Echoes of a Dying World (Book 1)

by Don M. Esquibel

  It is the question keeping me awake at night.

  Six weeks it has been, and still so many miles lay between here and home. It's killing me not knowing what has happened to my loved ones in the wake of the collapse. I want to see my mother and father so badly it aches. As the days wear on I find myself lost more and more in memories: setting up the Christmas Tree the day after Thanksgiving each year, the living room stereo pumping out Christmas songs, my mom singing and dancing along with Emily and I, while my dad made us sandwiches of leftover turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce, between thick slices of homemade bread; hunting camp, where beer is always in hand, and whiskey makes its rounds, and my dad and older members would tell stories of their youth's—the you should have seen me's, and you should have been there's, and the kind of things men can only say among themselves.

  But for every happy memory weaves cruel images conjured by my mind. The thought that those I care for might lay broken and defeated, with me so far away is crippling. I try to block it out but it's not easy, like telling yourself to stop thinking about giraffes, and then suddenly all you can picture is brown and yellow fur painted on an enormous body, long skinny legs, and a squashed face mounted atop a thick neck reaching toward the sky. The mind is a complex system—more intricate and vast than even the most advanced of computers. And there are no hidden shortcuts: no control-alt-deleting those things you would rather not think of. All I can do is tell myself there's no way of knowing until I get there, and pray that they're alright.

  Today's hike was brutal. Up and down, twists and turns, sweating and trudging along on empty stomachs and tired bodies. I called it a day a good hour earlier than normal, hoping the extra time might give us the opportunity to seek out food. Lauren, Eli, and I spread out and gathered what we knew to be edible, but came back with only enough dandelion greens and raspberries for a couple handfuls a person. Emily and Leon sit together at the edge of camp, talking quietly. Every so often they will throw a brooding stare my way as if I should be doing more to figure this out: as if I'm the asshole who forgot to call and make a dinner reservation. It is becoming more of an effort to sit idly by and ignore it all.

  Felix and Jolene appear over the crest of a low hill, but even from this distance, I can tell they're empty handed. The collective disappointment is smothering. As we eat our dismal supper the silence stretches between us, tight and thin, like a rubber band on the verge of snapping. I only pray our situation improves before the strain is too much and the elastic breaks away, severing the invisible thread linking us together. Soon people start filing away into tents, no energy for anything else, not even the quiet assurances that have become as routine as hauling water and erecting tents: we'll find food tomorrow; things will turn around; we'll be home soon. With each passing day these words are starting to feel more and more like exactly that: words—a story we keep telling ourselves, as if by merely saying them can make it true.

  Watch duty is rough. I slap my face and pinch my legs, even force myself to my feet and pace, wasting energy I don't have, just to keep myself awake. Twice my head jerks up, catching itself on the brink of sleep, leaving me startled and confused until I reorientate myself with my surroundings. Eli doesn't say anything on these occasions, just continues on in his comfortable silence. I know he must be feeling the effects of long days and sparse food, but he doesn't complain or let it show. It's good to know this about him—that even when he's hurting he can keep it to himself.

  In the wake of the collapse, I have gained an appreciation for a number of things I had always taken for granted, water prominent among them. In the world before, clean drinking water could be had at the turn of a knob. In the world after, clean drinking water must be located, purified, and stored for later use. It is a constant process, it has to be with as many miles we hike and the conditions we're in. We filled up on water two days ago, but it's surprising how much water eleven people can deplete in that time. Thirst is a feeling we all share as the afternoon sun beats down on us. We break more frequently, seeking out bits of shade to escape the heat. You can only push the body so hard before it starts to break down and demands rest and nourishment. Two demands we are unable to meet. So we push on, knowing there is no other choice in the matter.

