As bad as our situation may be, I know many have it worse than we do. My mind often finds its way back home, to my family and friends and what they must be facing. Do they have food? Do they have a means to defend themselves? Have they too drawn blood in the name of survival? And of course, the one thought which always rises to the surface despite my attempt to bury it: have they already been added to the growing number of lives lost in the wake of the collapse?
I think not only of my own family, but those of my friends as well. Are Leon's parents and brother alright? Over the years his family has grown close with mine, is it possible they are together? And if not, who else might they have turned to with no family west of Chicago? What about Felix's family? Has his Uncle Frank turned the farm into a fortress? Do they have the means to hold the place once hungry mouths venture away from town in search of food? Would they be accepting of familiar faces should my family have thought to reach out to them?
There's Maya, whose family I've never met, yet I feel as if I know from the stories she's shared. Their fate will never be known to us, a fact I know wears on her. "I think about them all the time," she told me one evening around the fire. "I have a thousand questions running through my mind and no way of ever answering them." Tears leaked from her eyes and I took her hand in mine, letting her know I was there: that she still had people who cared for her. "But I've made my peace with that. All I can do is have faith they'll be alright, and if they're not, I'll see them again whenever my time comes. Until then I'll do whatever it takes to keep us going. Whatever it takes to keep this family alive." I wrapped her in a tight hug then. "God, we got lucky when Emily met you," I said. "And I know you have Em, but I'm always here if you need someone to talk to." She smiled and hugged me back. "Thank you, Morgan. But I already knew that."
And then there’s Lauren and Grace whose past remains a mystery to me. I confessed my worries over my family to Lauren during watch one night. She listened quietly and comforted me by saying if they were anything like I was, they would be alright. I smiled at that, and did what I said wouldn't by digging into her past. "What about you?" I asked. “You ever think about your family?” I felt her stiffen beside me and I immediately wished I could take my words back. Stupid. I wasn't even thinking. She didn't answer for the longest time, long enough I let myself believe she didn't hear me or would at least pretend she hadn't.
"Can you promise me something, Morgan?" she finally asked. I promised straight away. "Don't ask about my past. Ok? As messed up as the world is, all I want is to focus on the now. I don't want to look back. I want to leave the past behind me and do everything I can to ensure we have a future." I watched her for a long time after, wondering what the ghosts of her past must look like to make such a strong woman look so broken.
I do my best not to dwell on these thoughts too long. They're both distracting and wearing, and I can't afford either. Instead, I focus on more pressing matters. Our dwindling food supply. The presence of more people in the area. Hike. Rest. Survive.
For the first time in days, I wake not to the sound of thunder or thuds of raindrops hitting the tent, but to sunshine and the chirping of birds as they celebrate the break in the weather. I dress quickly and emerge from the tent, greeted by sunshine on my face and the smell of damp earth. Leon has his arm around Emily's shoulders as they sit around the campfire. Ever since my heart to heart with him, things really haven't changed much. It's no secret they are now together: such things are hard to mask in a group as small as ours, but they don’t make a big display of it. It's in the small things: their body language, the inflections in their voice while speaking to one another, the subtle touches and lingering glances. The awkwardness I always feared turned out to be for not. The two were made for one another.
"Where's Felix?" I ask as I sit opposite them.
Leon's mouth lifts up. "Teaching Grace how to hunt," he says.
"Really?" I ask, unable to picture Grace stalking through the woods with a gun in her hand, looking for our next meal. "Lauren's alright with it?"
Emily laughs. "She's the one who suggested it."
"Huh," I shrug. "Maybe she'll bring us some luck."
She doesn't. She arrives back at camp with Lauren and Felix in tow, utterly empty handed. The sisters both wear smiles though, the early morning adventure evidently to their liking. Felix doesn't share their humor. "There are too many people in the area," he tells me. "Four camps we passed yesterday, not to mention the fresh tracks through the mud. They're scaring the game away and overhunting what's left."
