"What's going on?" I ask.
"It's Eli," Felix says, muscle in his jaw flexing. "He's hiding something from us, I can feel it." The statement catches me off guard and I feel my stomach clench on itself. I look to Leon who looks just as uneasy as I do. "What do you mean?" Leon asks.
"I don't know, it's hard to explain," he says, running his hand through his hair anxiously. "Like how he looked: guilty, shameful, sad? His emotions were all over the place. Same with his wife, she doesn't say a word but looks like she's on the verge of tears the entire time."
"They're probably just proud is all," I say. "I mean coming up to a strange camp, begging for food? It's got to be hard being that desperate."
"Yeah, that's another thing, they didn't eat like they've missed many meals," he says quickly.
"Bro, you checked their packs yourself. They had nothing, and they ate everything we gave them," Leon argues.
He shakes his head, frustrated. "You don't get it," he says. "Neither of you have ever experienced real hunger before—the kind brought on by missed meals and not knowing when or where your next will come from. I have. Life with my mom...it wasn't easy. If she hadn't taken off and left me with my Uncle Frank, I honestly don't know what might have happened. Just trust me...they weren't there yet." The admission takes me by surprise. Felix moved in with his aunt and uncle at the beginning of 6th grade, and while we became friends shortly after, he's always kept his past tightly guarded. Now I know why. He's right, I've never experienced that kind of hunger. But I have a sinking fear I might sooner than I'd like.
"Ok, so what are you saying?" I ask.
"I don't know,” he says. “Just be extra alert tonight, both of you. And in the morning, we should leave as quickly as we can."
Leon and I share another look before turning back to Felix. "Ok, Chavo," Leon says for both of us. "We'll keep an eye on them."
The sleep I manage before my shift is restless, my mind worrying over Felix's words. I feel resentment flare deep inside me. Damn those bastards who did all this. Preserving our race by sowing destruction across the world, and killing off most of the global population? Who the hell are they to decide such an act was necessary? That a world where helping a starving family is met with unease and distrust, is any better than the world they destroyed?
"You're quiet tonight," Lauren says about an hour into our shift.
"Sorry," I say, pulling myself away from the thoughts that have followed me out of sleep. "I'm lousy company tonight."
"No, you're not," she says nudging my shoulder with hers. "I'm teasing you anyway."
"I know," I reply. "Just a lot rattling around my mind I guess."
"Eli and his family?" she asks.
"Yeah, partly" I answer, not wanting to spook her with what Felix told Leon and I. "I've just been thinking about their situation, and how we'd be in the same boat if we weren't lucky on our way out of the city."
"You want to help them," she says. "Right?"
"Yeah, I do," I admit, sighing with the weight of it all. "I just don't know how. Not without hurting us in the end." We once again fall into silence. "What are you thinking about?" I ask when I tire of running through my mind.
"Where Grace and I would be right now if you hadn't shown up that night," she says. I feel my hand form an involuntary fist: I still can't think of that night without anger flaring inside me. What if we hadn't shown up? Or if I had let them go after we did? Getting to know them this past week—talking with Lauren as we hike, and in the dead of night during our watch, seeing more and more of the girl she is underneath the armor; hearing Grace's laugh, beautiful and innocent amid so much gone wrong—to think of either of them hurt or worse makes me sick.
She sets her hand atop my fist and it unclenches at her touch. "It's ok, Morgan," she breathes beside me, sliding her fingers through mine. "We're here, with you. Because you did what you thought was right. Just do the same thing in the morning and it will all work out."
"If we help them, it's going to hurt us," I say. "We're going to run out of food before we make it home, and that's without giving any away."
She squeezes my hand. "Whatever you decide, we'll be with you." We're silent again after that, the only difference being her hand in mine, neither of us withdrawing. I'm grateful for the silence. I might have missed the static noise and muted words without it. I let go of her hand and get to my feet, straining my ears for the sound. Lauren rises with me, alert and hand resting on her holstered revolver. I hear it again and there's no mistaking where it comes from. He's hiding something from us, I can feel it. Felix's words come back to me and I feel my pulse spike.
