I don’t know how to explain it, but seeing this reaches somewhere deep inside of me, touching me in a way I’ve never felt before. Here she stands: naked, nearly raped, in a room with three strange men, and yet her first instinct is to care for her sister. I don't know that I've ever seen an act so selfless, so beautiful. She straightens herself up and faces us again. “I’m Lauren,” she says. She gestures to her sister. “This is my sister Grace.”
I extend my hand. “Morgan,” I introduce myself. “This is Leon and Felix. Nice to meet you...although I wish it were under better circumstances.”
Chapter 5
We take the packs from the four would be rapists back to the accounting office, stripping them for anything we can use. We find little. There's a meager amount of food, a small first-aid kit, a couple decent knives, but the bulk of it is clothing. The true prize is the influx of firearms into our arsenal. We find four boxes of 20 ct. shotgun shells for the Mossberg (one birdshot, one slug, and two buckshot), and two 100 round boxes of 9mm for the Glock. All the boxes are full, minus what's already loaded. There's also a bolt-action .270 Savage rifle, with a 3-9x variable scope and two 20 ct. boxes of ammo. The handgun Lauren pointed between my eyes is Smith & Wesson, chambered in 40 S&W and there are just under a hundred and fifty rounds for it. The shotgun and rifle each have slings, and each handgun a holster.
Lauren and Grace sit with us, both quiet in the aftermath of the attack. We offered to heat up food for them but neither are hungry. Can't say I blame them. They recovered their own supplies as well: a single backpack and butcher knife. I didn't go through their pack of course, but when I handed it to Lauren I could tell by its weight they carry little. I watch them now. Grace lies her head in Lauren's lap, eyes straining against the weight of her fatigue. Lauren strokes her hair almost absentmindedly, her other hand hovering near the revolver holstered on her hip. Now that we've spared them the cruel fate that awaited them, I can't help but wonder if another awaits them down the road. Two girls alone in this harsh world? What kind of chance can they possibly have?
“I never thanked you for earlier,” Lauren says. “You had nothing to gain and everything to lose, but you came anyway.” She looks at her sister a long moment. “I can’t thank you enough,” she finishes quietly.
“You’re welcome,” I reply. "I'm only sorry you had to go through that in the first place."
She nods, looking around the room now. Her gaze lands on our stack of supplies in the far corner. “You guys seem well stocked,” she notes.
"We have Morgan to thank for that," Maya says. She looks at me now as if I simply waved my hand and made it appear. "I don't think we'd have gotten this far without him."
Lauren looks my way, a curious gleam lying behind those green eyes. I shrug, trying to draw the attention away from myself. "I just played the odds and they ended up working in our favor," I say. "Figured the quicker we moved, the better our chances of getting what we needed before we left the city." I look back at her and see her eyes harden, her face dropping.
"I should have done that," she says quietly. "Everything just fell apart so quickly, we could see it all from our apartment. I didn't want to risk getting swept up in the middle of a mob. Thought it would be safer to try and slip out at night, you know?" She shakes her head, her free hand forming a fist against the floor. "Didn't even make it ten blocks before we were taken. If you hadn't come along..." her voice breaks mid-sentence. She swallows it down. "Doesn't matter. I'm not going to put us in that situation again."
My heart goes out to her. It's the same declaration I want to make myself: never put us in danger, evade those who would do us harm, and live the rest of my days in peace. But it's just not reality anymore. I think deep down she knows this too. Grace has finally fallen asleep, but still Lauren strokes her hair. The more I watch them, the more I sense a maternal presence in Lauren: a lioness protecting her cub. It makes me curious how a girl who looks barely out of high school came to be responsible for her younger sibling. And where the hell are their parents in all of this?
"Lauren? If you don't mind me asking, how old are you and Grace?" Emily asks cautiously.
"Grace is twelve, and I just turned twenty-three," she responds. A lie. I can hear it in her voice, can see it as she bites her lip. There's no chance she and I are the same age. But why lie?
