His words are laced with resentment, so much so it seems to draw him off track. He exhales loudly. "Anyway, we've had contact with people in this region too. Couple of times now we've heard from some folks in Durango." My heart stops, and then begins to pound against my chest. "From what we've learned the initial fallout wasn't too bad. There was a mad rush on the markets and plenty of looting as people scrambled for weapons and supplies. Some skirmishes broke out in the process as you could imagine. And of course, there were plenty of injuries and fatalities when the pulse hit people's cars. But it died down pretty quickly, most people too afraid or confused to do anything other than hunker down and try to wait out the storm."
"Once people's food stores ran dry was when the real trouble started. A handful of gangs started popping up around town, looking to take over what was left. Their numbers swelled, and eventually some managed to take over entire areas, dividing the town up into factions. There's some who've managed to work together and hold out against them, but from what I gather most people who aren't part of one gang or another have already fled. It's been bloody. Outside of Grand Junction, it's probably the worse spot on the Western Slope."
His words tear apart the mantra I've repeated to myself to keep me sane: "You don't know anything: you just have to make it home and everything will be alright." Only now I know how hollow those words really are. Home isn't alright, far from it according to Elroy. I always knew this could happen: that people back home—my friends, my neighbors, the people I've known my entire life, could have morphed into the worse versions of themselves, driven by that dark and desperate need to live. I've seen it happen countless times on my way here. That same dark need might have driven my friends and I to our deaths, if not for the kindness of the man before me. But hope always lingered they could rise above it. Now that hope is gone, replaced by harsh reality.
I feel sick. We've bled and fought and left pieces of ourselves behind in order to make it home: a place I shouldn't have been naive enough to believe still existed. How could it? Even if people banded together and held hands and found a way to survive this, it wouldn't be the same. Because home is driving down 3rd avenue in autumn, when the trees flare red and orange and yellow as far as the eye can see, rippling and shimmering in the sunlight as if on fire; it's Sunday dinner at my parent's house, the table surrounded by loved ones and groaning under the weight of my mother's cooking, the evening passing by in stories and laughter; it's waking up before dawn in the dead of winter and freezing your ass off in hopes of procuring Snowdown Follies tickets, and looking for meaning in enigmatic clues and battling the elements in search for the Silver Bullet every Snowdown Festival. It's a place where days bleed seamlessly into the next, quiet and peaceful and familiar. A place I should have realized couldn't have survived all that's happened.
"Things are really that bad?" I ask, more to myself than Elroy.
He shakes his head. "Put it this way: I wouldn't want to be anywhere near there without a damn good reason."
I think of all those I care for who were in Durango that day, the ones who have acted as the fuel I needed to keep going when I thought I had nothing left to give. They are reason enough. "That's something I have," I say. "I've come too far, been through too much shit not to see this through."
He nods. "Yeah, I'd expect as much," he says quietly.
I let out a frustrated breath, my mind still overloaded on everything he just told me. My head hurts, the scotch I consumed not helping matters. "I don't know how I'm going to do it, Elroy," I say. "How the hell am I supposed to keep us alive if things are as bad as you say?" I prop my elbows up on the table and ball my hands into fists against my forehead, trying to relieve the pressure building behind my eyes. Elroy doesn't speak for a long time, and I let the silence stretch, lost in my own worries.
"I have to ask you something Morgan, and I need your honest answer," Elroy says after a while. I look up, the seriousness in his eyes sobering. "Eli and Jolene...do you trust them?"
Chapter 23
"He wants to speak with us?" Eli asks. He and Jolene share a worried look, reminding me of school children trying to figure out what they’ve done wrong to warrant a trip to the principal's office. I might laugh if my mind wasn't so preoccupied.
"Yes," I say. "Trust me. You'll want to hear him out." It's all I allow myself to tell them, afraid I'll reveal too much if I say more. They still look uneasy, but they take their leave toward the house where Elroy waits. After they’ve disappeared inside I close my eyes and take a steadying breath, mentally preparing myself for what I must tell my friends.
Watching their faces transform before my eyes is hard to witness. We sit at the same table where not even an hour ago the air was light—full of relief and optimism as we feasted beside the residents of the farm. Now it’s as if it has disappeared among the wind, making way for this heavy, demoralizing replacement. I tell them everything Elroy relayed to me. They don't blink when I speak of how widespread the attack was, their horror comes from news of home. I suppose they had already accepted things were bad around the world. Deep down I knew it too, but I guess some small part of me held out hope that somewhere might have come away unscathed: that the brutality I've witnessed hadn't consumed the entire world.
Squeals of laughter reach us as Grace, Cali, and Mark run alongside a pack of the farm's children, oblivious to our worries. I watch the three of them and it’s a fight to keep my eyes dry. These past two months I've seen much I'd like to forget—things that do not fade when I close my eyes and which bleed into my dreams. I know the children have too, and how much worse it must be, seen through the eyes of a child. How they are now: laughing and running and playing, is how things should be. How childhood should be remembered. Instead, what do they have? Fear and pain and violence. What kind of future can they hope for in a world like this?