  By nightfall my mouth has taken on the texture of carpet. We are each allotted a carefully measured drink but it only dulls the barest edge of my thirst. We have half a gallon left. We need to find water tomorrow. That night’s sleep does nothing for me. When I wake, I feel dead on my feet and find a dull throb has built between my eyes overnight. We set out early, each taking another carefully measured drink before shouldering our packs once more. Our movements are sluggish, our bodies operating under sheer willpower. Each step is an effort at this point. The sun once again fixes us with a harsh glare, and we are forced to drink the last of our water. In all the weeks we've been on this journey it’s the first time we've run dry, and it has me scared.

  The heat is a wall around me, yet I'm not sweating as I should. My body lacks the fluids to do so. Fear builds inside me: that my body will break down, that I'll never make it home, that my final moments will be a confusing jumble of shapes and faces, skin baking under the rays of the sun, throat and mouth too dry to even call out to my friends—to tell them I'm sorry, to tell them I love them—and when I pass through the death’s dark veil, when my soul has left my body to discover the mysterious unknown, my friends will be right behind me, but not before mourning me, and witnessing through tearless eyes the fate lying before them.

  My mind is suddenly pulled from these morose thoughts, snapping to attention as I hear a cry from behind. I thumb the safety lever to fire and bring the AR to bear, scanning the area around me for potential threats. But no figure comes in sight, nor do any voices or cracks of gunfire pierce the air. And then I notice Jolene cradling Mark's head in her lap, pleading with him to wake up, to open his eyes. Eli's in the dirt beside them seconds later, adding his voice to Jolene's even though Mark's mind is far beyond their reach. Felix maneuvers himself to Mark's side, Eli and Jolene hovering over him as he assesses the boy. Cali looks on helplessly, a lost look on her face as she watches the adults fuss over her fallen brother. Lauren holds her hand while we wait.

  Felix looks up at us. " Heat exhaustion," he says. "His pulse is weak. If we don't find a way to cool his body down and get fluids into him soon..." he leaves the sentence unfinished, but we all know what’s left unsaid.

  Eli carries Mark in his arms until he nearly collapses and has to set him down. I wordlessly take over. His small frame is light, much lighter than it should be, but with my weakened body it's all I can do but take staggering steps forward. Black spots cloud my vision like gnats flittering through the air. Eli's eyes are only for his son, so worried it's painful to witness. I keep my focus locked ahead of me. When I can no longer support Mark's weight, I pass him off to Felix, who in turn carries him and then passes him off to Leon, whatever anger and resentment he may harbor, not extending to the helpless child in his arms.

  The dull throb behind my eyes has turned into a sharp, penetrating pain. Heat and dehydration have turned my mind to mush. Everything registers in flashes and stutters, nothing processing like it should. I have no clue how long it has been since Mark collapsed, but I know we are running out of time. The air cools ever so slightly as we pass through a strand of aspen trees, their ghostly limbs reaching toward the sky.

  Another shout from behind sounds and again I swivel around, the AR shaking slightly despite my attempts to keep it steady. But there is no threat. Emily has fallen, her hands pushing against the ground as she struggles to her knees. Jolene offers her hand and I swear I'm seeing things, because Emily actually reaches out and takes it. But then she tugs down hard, pulling Jolene to the dirt where they collide in a flurry of tangled limbs and curses. Eli and Felix pull them apart, but not before they each get their shots in.

  "What the hell, you crazy bitch!" Jolene yells as Eli drags her away. Felix continues
to hold onto Emily who looks beside herself. "Fuck you!" she screams. "You're the reason we're in this shitty mess. We don't deserve this! We're not the ones who sold out others in order to live. Those people deserved to live. We deserve to live. But not you! It would have served you right if you had died with the rest of your friends that night!"

  Of all the things to say to Jolene while her son's life teeters between life and death, she chooses this. It pushes me over the edge. All these days of stinging comments, of open animosity and dirty looks, spills over in that moment. I grab her by the arm, and drag her away from the others while she resists and curses me the entire time. When we're out of earshot, I spin her around to face me.