“Do you, um...have any family in the area?” Emily asks awkwardly.
She shakes her head slightly, eyes focusing back on Grace. “It’s just the two of us,” she replies.
An awkward silence ensues. “I’m sorry,” Emily says.
I notice Lauren’s fist clench till her knuckles turn white, and a strange expression flit across her face. It's gone a moment later. “Thank you," she replies.
“Where were you planning on going?” Felix asks.
Lauren hesitates, biting her lip once again. “My friend has a cabin about ten miles south of here...we’ll hole up there for a while.” Quiet settles in for some time after that, nobody sure of what else to say. Leon yawns loudly, and I find myself doing the same. It's been a long day and my body is drained.
“We should get some sleep. You and Grace can stay here tonight,” I say, nodding toward her sleeping sister. “We’ll have someone on guard while the rest of us sleep.” She doesn’t like accepting help even when she needs it. I can see it in her eyes. I get the feeling she's been getting by on her own for quite some time. Still, she knows this is the safest place for them tonight, and that's all she needs to know.
“That would be great,” she says, again meeting my eyes in her penetrating gaze.
“I think there’s an extra sleeping bag here somewhere,” I say getting to my feet. I rummage through the pile of gear and hand it over to her. The rest of the group has scurried off to their own sleeping spots, settling down for another attempt at sleep. I turn off the lantern and go to my spot near the far wall.
“Morgan?” Lauren asks quietly. I turn toward her, the faint moonlight that filters through the high windows framing her face.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Just...thank you. For everything.” she says, so quietly I barely hear her.
“I’m glad we could help,” I tell her honestly. “Good night.”
I struggle to sleep despite being more tired than I can remember. When I do, I have another of the vivid dreams which have frequented my life. The faces of the men I killed do not haunt me as I thought they would. I do not re-live the chaos of the day or imagine all the ways my family back home might be suffering. I see Lauren and Grace at her friend’s cabin. She was telling the truth after all. They sit together, laughter escaping them both as they roast popcorn over an open fireplace. Sunshine spills through the open windows, carrying with it the smell of honeysuckle and the chirrups of birds. It's a nice place. Peaceful. I feel myself smile, happy they have found such a haven.
Then I hear it: the sound of heavy boots marching toward the house. Without warning the door rattles on its hinges, something heavy slamming against it from outside. The laughter is silenced. The smiles disappear from their faces, replaced by undiluted fear that deepens and darkens with each thump that hits the door. The door cracks. A huge seam ruptures from its center. And then with one final hit, the door is ripped off its hinges.
A band of masked men enter, the slits at their mouths formed into leering smiles at their cornered prey. Lauren pulls the revolver from the holster and pulls the trigger. Click. Empty. She pulls again and again—click, click, click—until she goes down hard, one of the men slamming the butt of a shotgun against her head. They sit her dazed form into a chair and restrain her before turning their attention to Grace. They reach her, and Lauren scream is pure agony as they begin to strip her clothes from her body.
I try to intervene—to move, shout, do something, but I'm rooted to the spot. This isn't real. The thought comes and I'm uprooted, swirling through mist and fog, and then my eyes fly open. I sit up in a blind panic, disoriented till I remember where I am.
I look over and spot the silhouettes of Lauren and Grace fast asleep across the room. My breathing is labored. My pulse rapid. Sweat breaks across my forehead that I hastily wipe away, running a hand through my hair. It wasn't real. I check my watch with the flashlight: 5:30 A.M. I dress and grab the Glock, knowing sleep is now a lost cause. I walk to the front of the shop and tell Leon to get some more sleep before we head out.
The street is still and silent in these early morning hours. I wish my mind could be so fortunate. It's still inside that shattered cabin, the sound of Lauren's screams still ringing in my ears. It may have only been a dream, but it felt so real. I don't even know why I care so much. I passed through a city cloaked in terror, witnessed acts I wish I could erase forever from my memory. My own hands have taken the lives of two men—a weight pressing down on my soul I know I'll carry for the rest of my life. So much evil has already happened: murders and rapes and God knows what else. Why do two girls I barely know weigh so heavily on me?