I shake the thought away. One day, I promise myself. One day I will find us a place of safety: where children can be children, and we can live a life worth living. If I have to create it with nothing but my bare hands I will do so, or I will die trying. But for now, I push it all away. If I am to have a chance to uphold my promise, I can't afford to let the worry eat away at me. I must be the rock my friends need me to be.
"We always knew things might be bad back home," I say. One by one they pull themselves out of their thoughts and focus on me. "This doesn't change anything. Think of everything we've been through." I pause, letting their minds playback the grueling road here. "How many times did things look dark? How many times could we have been killed or gave up along the way?" I shake my head. "More than I'd like to remember. But we're still here. We're still alive despite everything that's happened. Is it because of chance? Because we had luck on our side? Maybe. At least partly anyway. But I think there's a bigger reason."
I pause again. I look long and hard into each of their eyes, so they know I truly believe in the words I speak. "We're here because of each other. We're here because whenever things were at their worst, we stood together: because the lives of the people next to us meant just as much as our own. There's a word for that." The look on their faces nearly bring me to my knees. But it's different from earlier when their blank looks and vacant stares seemed to pull the heart from my chest. Their faces now have come alive, their eyes bright and eager, ravenous for what my words offer: belief that all is not yet lost.
"Family," Maya says. Her voice is quiet, but in the stillness it echoes clear and strong. A smile breaks across my face at her words. "Yes," I confirm. "We're family. I love every single one of you. There's nothing I wouldn't do to keep us safe—to keep us alive. That's why I have faith our families back home are alright, because I know they'll be doing the same for one another...it's what families do."
I can feel the energy start to shift. The air once thick and heavy in morose seems to dissipate, a sense of hope radiating between us. I don't know how it happens. I remember pulling Emily in for a hug and then feeling another body pressing close to mine, a
nd then suddenly all of us are clustered together, arm's draped over each other's shoulders, assurances and proclamations issuing out our mouth's: an anthemic chant that says we will not quit, that no matter how dark the prospect looks we will face it together.
"Oh, and I almost forgot, Elroy offered his help in getting us home," I say as we break apart. The announcement catches them off guard, perhaps in disbelief of the man's deep generosity. I know I am.
"You serious?" Leon asks. "How?"
I shrug. "Not sure exactly. But I know we can use all the help we can get."
Eli and Jolene are away a long while. When I see them emerge from the house, I stand and walk their way. I try and read their faces as we draw closer, but both remain neutral. I feel awkward as we meet, like I should be apologizing for not being straight about why Elroy wanted to meet them. I don't know what to say, and neither do they it seems. The silence is thick, weighted with what they've discussed.
"Was this your idea, Morgan?" Eli asks after a minute.
I shake my head. "No. It was all Elroy."
"Do you trust him?" Jolene asks.
I nearly laugh. Just earlier Elroy asked me the same question in regards to them. That so many people value my opinion so highly makes me feel strange, like I'm more important than I am. It’s as if they forget I am only twenty-three, that before the collapse I was struggling with finding my own path to follow. But they didn't know me then, only now. I remember earlier when I stared into the mirror, searching for traces of the man I use to be. That man is gone. Still, I struggle identifying with the man people now believe me to be. But that is my own struggle, not theirs. So I answer him honestly, knowing how much my words might influence their decision.
"He hasn't given me a single reason not to," I say. "He had us all dead to rights, caught red-handed trying to steal from him. He could have run us off the farm. He could have stolen what was left of our belongings. Hell, he could have killed us on the spot, or done a lot worse things. Instead, he chose to offer us a place at his table and to help us get the rest of the way home. But it's more than that. I've seen the way his people look at him, the respect and love they hold for him. It's a look people don't just give out to anyone. Elroy's a good man—better than any I've met since all this started. So, yeah. I trust him."
The two of them share a glance, and I can practically see the indecision pass between them. "Did Elroy tell you of what he knows of Durango?" I ask.
They nod. "He told us," Eli says.
"I want both of you to know that you've earned your place with us," I say. "You're more than welcome to stay with us if that's what you chose. But I want you to at least consider Elroy's offer." I gesture around us: to the crops planted in gridded rows; to the house which stands strong and welcome; toward the far side of the farm where lie's a giant pasture for the horses and cattle; to the chicken coop at the bottom of the hill; to the people who reside here, who work long, hard hours but still wear smiles on their faces. "This place is the dream I wish to one day have myself. But it will take time, years maybe to create. It's going to be harsh, and I fear it's going to be bloody. But I'm willing to do what needs to be done to make it happen, because I have a lot of people back home and with me now who deserve such a place. You and your family deserve such a place...and you don't have to wait. You can have it now with a simple yes."
Jolene has to wipe her eyes when I'm finished and when Eli speaks his words come out thick. "That's just it though, Morgan," he says. "You speak of how these people look at Elroy, and it's the same way your friends look at you. I know because I do too. What you've done for our family?" he shakes his head, tears threatening. "It's a debt I can never repay. I feel we owe it to you to see this out by your side—to help you create a place like this. Because you deserve it...more than anyone I know, you deserve it."
