"Thanks, Chavo," I say, his support in this moment something I desperately need. We make our way back to the campsite. I peer at Eli's tent, where he and his family sleep, oblivious to the chasm that has opened between me and my friends. I did what I felt was the right thing to do. I may very well have saved their family by my decision. But I can't shake the feeling that I've also divided my own.
Chapter 18
I'm tired down to my bones and the day has only started. Sleep didn't come easy last night and left much sooner than I'd have liked. My head throbs, the headache from last night intent on staying. I nurse a thermos full of coffee with closed eyes, willing the caffeine to do its work. I was grateful to find the coffee among the gang's supplies. It's cheap and gritty with a bitter aftertaste, but it's the only thing keeping me awake at this point.
Felix and I went over the food situation late last night, and assuming Eli's family chooses to join us, we figure we'll have a five-day supply before running out. It's less than I had hoped for, but it's something. A sudden wave of guilt washes over me for wishing to find more food here. Am I really so selfish? Everything here once belonged to someone else before it was stolen from them. My stomach sours at the thought of all those who were left stranded with no supplies, or who lost their lives defending them. I think of the two girls Eli mentioned who were sold off, just as our girls would have been, and have to resist the urge to be sick. I should be grateful there wasn't more.
The one silver lining in all this is their weapon cache. Eli wasn't exaggerating when he described it to us. In total, there are four AR-15 rifles, three pump-action 12 gauge shotguns, two bolt-action 270 rifles, and nine Glock 19 pistols. Just as impressive is their store of ammo: a large suitcase full. We took inventory and there are 2,000 rounds of .223, 500 cartridges of mixed shotgun shells, 200 rounds of .270, and 2,000 rounds of 9mm, give or take a few half empty boxes. And that's just their personal arsenal. There is also a duffle full of confiscated firearms and un-organized ammo. I'm sorting through it all when I hear one of the tents zip open. I look over and spot Eli straightening himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He spots me and heads my way.
"Insane, right?" he says gesturing to the weapons laid out before me.
"How the hell did they get all this?" I ask. There's no way they got all this from raiding camps. Everything they have are exact replicas of each other, and they all look in mint condition. And even though it disgusts me, I doubt any girls they sold off could have fetched such a high price.
Eli shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. "They had it since the beginning," he says. "I asked Clint about it, but he just told me it wasn't my concern. I got it out of one of the gang, though. Apparently, their business before the shit hit the fan was trafficking. Weapons, drugs, you name it. These were just samples for a potential buyer they were on their way to meet."
The collapse may have brought out the worst in humanity, but his words are proof evil men existed long before it. It's a conflicting feeling, knowing these weapons have snuffed out the lives of so many people, guilty of nothing except trying to survive. But at least they are in our hands now, tools we may use to ensure our survival, and to defend ourselves against people like Clint. Eli sits across from me as I continue to stare at the weapons, but my mind has already drifted to the unasked question hovering between us. It's not too late to change my mind. I could just as easily tell him we're heading on, leave him and his family with some of the gang's supplies, and wish them good luck. In so many ways it would be the easy thing to do. But in my life, I've found that the easy thing, and the right thing, are often different choices. The collapse hasn’t changed that.
"Now that you and your family are free, what are your plans moving forward?" I ask, deciding to go with the decision I made last night.
He doesn't immediately answer, his gaze fixed at the patch of dirt where he took Clint’s life a long minute before replying. "Was hoping you might be willing to let us join you," he says, finally meeting my eyes. "I know there's no way you can totally trust me, not after the things I've done...what I almost did to you. And I know even though I helped you last night, I was also helping myself. My family and I are free because of you, and that's a debt I couldn't possibly repay, especially after you spared our lives all those weeks ago. You told me that night there was another way and I believe you, because you and your friends are proof it exists."