"Our luck will turn," I say with a confidence I don't feel. He knows hunting better than I do, and he's voiced what I've feared myself. But I can't let that show. "You'll see. We'll get something soon."
We reach Twin Lakes later that morning, named for the two mid-sized lakes which sit abreast, surrounded by high mountain ranges. The scenery is boldly Colorado: the type of place postcards are made of to encompass the beauty of the state. Smoke billows from several spots along the shoreline, marking encampments of people who've fled their homes and relocated here in the name of survival. Fishing parties row boats away from shore in hopes the deeper waters will reward them with a decent haul.
"This is it, Felix," I say. "This is where we turn our luck around.” We spread out along the shore, our lines cast out in hope. Sitting here, I find myself curious of the people who've been kept alive because of this place. It reminds me of how things once were: how men and women survived before technology reshaped the world. Places like this will be a haven for many. Watching the blips of people going about their business, getting by the best they can, makes me realize just how blessed I am to have been born in Colorado—a state teeming with forests and lakes and rivers—a state filled with resources that can keep us alive.
I grew up in Durango: a small town nestled between mountains and ridges and blanked by forest which lies thick throughout the surrounding area. The Animas River cuts through town like a watery highway, flowing alongside the railroad tracks which stretch to Silverton to the north; drawing tourists from near and far to ride the train and feel a part of history, while at the same time, bearing witness to the kind of natural beauty unique to Southwest Colorado. It's a place where summer nights brought with it foraging bears through our alleyways, and where deer frequented our streets, strolling alongside traffic, as if intent on reminding us it was their land first. It's a place I know so well it’s difficult to imagine any different. I can only hope I recognize the place when we get there.
An hour later a fire has been lit and we sit around its perimeter, salivating at the wafts of cooking fish assaulting our nostrils. It’s a rare lunch, but with fish, it’s always best to cook it fresh. That first bite is an explosion of flavor. We ran out of meat days ago and my body craves the protein. I pace myself the best I can, savoring every flaky bite. As I finish, my stomach full for the first time in days and sun enveloping me in warmth, I wish for nothing more than to stretch out on the sand and sleep—maybe take a dip in the lake after a long nap and let all the stress and worry I’ve carried melt away in an afternoon of normalcy. It’s tempting. But the longer we stay here, the harder it will be to leave. Best to be on our way now that we have the energy from our meal.
We take off with a renewed vigor, a full stomach making all the difference. The sun sits high and hot, the air humid after so much rainfall. I don’t mind. I’ve had enough cold these past few days to last me a while. It's mid-afternoon when we enter a sea of aspen trees—their tall, slender stalks reaching high above us, heads bowed, swaying in rhythm of the breeze. I’m thankful for the trail, the aspen sea we travel giving off a funhouse mirror effect, surrounded by so many duplicates. The trail keeps me grounded, a focal point I use to keep my bearings. By nightfall, we’re still surrounded by the white sentinels as we set up camp.
"What are you humming?" I ask Lauren during our watch. It's early, dawn maybe an hour off. She's been humming to herself for the past few minutes now, a faraway look in he
r stare.
"Hmmm?" she asks, eyes refocusing as she turns my way. I ask again. "Oh, nothing really. I didn't even know I was doing it," she admits.
"Oh, no wonder I couldn't place it," I say. "I thought it sounded familiar though." I pick up the beat she had been humming, trying to place it but draw up blank. "Or maybe not," I laugh. "I think maybe I'm just going through music withdrawals. I don't even remember the last song I heard. Probably whatever dubstep, house shit, Emily was blasting the night before her birthday." It's strange, music used to be such a big part of my life, yet I hadn't realized how big an absence it's been till just now. It was always an escape for me, a means to block everything out and get lost for a little while. How sad to realize those days are over, that I will never fit a pair of Bose headphones around my ears and scream the chorus to my favorite songs, or blast it through the stereo system of my truck on my way through town. I know music will live on—it's one of the few things in this world I believe to be truly timeless— but it won't be the same.