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" I whisper yell: the kind of voice a parent might use on a misbehaving child in public. "Their son is over there fighting for his life, and you say that shit to them?" I see something ripple across her stony face, a piece of shame perhaps at my words. "This shit has to stop Em. You're poisoning this group with your attitude. I know you're angry, but it's not at them, not entirely. Trust me: I know anger. But you can't let it control you or it's going to end up getting us killed. I told you in Denver we were in this together—that includes them now, too. We can make it home Em, I know we can, but it has to be together. It's the only way."

  She stares at the ground, unable to meet my eyes, her face a mix of emotions flickering on and off so fast I can't even begin to read them. I take a deep breath, dialing back the anger as best I can. I need my sister back, and I know right now is my best chance to get her. "You're my little sister, Em. When have I ever not looked out for you? When have I ever lied to you about something serious? I can get us home. I swear to God, I can...but I can't do it without you. I need my sister back."

  Her lower lip trembles, her eyes welling up with tears, and I know she is on the verge of crying. "I don't know if I can forgive them for what they've done," she says in a shaky voice. "I'm sorry, Morgan...I can't trust them."

  I angle her face so that she has no choice but meet my eyes. I put my hands on her shoulders, willing her to believe my words. "You can trust me. I haven't let my guard down. As far as forgiving them goes, all I ask is you try. If you can't, at least work with them. You do that, and I'll get us home." It comes out sounding exactly what it is: a promise. A promise I know can fail in a hundred different ways, but a promise I believe with every fiber of my being.

  She lets out a trembling breath and looks away, holding the tears back as best she can. A few escape her eyes which she quickly wipes away. Finally, she turns to me again and nods. "I trust you, Morgan." With her words, a weight lifts off my shoulders. I wrap my arms around her and hug her tightly. I have my sister back—the one I traveled upstate to celebrate her birthday with, whom I've protected since we were young, and whom I'd lay my life down for, protecting her still. I let her go, unable to keep the smile from my face. "I missed you, Princess," I tell her.

  She shakes her head with a shaky laugh. "Asshole to the end," she says. "We should inscribe that on your tombstone."

  "As long as I'm gray haired and at home, that'll be fine by me," I say.

  As we continue our search for water I am still exhausted, my body still weaker than I can every remembering it being, but my mind feels clearer, more focused, even as my headache persists. Emily and Jolene shook hands, both agreeing to start over. There’s still tension in the air between them, but it is a step in the right direction.

  The patch of aspens fall away and we find ourselves entering a rolling valley, a cool wind blowing against our backs. And then I see it: the sun reflecting off its flowing body, a treasure twinkling tauntingly ahead of us. At the sight of it, we all dig down and manage a final burst of energy. When we arrive, we waste no time. Leon, Emily, and Maya take our filter and jugs to the creek and begin filling them up. I make a bird’s nest of dry kindling while Lauren and Grace gather twigs and sticks to get a fire going. Felix helps Eli strip Mark down to his underwear and then wade into the creek, balancing Mark between them. Jolene and Cali look on from the bank, praying for him to open his eyes.

  We all retreat to the creek's edge as we set the water to boil. I dunk my head into the creek, the cool water amazing on my overheated head. I'm not the only one to do so, almost everyone following suit save for Jolene whose concern is for her son alone. The pain on Jolene’s face is more than I can handle right now, so I busy myself with treating the water to make it drinkable. When the water has cooled enough to drink I do so, and nearly cough it all up when a shout issues from the creek. I spin around, not bothering to reach for my AR because the sound is relief and gratitude and it can only mean one thing. Sure enough Mark is awake, blinking around confusedly as his family surrounds him in celebration.

  No more miles will be traveled today. We spend the afternoon resting in patches of shade and replenishing our fluids. At one point or another, we all wade into the creek to cool off and wash away the sweat and grime from our bodies. Felix and Maya set out to lay traps and hunt, while the rest of us try our hand at fishing. For once, luck seems to be on our side. We manage to snag enough fish for us all to have a decent meal, and when Felix and Maya return, they carry a backpack full of wild onion. We cook the fish and onions with a little cooking oil and salt. Before the collapse, I might have turned my nose up at the meal. But that was before I felt real hunger—that animalistic need for sustenance clawing away at your insides, so overpowering it’s all you can think of. I think back to the first night the Tate family walked up on our campsite, when Felix pulled me to the side and told me they weren't eating like they had missed many meals, that they weren't there yet. I didn't understand then, but I most certainly do now.