"I want to join you because I sense the kind of man you are, and it's a rare breed. You'll find a way to pull yourselves through this, and build a new life out of these ashes. I want to see my kids grow up. I want them to look back on these days, years from now, and remember this time as nothing more than a nightmare they lived through. And I swear to you, on my life—on my family's—if you do let us join, I will do anything you ask and so will my wife and kids. We'll pull our weight and then some. I know this is a difficult position I'm putting you in, so if you decide it's best for you and yours to let us go our separate ways, I get it. No hard feelings. I just wanted you to know where I'm coming from."
There is a long pause where we don't speak or move, but stare into one another's eyes: me searching for the truth behind his words, and him trying to convey it. I believe what I said last night: that people can change, and looking into Eli's eyes I see a man who's put everything he has into doing so. I nod my head, as if validating my own decision.
"If we're gonna get any miles in today, we better sort out what we'll be taking and wake the rest of the group," I say. His mouth opens and closes, words failing him. Relief and determination shine in his eyes as he extends his hand. I take it, sealing the alliance between our two families. "Thank you, Morgan," he says. "I'll wake my family and get to work." Watching him walk away, I feel convinced I made the right call.
I'm second guessing myself before we even make it back to our campsite. Over the past few miles, Emily has made it a point to illustrate her resentment toward our new traveling companions any way she can. She's pissed at me too, not even acknowledging my presence except to glower and throw dirty looks. At one point I seriously thought she was going to throw a punch when Jolene, Eli's wife, asked if she needed help with anything. The cold glare Jolene received was answer enough, and she was smart enough to walk away. I pulled Emily to the side after that. "Look, Em, I know you don't agree with this decision, but it's over. They're with us now, so quit acting like a child. The only way we get back home is if we work together." I didn't get a response, only a disgusted look before she stalked away.
Though I know Leon doesn't approve either, he’s at least still speaking with me and seems willing to work with our new additions. He and Eli were put in charge of clearing out the tents, separating what would be salvaged and discarded. It's only because I know him so well that I can see through the mask he wears, sensing the resentment and hostility rippling under the surface. I only hope he continues to let it simmer—it could get really rough if he joins Emily in fighting me on this.
Out of the three who voted for Eli's family to walk, Maya appears to be the least affected by them. She seems a little uneasy, but she acts more or less the same as always. I'm glad for it. I have enough to worry about at the moment.
If we looked like a target before to would be attackers, it's nothing compared to how we must look now. Although now, unless we are significantly outnumbered, we will be hard pressed to be outgunned. Tactically we decide it's best to carry the AR's and shotguns as we walk. Lauren, Felix, Eli, and myself carry AR's; Leon, Jolene, Emily, and Maya carry shotguns. We each carry one of the Glock's as a sidearm as well. The .270s are stowed away with the rest of our weapons and ammo. The weight of it all is substantial, but in the present climate, we can’t afford to leave anything behind.
I'm confident Emily and Maya can handle the shotguns alright: Emily having gone shooting with us on occasion, and Maya who grew up with gun enthusiasts for cousins. I'm less certain about Eli's wife. When I ask her though, she laughs. "My old man had my sister and I
shooting shotguns since we were in grade school. He was a rancher, but before that he was in the military. Any daughter of his was going to learn how to handle a firearm. He used to tell us there might not always be someone there to protect us, so it was important we learned to protect ourselves." Her father was a smart man. So many people put their faith in order, in a peaceful society, thinking it was foolproof despite whatever fool was elected to office. Countless people have already died, waiting for someone else to come to their rescue. It's sad looking back at the fact, but it's just what society trained us to believe. It's what I believed, and if it weren't for a combination of quick action and luck, I might not be here now.
It's past midday and we've only just crossed to the other side of US HWY 50. I wasn't really expecting much better, but I guess I was hoping. Still, today is about making some progress on the trail. Like Felix reminded me this morning, we're in a marathon, not a sprint. I walk beside Eli. It's strange not having Lauren an arm’s length away, but I felt it was for the best. This way it makes it clear Eli and his family are a part of the group. It also keeps Lauren in the middle where it should be safer, and where she can hopefully act as a bridge between Eli's family and the less inclined members of our group.