Lauren and I move stealthily toward their tent when I hear it again, a hushed voice and static, like a radio searching between frequencies. We stop outside their tent, waiting to for the noise again which sounds a moment later.
"Got it," an unfamiliar voice says, followed by static.
"What's your ETA?" Eli asks.
"Thirty minutes. You're positive only two guards?"
"Positive."
"See you shortly, over and out." I hear a click and the static is gone, as is my belief that I even considered helping this family. Hate courses through me. We helped him. Fed him and his family. He shook my hand all the while planning on selling us out. Con artist, that's the word that comes to mind. They've always existed: imposters worming their way into people's' lives, earning their trust, only to turn around and take them to the cleaners. Only now, money and jewels and all the useless things which once signified wealth have been pushed aside; things like food and weapons and anything else that might help a person survive standing in their place. The thing which most enrages me isn't even the duplicity, but the children he's involved in the gambit to play on people's sympathy.
We retreat quietly as we can to our side of the camp and wake the group. Confusion, followed by the same hatred that burns in me fill their eyes as I tell them. We assemble quick and silent. Leon and I approach the tent while the rest of the group readies our departure. I cross the flashlight and Glock at the wrists so I can aim both simultaneously.
"It's the only way," I hear Eli say soothingly as we stand outside the tent flap. There's a choked breath. "I just wish it wasn't," comes Jolene’s reply.
I won't listen to anymore, the anger inside me still hot and strong. I can't allow it to cool. I nod to Leon who bends down and unzips the tent in one quick motion, revealing two shocked faces and two sleeping children between them.
"Morgan?" Eli asks, shielding his face from the light. "What the hell is this?"
I force myself to stay calm and not shout, wanting the children to remain asleep. "Out of the tent," I command. Eli still wears the deer in the headlights look while Jolene just hangs her head morosely. "Now!" I bark. Eli crawls out and Jolene follows after. We lead them out of earshot of the tent before beginning the interrogation.
"How many are on their way here?" I ask. He shakes, stuttering he has no idea what we're talking about. I swing the blunt end of the metal flashlight forward, hitting him hard on the side of the head. "No games! How many?" I ask.
He looks at me in defeat. "Enough," he says.
"How long have you been following us?" Leon asks.
"We weren't," he replies. "We really did just smell the food."
"So, what? You people just find camps and call in your buddies to raid them in the dead of night?" I ask in disgust.
"It keeps us alive," he says desperately. "We were stranded at the campground. Two days without food, kids crying because their stomachs are cramping. Guy comes up to me and says he has a job, that he needs a family with young children. You have to understand it was the only way to feed them." He looks into my eyes, willing me to understand the choices he has made. But I don't understand, and I'm glad for that fact because it means the collapse hasn't robbed me of my humanity. I look at him no longer in blind hatred, but in pity. He's the reason I wanted so desperately to flee Denver: the regular guy who shed his morals in the n
ame of survival. He's exactly what I don't want to become.
"No, it's not," I tell him. "By my watch we only have about twenty minutes till your friends arrive, so all I'm going to say is think of the example you're setting for your children: do whatever it takes to survive no matter the price, even the at the cost of someone else's life. It's a bad path, and eventually it will catch up with you. By all means, it would be justified if we killed you right now. But we're not going to do that. Like I said: it's a bad path, and killing you would be the first step down it. I sincerely hope you find another path to follow, if for no other reason than because your children deserve better. That's all I have to say."
We bound their hands and feet together, then duct tape their mouths so they can't call out. Once everything's packed, we haul ass into the darkness of the woods. Navigating by moonlight proves difficult, but we can't afford to use the flashlights, not when they might be spotted by Eli's group. Adrenaline and paranoia run hot through my veins, turning every shadow into something sinister—every sound belonging to beasts who hunt me and my friends. The need to escape lashes hard inside my mind, urging me forward. My legs itch for me to move faster, to lengthen my stride and flee the area as fast as my feet will carry me. But I resist the impulse. Running blindly into the night is a sure way to get us lost, and we can’t afford to let that happen.