  The fish is moist and delicious. More importantly, it’s a source of calories and protein we desperately need. We don't use much onion, opting to save as much as we can. That's another thing I've learned, to ration out as tightly as possible: that it's better to have a little over a long period than to have a lot right away. None of us have eaten our fill, but we understand the importance of saving what we can.

  Later that evening, when all the light has been snuffed out and we sit around the fire, Lauren begins to sing. I am once again amazed at the beauty of her voice, and I find myself getting lost in the melody. I don’t know the song, but the lyrics are beautiful, about fighting an unwinnable fight. Fitting. She lays against my chest as she sings, the vibration of her voice traveling through her body and into mine, stoking that internal flame inside. Earlier I thought that flame might go out—that the circumstances surrounding me were too smothering to overcome. But here I am, that flame unquenched and burning brighter as her words continue. It is in this moment I realize just how deeply in love I am. I've been in love with her for a while, but until now I didn't know how much. But now I know: she is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, and that a life without her in it would hurt more than anything the collapse could possibly have taken from me. As much as the thought elates me, it also leaves me terrified: to have so much love for another. To know in my heart that above all else, keeping her safe and happy and cared for is the most important thing to me. It’s a little overwhelming.

  A sharp waft of onion reaches my nose, and with it comes a sudden memory of the book Holes by Louis Sachar, one of my favorite childhood reads. I remember the curse Madame Zeroni placed on the Yelnats family, and how Stanley broke it by carrying Zero up ‘God's Thumb’, where they found salvation in the form of water and onions when they thought all was lost. I remember how Stanley sang into the night, comforting his friend, and how I too find comfort in Lauren’s voice. I close my eyes and imagine her song shattering the curse we're stuck in: that when we wake tomorrow, hydrated and rested, our luck will turn around as we embark on the last stretch of our journey home.

  Chapter 20

  The sky has threatened rain all day, but still the ground is dry. The flower bed I stand in has stood strong against the conditions, but the petals have begun to wither at th
e edges, making my mission difficult to complete. The colors aren't as vivid, nor is the arrangement as large as I would like, but it's the best I can manage. I make the return trip from the field to our campsite, seeking the smallest members of our ramshackle group.

  "Ms. Grace, Ms. Cali," I say when I reach them. They look up at me, smiling through their exhaustion. "Funny thing, I was out looking for firewood, when I came across these," I say, pulling the two bouquets from behind my back. "I think burning something so pretty would be a shame, though. So I thought you two might be interested in them? You know, to save them from turning to ashes?"

  Cali's face is so flushed I can practically feel the heat as she reaches out to take the bouquet with a shy "thank you." Grace, on the other hand, laughs and wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. She lets go and puts her nose into the bouquet, inhaling deeply. "Thanks, Morgan," she says brightly. "I think it's even better than the first one you gave me." I laugh, not at anything she said, but at how she's changed since those first days together. I remember how shy and timid she used to be around me, around all of us, but how she came out of her shell a little more each day, letting her personality shine through. I can only hope Cali breaks through hers as well.

  I wink, and head over to refill my canteen and grab my dinner ration: one of our remaining onions and a handful of berries. "You're a sweetheart," Jolene says as she approaches me, gesturing toward Grace and Cali who compare their bouquets beside the fire. The sight puts a smile on my face.

  "I don't know about that," I say, topping off my canteen. "Ask my sister, and she'll tell you I'm an asshole."

  "You are an asshole," Emily says from behind. I spin around in time to see her disappear into her tent.

  I turn back to Jolene, with a laugh. "Told you. Anyway, I'm just doing what I can to keep everyone's spirits up. The trail is hard on all of us, the children especially. So if a bouquet of flowers can put a smile on their face? It's more than worth it."