"You alright, boss?" Eli asks late that afternoon.
"Of course," I answer. "Why do you ask?"
"Just seems like you're fighting through some pain is all," he shrugs.
I let out a tired sigh. "Yeah, I guess I am," I admit. My body is still healing. Hiking with a heavy pack and AR strapped around my neck certainly isn't helping any. I've managed to do alright so far, but the last hour has been rough. I end up sharing with Eli the story behind my various injuries: the attack on the trail, Emily's infection, our quest for meds, the botched escape, Gibbons' beating, the trial, everything. Once I've finished, he looks at me in disbelief.
"All this happened a few days ago?" he asks.
"Yeah," I confirm.
He shakes his head and breathes a laugh. "You're a tough son of bitch, Morgan," he says.
I shrug. "It was for my sister," I say simply. "I'd do it again if I had to."
We end up putting in some decent distance from our campsite. To my left I see a new ridgeline above the trees, its rocky face lit by the setting sun. It makes me smile. Too much time had been spent at the old camp, too many bad memories. I'd be happy to forget most of the past five days. Except for that first kiss I shared with Lauren: that half delirious, time stopping, soul rocking kiss. That, I will remember till the day I die.
Setting up camp is the same as it has always been, the addition of an extra tent being the only difference. Eli and Jolene offer to cook that night. As has been our custom, we cook the heavy stuff first, lightening our load as much as we can. None of us get enough to fill our stomachs, but that's nothing new. We all know the importance of stretching our food supply. It’s a quiet affair, and after the plates are licked clean, the uneasiness from last night begins to take root once more. I try my best to cut it off and force some conversation, Felix and Lauren helping me along a bit.
Jolene couldn't be more opposite from the quiet, guilt-ridden, woman who sat at our campfire all those weeks ago. She spins yarn after yarn, making us laugh and lightening the atmosphere considerably. She's got a mouth on her. Not in a bad way, but in a way that lets you know she is what she is, and you can take it or leave it. I like her already. Eli, by comparison, is much more reserved. I've noticed that about him as we walk, he's comfortable in silence. When he speaks he takes his time, weighs his words, only speaking after selecting the right ones to get his message across.
The sound of children's laughter floats on the air around us as Grace teaches Eli's kids, Mark and Cali, the rules to some game I've never heard of. What ever happened to the schoolyard classics? The tag and leapfrog and hide n' seek—the games that could hold us over for hours, for days—when the sun rose early and set late, and before technology came in and stole it away from us? Well now that technology is a thing of the past, I might have to teach these kids a thing or two. Not tonight, though. My eyes are too heavy, my body too tired to even attempt anything physical. But before I can sleep, I need to address the changes to the guard rotations.
"Now that our group has gotten bigger, we're gonna switch things up a bit for guard duty. We'll go in pairs for two hours each. New teams will be: Eli and myself, Felix and Jolene, Lauren and Emily, Leon and Maya. Sound good?"
"Not really," Emily complains. I bite the inside of my cheek. Of course she has to say something. "Why do we need new teams?" she asks.
"Just switching it up, Em," I reply evenly.
"Why, though?" she asks. "Eli and Jolene could just as easily be a pair. That way we could keep the same pairs we've always had. I mean, unless you don't trust them or something." She poses the argument innocently, but the venom behind her words isn't lost on any of us. The tension returns. Hours later I sit watch with Eli in uneasy silence. Emily gave up on her complaint after I insisted on the pairings, but she accomplished what she sought out to. I feel like I should explain to Eli, get him to understand where I'm coming from. But when I bring it up, he shakes it off and assures me he understands just fine.
"I get it, Morgan," he says. "You don't trust us enough to guard you while you sleep, and you have every right not to. I'm not offended, I'd do the same thing if I were in your situation. Trust is earned, not given. And I promise you, we will do everything we can to earn it."