How much time has passed? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Could Eli's group be at the campsite even now? What will they make of the state we left them in? Will they be angry? Vengeful? Will they still try to pursue us now that we're no longer there? Question after question fill my head, leaving me with a headache and anxiety churned stomach.
After a time we risk the flashlights, figuring we’ve covered enough ground to keep from being spotted, and that even more is needed before we can be sure we're safe. The light speeds up our progress considerably, though we still move slower I'd like. I walk up front with Felix who acts as navigator. I look back from time to time, sharing worried glances with Lauren who does her best to comfort her sister. The poor girl broke down as we made our escape, the fear and confusion too much for her to process. Strangled sniffles still reach me from time to time, the sound bringing with it fresh waves of hatred. Damn Eli for forcing us to flee our own camp—for putting fear in a little girl, not unlike his own, who has already dealt with more than any child should have to experience. Keeping him alive was the right call. I truly believe that. But I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't second guess that choice if given the chance.
We cross and recross a winding stream several times before reaching the base of a looming mountain range. I assess the situation here, giving us a break to drink some water and catch our breaths. Watching my friends, I know the fatigue must be wearing on them. I don't know if they have this climb in them. This area of the trail is already high elevation. The top of the range is nearly 12,500 feet: the highest climb we've had to face. I bring it up to the group, stressing my concerns about the elevation and the difficulty of the climb. Nobody will be backed down. The determination on their faces is inspiring, especially from Grace whose bloodshot eyes are streaked with it. We climb.
The trail cuts along the side of the steep slope, gaining elevation quickly. It's not so much the climb that makes it difficult, but the thin air, making each breath feel shallow. The flashlights are abandoned after we surpass the treeline, the darkness ebbing from the sky with each passing minute. At the top we collapse in exhaustion, and it's a good minute before we can catch our breaths and calm our beating hearts. Despite everything though, I can't help but admire my surroundings.
Snow clings to much of the ground and our vantage point offers a panoramic view of the world around us. Swathes of forest roll like waves throughout the surrounding area, an ocean painted in hues of brown and green. Mountains rise both near and far, few reaching the height of that which we stand. Sweeping valleys sprawl between these ranges, their expanse dotted with knee high grass and beds of flowers visible even from here. Far to the north sits a large lake, its surface sparkled silver in the early morning hour. The sun rises, painting the clouds above in washed layers of orange and red and purple, throwing the landscape into patches of light and shadow. The wind howls, cold and piercing, yet revitalizing all the same. It's stunning. We couldn't have timed it better if we tried.
"Have you ever seen something so beautiful?" Lauren asks as she steps beside me. I turn at the sound of her voice, watching as her eyes soak up the picturesque scene before us. Her hair, black and smooth as a midnight sky dances in the air behind her. Sweat beads across her forehead and down her dirt smudged cheek. Her shirt is ripped and sweat stained, her arms patterned with nicks and scratches from the trail. She turns to me, a hundred shades of green swirling and colliding in her eyes, and a smile on her face which reaches right inside and takes my breath away.
"Never in my life," I answer.
The backside of the range turns out to be much steeper than the front. We keep our descent slow, ever mindful of our footing lest we slip and take a long tumble down. I no longer mind the pace now that the need to escape isn't so pressing. If we didn't spot a pursuing party atop the range, it's doubtful there is one. I should feel relieved. I should consider ourselves lucky to have escaped our camp without bloodshed. But the anger remains. I don't even know who I'm angry with: Eli for selling us out, myself for falling for his ploy, or the bastards who took it upon themselves to play God and plunge the world into the darkness it's now in. I suppose all of the above if I'm being honest.
