one thing I can think of. The one gesture I myself might accept if the tables were turned. I eject the Glock’s magazine, eject the chambered round, and set the mag and gun at my feet, instructing Leon and Felix to do the same. Felix does, but Leon keeps the shotgun trained on her, unwilling to move it.

  “Put it down, Lee,” I say calmly. The last thing I want is to scare her into shooting.

  “This is bullshit,” he repeats so quietly I doubt she hears him.

  “Yes, it is,” I agree. “But put it down before something happens.” His grip tightens for a second, reluctant to let it go. Finally, he drops it to the ground with a grunt. There’s confusion in her eye’s now.

  “What is this?" she asks, her voice uncertain. "Some kind of trick?”

  “No tricks,” I tell her. “We were camped down the street when we heard your screams. We saw what they did to you and your sister before taking you inside. We knew what that meant—what they planned to do...we couldn't just sit by and let it happen.

  She shakes her
head in disbelief. “And I’m supposed to believe that?” she asks. “You three saw what happened and decided to play the hero while the rest of the world has turned into villains?”

  “Not everyone,” I tell her. “And I wasn’t trying to play the hero. I saw that asshole hit you, and then your sister, and I just couldn’t…” I struggle to find the right words. I breath deep, calming myself the best I can at the unexpected emotion. “Believe me, I know the easy thing to do was to wait it out. Let whatever was going to happen, happen, and then hightail it out of here in the morning, alive and weighed down by a guilty conscious that I might have stopped it if only I had tried." I shake my head. "But that would have sent me down a spiraling path of doing whatever it takes to survive, no matter the cost. Abandoning morals, closing myself off to everyone who doesn’t stand by my side. I didn’t want to take that step: I’ve seen what it looks like.” I gesture to the two bodies in the room with us. I take a step closer and she raises the revolver back in warning. I stoop down and recover the fallen blanket and extend it to her.

  “I know you’re angry, and I know you’re scared, and I know you wouldn't hesitate to bury a bullet into each of our skulls if you thought we wanted to hurt you. But you haven't pulled the trigger, so I don’t think you’ve made that conclusion yet. I don’t know what else I can say or do to convince you, so whatever happens next, it’s on you." My heart thrashes wildly inside my chest, sensing perhaps that it might stop in the time for her finger to contract. Indecision flashes in her eyes and her hand begins to shake. Still, she doesn’t cry. I wager she’s the type who’d see the tears as weakness, and she’s already experienced how unforgiving this new world is to the weak. Finally, she lets the gun drop to her side though she doesn’t release it. She accepts the blanket but makes no movement to cover herself, instead kneeling down and wrapping it around her sister.