"I look forward to it," I tell him.
We don't talk much the remainder of the shift, but it no longer feels strained or awkward. Eli has a way about him that seems to slow things down, quite the idle chatter so many people seem to need. When we do talk it's mainly about the coming days, what needs to be done, but also a little about our lives before. Eli tells me he never graduated high school and has been working as a mechanic for the past 20 years. He speaks of the beachside town in California he and his family are from, where people speak Spanish and English in equal proportions, and you can find Mexican street food as good as any restaurant.
When I ask if he thinks he could repair any of the vehicles along the highways, he says he doubts it. "Anything made in the last twenty or thirty years is probably shot for good. If we found an old junker I could maybe do something if I could find the parts, but those would be tricky to come by. Honestly, if it's not running already, I doubt it would be worth the time or effort." I expected as much, but it's still disappointing to hear.
When our shift is over, Eli heads to his family's tent and I set off to wake our relief. I unzip the girl’s tent and try to rouse Emily and Lauren from sleep as gentle as I can. I shake Emily's leg and she wakes with a start. "Christ, Morgan! Will you stop shaking my damn leg?" she grumbles angrily, and exits the tent without another word. I ball my hand into a fist and punch the ground in frustration, forcing myself to remain silent. It won't help matters to say anything. I feel Lauren's hand against my neck and I let out a long, calming breath.
"She'll come around, Morgan," she says. She kisses me once, her lips soft and sweet, easing the lingering tension. "Get some sleep," she says. "I'll see you in the morning."
Chapter 19
I have learned throughout my life that things rarely work out the way you hope they will. Not in the world before and certainly not in the world after. When Felix and I inventoried our food stores after rescuing our girls, we had hoped we had enough to last us five days. We were wrong. By the end of the third day we’ve run dry. Not so much as a grain of rice left. Felix and Jolene have taken to hunting the early morning and evening hours, and we gather anything we know to be edible along our path. So far we’ve failed in finding anything substantial, and by the time everything is divided up, there’s hardly anything between us.
I've been hungry for weeks, the tight rations will do that to you, but now things have gotten so much worse. The group is lethargic, dragging their feet, baking under a hot sun with hunger pangs in their stomachs. Tempers flare with
the heat, everybody's fuse just a little shorter each day. Emily's attitude has yet to improve. I keep trying to reach out to her but my words only seem to fall on deaf ears. I understand her reasons for not wanting the Tate family with us, but they're willing to do anything I ask of them, going the extra mile even. Snide comments leak out of Leon's mouth from time to time as well. I always let it bounce off my chest, not willing to make it an issue. I know we might still have some food if their family wasn't with us. I know their children are keeping us from moving faster than we could. I know we are an even bigger target than before. I don't need him to remind me. At least when he says these things they are for my ears only. We already have enough tension in the air as it is.
Eli and Jolene seem to have taken to avoiding Emily altogether. I can't say I blame them, her attitude has been so bad. They tried in the beginning, offering their help in any way they could, but they were always rebuked, and not kindly either. I can tell Grace misses Emily too. They’ve been logging in miles together from the beginning, Emily even took on an armed attacker defending her. But already Grace is tight with Eli's kids, and so she's been avoiding her as well.
All things considered, my moral is the lowest it has been throughout this journey. I do my best not to let it show, donning a mask of confidence and determination whenever I'm with the group. Late at night is a different story—when the mask comes off and my mind is plagued by uncertainty and anxiousness—like standing in front of a crowded room trying to solve a really complex math problem:
You have seven people trying to make it home which lies 500 miles away. Halfway through their journey they have run out of food, and make the bold decision to add a family of four (who once tried to leave them stranded with no supplies) to their ranks. Factor in a lawless country, with thousands of desperate people between them and their goal. What is the probability they all make it home alive?
Echoes of a Dying World (Book 1) Page 21