It's mid-morning by the time we leave the range behind, and find a new campsite beside a small stream a mile removed from the trail. We've masked our passage the best we could as a precaution, not needing a repeat of earlier. Exhaustion doesn't seem an adequate term to describe the state my body is in. Thankfully Leon and Emily are up on watch duty, I don't know that I could keep my eyes open for it. It goes without saying there will be no more miles had today. I turn to refill my canteen before heading off to sleep when Lauren snatches the jug away.
"Got something against me getting a refill?" I ask, amused at the sight of her. She bounces from foot to foot with an energy that seems insane after the night we've had.
"As a matter of fact, I do," she says, trying and failing to keep the coy grin from her lips. I feel my own mouth turn up. "May I ask why?"
"Got a surprise for you," she says nonchalantly. She un-slings her own canteen from around her neck and hands it to me. "It's better if you let me explain before you open it." I look at her, intrigued now. "You remember that first night we kept watch together?" I nod. "Well, we started listing the things we missed that we didn't think we'd miss before everything fell apart. The first thing that came out of your mouth was cold water. 'Ice cold' water if memory serves. I remember laughing at that, I mean of all the things to miss, you know? Anyway, when we were up on the mountain just now there was all that untouched snow just lying there. So...I figured I pack some away for you. It should be mostly melted by now."
I unscrew the cap and peer inside. Small clumps of snow still linger, but as she said, it's mostly melted through. My throat constricts, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. It's not the gift so much as the thought put behind it: the fact that she cared enough to remember such trivial chatter as my wish for cold water. I look up and meet her eyes, seeing the vulnerability hidden behind the smile she wears, as if worried of what I think of her surprise.
"I...can't believe you did this. People never remember that kind of thing." Any vulnerability disappears at these words. I take a drink, the cold so at odds with what I've grown accustomed to, I actually sigh in appreciation. "This just may be the best water I've ever tasted."
She beams and I find myself getting lost in her smile. "I'm glad you like it."
Chapter 9
Water falls in torrents from the angry sky above. My clothes are soaked, my skin cold and clammy. The trail is slick, full of bogs of mud and deep puddles, impeding our progress. High winds howl against our trud
ging forms, spraying frozen mist into my face and eyes like stinging needles. Mud finds its way everywhere—our clothes, our tents, our food—it's impossible to keep out at this point. We break long and often to escape the elements the best we can, but our options are limited. This weather has persisted for the past four days, the breaks between rainfalls bitterly short. It's been demoralizing to say the least.
And to think, I've always loved the rain: its clean invigorating scent which lingers even after the rains have stopped and the clouds dispersed from the sky; the rumbling claps of thunder, the hugeness of it the perfect noise to send one drifting off to sleep; flashes of lightning dancing across the sky, so bright and vibrant against the rolling mass of gray. I remember afternoons spent at my parent’s home, losing myself in another world as I would sit reading for hours on end under the front porch, the sounds of the storm soothing and peaceful; I remember mudding in Leon's jeep, and how he'd refuse to wash it for days after, wearing the caked-on mud like a badge of honor; I remember the rain as something good, like the promise of something new. But of course that was when a roof over my head was never far and dry clothes were in abundance. It's easy to admire a storm in passing: while sitting warm and cozy, protected from the elements. It's quite another to be chilled to the bone and exhausted, facing the full brunt of its deluge.
Each mile is harder than the last. I feel the yearning of my body: for rest, for the heat of a roaring fire, for a stomach full of food, but I have no means to sate them. Felix can start a fire, but keeping it burning is difficult with everything so wet and the raindrops dousing the flames. Not worth the effort. Instead, we zip ourselves in our muddied tents under layers of damp clothing and sleeping bags. It's not warm, but it keeps the chill at bay. Worse than the cold is the constant hollow I feel in my stomach. Our food is running out quicker than we thought it would. Even on tight rations and two meals per day, we'll be out in a week's time. Already I feel the effects a low-calorie diet is having on me. And I fear it’s about to get a whole lot worse.
Echoes of a Dying World (Book 1) Page 10