There’s no cabin 10 miles south, I’m positive of that. I don’t know why Lauren lied, but I know she did. It shouldn’t matter. I have enough of my own problems to worry about without being bothered by theirs. Still, I can't keep myself from wondering about where they will go from here. When the first slanted rays of the sun stretch out of the east, and I have mulled everything over in my mind a dozen times at least, I reach a decision. I’m not sure how it will sit with the rest of the group, but so far they’ve trusted me to make the call. I know I’m pushing it with this one, but it’s one I’m determined to make.
I crouch down and shake Felix awake. He sits up, alert and ready a second after his eyes flick open. I waylay him to put him at ease. “Easy, Chavo,” I tell him. “Nothing’s wrong.”
He lets out a long breath and rubs the lingering sleep from his eyes. "What's up Moe?" he asks groggily. "Time to head out?"
"Not quite," I reply. "I wanted to talk with Lauren before we head out."
His eyes narrow suspiciously. "You're going to offer her and Grace a chance to join us." It's not a question. I nod and he shakes his head. "What about her friend's cabin?" he asks, the tone of his voice telling me he too saw through her lie.
"You and I both know it doesn't exist," I reply. It's his turn to nod his head in acknowledgment. "You disagree?" I ask. "We shouldn't try and help them?" He doesn't answer right away; he never has when the question is this important. I wait, needing to know his thoughts on the matter. Of everyone in this group, I trust his instincts the most.
"You know it's not that simple. We're already stretched thin on supplies, we'll run out before we make it home. Adding two more people is only going to stretch us thinner. And it's going to be an intense hike—five hundred miles, some of the stretches are really high altitude too...Grace will have a rough time of it." He pauses. "But if we do nothing, their chances of survival pretty much flatline."
"Pretty much how I figure it," I admit. "You think this is too big a call for me to make? That I should run this by the group?" I ask.
Felix shrugs. "I don't know...maybe. Either way, it's going to be you who decides in the end." He sees my confusion at his words and shakes his head. "You really are blind sometimes you know that? Can't you see you're the leader here? It's not like you declared it and nobody's said it out loud, but it's obvious."
His words hit hard, filling me up, but weighing me down at the same time. "I never wanted to be the leader," I say. It's the truth. I may have taken charge from the beginning, deciding what we needed and put us in the position to get it, but it was mostly luck. I didn't know what the hell I was doing or what would happen the moment those bombs tore the Olympic Stadium apart.
Felix laughs dryly. "And I wanted to die old and gray, without ever knowing what it felt like to take another man's life. But we don't always get what we want." He goes on more evenly. "Look, we all have a voice about what happens obviously, but the trail is going to test the hell out of us. We're not always going to agree or have time to debate every decision, so it's going to fall on you to make those choices. It's what you've done from the beginning, and you're the best one of us to do it," he finishes. I can practically feel the responsibility drape across my shoulders, a weight I never asked for, never wanted, but a weight I'll have to carry if we're to make it home. "Deep talk for it only being dawn," I say, trying to lighten the mood.
He laughs. "Too deep."
"But it means a lot coming from you, Chavo," I add, truly meaning it.
"No worries young padawan. We all need a Yoda to instill knowledge," he quips.
I laugh. "It's a good thing you're about the same size. Look kinda like him too, actually."
"Good one, douche," he says even as he joins in laughing. He grabs his shoes and crossbow. "Now go have your chat. I'll stand watch."
Lauren start's when I wake her, reaching for the revolver which rested near her head. "Easy, nothing's wrong," I say quietly. I extend the revolver her way, glad I had the sense to grab it beforehand. She takes it and rubs the sleep from her eyes, determining there to be no threat. "I'd like a word with you though, if that's alright?"
"What about?" she asks, her eyes flickering uneasily.