"That's a shame," Lauren tells me. "Nobody deserves head bopping house music to be the last music they hear."
I laugh, nudging her shoulder with mine. "Yeah, thanks for that. What about you? You remember the last song you heard?"
"I do, actually," she says, smiling at the memory. "It was right before the blackout and that terrorist broadcast. I was lying on my bedroom floor with headphones on so Grace could turn up the volume on the TV. It was one of my favorites: The Life by Hinder. Weird thing is, as soon as it ended Grace started shaking my shoulder, telling me I had to see what was happening. Crazy huh?"
"Yeah, crazy," I agree. "So, you're a Hinder fan?"
"Big time," she says, her face lit up passionately. "Well, at least before Austin Winkler left. Their music just wasn’t quite the same after that."
She takes the words right from my mouth. I grew up listening to Hinder, they're one of my favorite bands. I close my eyes and immediately the song comes back to me: the raspy-smooth voice; the beat which starts soft but steadily builds up to the chorus; the lyrics, sang with an honest passion that lets you see into the singer’s world. I start singing. I don't mean to, but sometimes when a song you love builds up inside, you have to let it out. "I'm leaving tonight down the same dirt road, a million times I've driven just to get home..."
"...And I ain't ever looking back, for nothing," Lauren joins in. Where my voice is gritty and rough edges, hers is polished and vibrant. I've never been much of a singer, but she most certainly is. When we reach the chorus I stop, enamored by the power behind her voice. The girl can seriously wail. I don't join in the remainder of the song, preferring to listen—to get lost inside the lyrics one more time. She finishes and it's like watching her come out of a spell. She blinks, her eyes unfocused as she turns my way, a slight blush rising to her cheeks, as if worried I might berate her performance.
"Beautiful..." I breathe. Her blush deepens, and it's only then I realize I spoke out loud. She is beautiful though—the kind which emanates from within and flows outward, bringing light to the space around her. Our faces draw closer and I can feel her breath against my lips. I want so badly to close the distance: to feel her, hold her, taste her. I want to share with her how I feel, how my heart stutters every time she smiles and how I could spend hours lost inside her eyes. If this were the old world I might, but I can't bring myself to do so in this one. Not when each day might bring forth the means break us, and when tomorrow is never promised. I'm not that selfish.
"I wouldn't have taken you for a rocker," I say, pulling away. For the briefest of moments, I think I see her face drop—see her smile falter and her eyes darken. For the briefest of moments, I feel a pang in my chest right inside my heart. But she recovers so quickly you might mistake it for a trick of the light. So quickly, I allow myself to believe it.
"Oh, really?" she asks. "And what did you take me as?"
I shrug. "I don't know...weekly top forty?"
She shoves me hard, catching me unaware and sending me sideways. I laugh at her indignation as I sit back up. "You insult me?" she asks, though there's a tremor of laughter in her voice. "I mean sure, there’s usually a couple halfway decent songs on those lists, but most of it is trash—I got swag; I got money; popping bottles; doing bitches—it's all the same. That's not real music. Music needs layers: it needs drums and guitar and bass; it needs lyrics that actually mean something; and a lead vocalist who pours their soul into each word, so when you hear them, you can feel it inside your own."
Beautiful. "Amen, to that."
Talk of music lasts us till the sun spills out from the east and the rest of the group emerges from their sleep. "What has you so happy?" Felix asks as he warms his hands beside the fire. "Sun's out, Felix," I tell him brightly. "It's going to be a good day. I can tell.”
My mood is with the sun: bright and rising as the morning progresses. I replay the sound of Lauren's voice in the early morning darkness, the song fueling me as I march to the cadence. I'm feeling optimistic for the first time in days. Today our luck turns.
We cross a couple bridges before descending a steep series of switchbacks. When we reach the bottom, it's a short distance till another set of switchbacks presents itself to us. Up and down, up and down. The terrain on the trail is ever changing, rarely staying flat for long. I'm breathing heavily by the time we reach the top, and I'm thinking it's about time for a break. In the distance I spot a lake, the sun reflecting off its surface like a beacon. I can still taste the fish from yesterday, and it sets my mouth watering.