His words pull on my emotions. I feel like crying. I feel like wrapping my arms around them both and telling Eli how much his words mean to me. I've grown to care for them in the few short weeks we've traveled together. When I look back at that first night, the anger I once felt toward them and their duplicitous is long gone, in its wake only a dull sadness at what they succumbed to out of desperation and Clint's manipulation. I think of what life must have been like under Clint's reign. The threats he must have made toward Cali makes me angry and nauseous all at once. They've been through so much pain and hardship. I'll be damned if I let them walk into more of the same, merely because they feel they owe it to me to do so.
"Thank you," I say. "That means a lot to me. Truly, it does. But I need you both to get it out of your heads that you owe me something. The only people you owe anything to is your children. Any decision you make needs to be based on them, not me. You've both seen the brutality of this new world. You've heard how bad things are where we're heading. But it was never a choice for me whether or not to go. That choice is yours. So you need to think long and hard about what you think is best for your family."
Jolene reaches out to hug me and Eli throws an arm around my shoulder. It's the second group hug of this afternoon, and how different they both are. The first felt like a promise: like a pledge to stand united against what waits for us back home. This second only feels like goodbye.
"We need some time to decide," Jolene says. "But we'll let the both of you know by nightfall."
I nod and say I understand. I watch them walk away, toward a place of quiet where they can talk in private. I turn and make my way back to my friends, unable to shake the feeling like we've already parted ways.
Elroy's idea of help turns out to be so much more than I could have ever hoped for, and even more than I would have ever asked. Not long after telling my friends of his offer to help, we are summoned to the side of the house and into an old root cellar. The first thing I notice is the deep darkness of the place, as if the light from above is too afraid to penetrate more than a few steps down. The second, is the overwhelming sense of claustrophobia the further we descend, surrounded by earth and dark, the dank, musty smell of the cellar filling my nostrils. The third drives the first two completely out of mind, leaving me in awe.
I hear the click of the gas lantern Elroy carries as it struggles to catch a spark, and then in a sudden whoosh of light, the cellar is thrown into detail. The place is huge, three times bigger at least than I was expecting. But the space is not half as amazing as the contents which fill it. From earthy wall to earthy wall, from floor to just below the low ceiling, lie row upon row of shelves, all packed with preserved food and other survival gear.
"Holy shit," Felix says beside me.
Elroy laughs. "This is what a couple odd thousand 'you're paranoid' and 'you're crazy's' looks like," he says. I don't doubt it. The food down here alone could probably feed the farm's occupants for two years or more, and considering their number, that's saying a lot. The time and effort that must have gone into this place amazes me, not to mention the money.
"This must have cost a fortune," I comment.
Elroy shrugs. "That's relative," he replies. "If this place was stacked with hundred-dollar bills, I'd have some decent shit paper but it wouldn't fill my stomach. Even when money was worth something, I preferred the peace of mind this place gave me, rather than pieces of paper locked up in a vault somewhere." His words come out so matter of factly, as if prepping as he's done was the most common sense and logical thing to do. If only that were so. Things wouldn't be nearly as bad if everyone had done the same.
"I'm guessing they aren't calling you crazy these days," I say.
Elroy laughs again. "Oh they still do, but it's alright. All geniuses have been called crazy a time or two."
The afternoon is spent preparing our packs for the next day. Elroy and two of his men help us go through our gear, adding items we don't have and upgrading some we do. We are given spare hiking packs, replacing those that were lost in the wildfire. We're also given a well stocked first aid kit, much more thorough than the ramshackle bag we previously had. Some of the corn we
attempted to steal is packed with other produce from the farm, but we are mainly loaded down with MRE’s. I've never actually seen an MRE in real life, only ever heard them referenced in books and movies. I was surprised when he told me each package contained between 1000 and 1500 calories. Those numbers could mean the difference between life and death. When I realized just how much Elroy was giving us I tried to reason with him, to convince him that while I was extremely grateful, there was no way I could accept so much. He pulled me to the side after that.
"Look son, it's like I told you earlier: it's alright to need help once in a while." When I open my mouth to argue, his voice whips out sternly. "Don't interrupt me now, I'm trying to tell you something." Even if I wanted to speak his sudden tone has left me lost for words. "Look, I know it's hard to admit this, but you and I both know you're gonna need all the help you can get. I'm willing to give you that help. It's not like we're running out of food here anytime soon. Hell, what we harvest in the next couple months alone will see us to spring." He points now to where my friends cluster, stacking MRE's into our packs. "I don't know if I can say the same about you and yours. So it's time to put the pride aside. You hear me?"
I don't know what to say to that. He's right, though. I know we need all the help we can get, and it's a hard truth to admit. It is even harder to accept. But as he pointed out, my life isn't the only one at stake here. I look back at my friends, recalling my promise from earlier: that there was nothing I wouldn't do to keep us safe and alive. So I do as Elroy says, and push my pride aside.
"Thank you," I say. He nods and reaches up, patting me on the shoulder once. He doesn't say anything, but he's said enough already.
Echoes of a Dying World (Book 1) Page 26