"I just want to run a few things by you before we head out," I say vaguely. She remains suspicious but agrees, following me into the small break room at the back of the office. Along one wall runs a countertop filled with fried appliances and a fridge at its end. Two cheap paintings on the creamed colored walls serve as the room's only decor, which to me, spells out how bleak it must have been to work here. A round table at its center with four folding chairs fills out the room. I pull one out and offer it to Lauren before setting the lantern down and taking a seat across from her.
We stare at one another across the table—her assessing, and me, debating on where to start. "You lied to us last night," I say, deciding to get it out the way.
Her arms fold across her chest. Her eyes harden. The emotion leaves her face as she arms herself for this talk. "About what exactly?" she asks.
"Let's start with your age," I reply.
She looks at me long and hard. "What does my age matter? The world's gone to shit. It doesn't make a difference if I'm twenty-three or thirteen, the rest of the world will treat me the same." Her words are laced with a slight edge. She doesn't like feeling cornered.
"You're right, age really doesn't matter anymore," I agree. "But honesty still does, at least with me, with my friends. Without honesty, you can't have trust. And without trust in those by your side, you're doomed."
She doesn't react visibly, but the edge in her words sharpen. "That's great, but considering I'll never see you again after this morning, I repeat: what does it matter?"
"What if that wasn't the case?" I ask. "What if we stuck together after this morning?”
"Stuck together?" she asks confused. "You mean join you?" She might have suspected me to have a motive when I asked to speak with her, but I can tell this comes as a surprise.
"That's exactly what I mean," I confirm
If she’s tempted by my offer she doesn’t show it, keeping her shields up and scoffing at the idea. "Why would we want to?"
"Because I'm thinking it will be a lot safer than an imaginary cabin," I reply.
She doesn't seem fazed I saw through her lie. If anything, she looks mildly impressed. "You're a sharp one, aren’t you?" she mocks. "I suppose that's why you're the leader?"
Even Lauren assumes me the leader of my ragtag group. Was I really the only one this fact was lost on? "If I’m the leader, it’s only because my friends trust me," I say, keeping my focus on the discussion. "I took charge after the pulse hit, kept us moving, and didn’t let anything stop us from getting what we needed. They noticed, and so they trust me to continue making those choices. Like I said: trust stems deep with us. It's all that really matters anymore."
"And you trust me with them?" she challenges. "You don't even know me."
I pause at that. She's right. I don't know a damn thi
ng about her. There's no way I could possibly know if I can trust her or not. All I know is what I feel in my gut. So I answer her honestly, this after all being what I ask of her. "No, I don't trust you...but I want to."
"Why?" she questions. The edge leaves her voice: the guard she's worn through this conversation lowering. Still, she stares at me with those keen eyes of hers.
"I don't even know that I can explain it," I say. I look away, the intensity of her gaze deep and penetrating. I examine the painting on the wall, trying to find the words. When I meet her eyes again I find them. "I guess it's because the more I'm around you, the more you remind me of myself. I saw it in your eyes last night when you shoved that revolver in my face. I heard it in the pain in your voice when that bastard hit Grace. And when..." I have to stop, emotion welling up inside me, bright and hot and completely unexpected. "...And when I offered you that blanket? You had just been attacked, nearly raped, and stood naked in a room with three armed men. Yet, despite all that, your first instinct was to care for Grace...you have no idea how much that moved me."
My voice trails off after confessing this. We sit, silent for a long moment. I'm tempted to break it a dozen times, but I feel it best to wait till she responds. "I still don't understand why you would want us with you," she says. "You don't owe us anything...quite the opposite in fact. And it's not like we have much to offer."
I shift in my seat, leaning forward. "It's not about any of that," I start. "I want you with us because...because I don't want to look back a week, a month, a year from now and feel like I made a mistake. You're strong, I've seen it. You'll do whatever it takes to protect Grace, just like I would do anything to protect my friends. Like I said, we're the same in many ways. We can help each other. You don't have to do this alone."
Echoes of a Dying World (Book 1) Page 6