"What do you guys say we—" the words leave my mouth and the world spins around me. A sudden impact crashes into my body, lifting me off my feet. Screams. Shouts. Gunshots blast through the air, boom boom boom. I’m slammed hard onto the trail floor and the air leaves my lungs, the pack I wear keeping me suspended like an upturned turtle. A feral face, twisted and sneering looks down on me, bloodlust in his eyes. I catch a glimpse of his knife, serrated and blood stained held high above his head. A flash of metal and I barely move quick enough, the knife slicing through the air and plunging into the dirt an inch from my head. He unearths the knife, poised for another strike. The crack of a gunshot sounds and a hole explodes in the center of his forehead, spraying my face in a mist of blood and brain matter.
I heave the lifeless corpse off me, and Lauren helps draw me to my feet. Another man lies dead feet from my attacker, a twin hole blasted through the center of his head. I unholster my Glock and sweep the area with Lauren, searching for a shot, but there is none to take. Already the battle is over. A third attacker lays dead off the side of the trail, a bolt sticking from his chest like a conquered flag. Leon and Maya cover a fourth attacker some twenty yards down the trail. He's still alive, but his screams of pain tell me he's badly injured. I register this all in seconds before my focus zeros in on my sister who slumps against the ground, arm streaked in bloody streams.
"I'm sorry, Emily. I'm so sorry!" Grace repeats over and over, half hysterical, face wet with tears. "It's not your fault Gracie," Emily says through clenched teeth as Felix applies pressure to her wound.
"What the hell happened?" I ask when Lauren and I reach their side.
"They were after our supplies," Felix answers. "Caught one on the side of the trail easily enough, but his buddy over there broke through from behind, aiming straight for Grace." He gestures to the opposite side of the trial and I spot yet another dead attacker, a gory shotgun blast shredded through his stomach. "He would have had her if Emily didn't step in. Knife caught her on the arm pretty good though before Leon managed to get him with the shotgun."
I curse. "How bad is it?"
"It's deep," Felix says as he continues to apply pressure to the wound. "She's going to need stitches but it didn't hit any arteries, thank God. With any luck, she should heal just fine."
I breathe a sigh of relief. It's all good. Everyone's alive. We'll be alright. I repeat the words in my head, stilling my nerves the best I can. I hear th
e pained scream from our subdued attacker and I feel the nerves disappear, replaced with a controlled anger. I leave Emily to Felix's care and make a beeline for the fallen man. Maya steps aside and Leon rises from his kneeled position when I arrive. The man isn't long for this world. His shoulder is a tattered mess of blood, bone, and shredded muscle. A massive exit wound weeps blood in time with his faltering heart rate. I might pity him if he hadn't just attacked us.
"You question him?" I ask Leon.
He nods, his face angry and words bitter. "It was just the five of them. Apparently they got wiped out by another group a few days ago. They took everything, but let them live. Bastard almost got away with two of our packs before Maya took him down. He said he was sorry. Said he didn't want to do it, but they were desperate."
"So they decided to try and do the same to us," I conclude scornfully, eyeing the man in disgust. He opens his mouth to speak but only a gurgle of blood comes out. I huff a breath of frustration and shake my head. "Doesn't matter, they failed. We should put some distance from this place either way just to be safe." I unsheathe my knife and bury it in the man's chest, ending his suffering even if he doesn't deserve it.
"You did good, Maya," I say as Leon leaves. Her face is white. Her eyes blank. Lost. Now that the adrenaline is gone, the aftereffects of what she had to do are starting to take root. I know too well the feeling, and I won't let it fester inside my friend. "That man would have just as easily killed one of us for what we have. I know it's a hard thing to have to do, but if we don't, it will either be us or someone we love in their place. You made the right choice."
Echoes of a Dying World (Book 1) Page 11