Echoes of a Dying World (Book 3): A Dream of Tomorrow

by Esquibel, Don M.

  “It’s them,” Frank says.

  “Quickly now,” Richard says as they reach the front entrance. “Let’s get this done.”

  Richard and Frank move forward, hopping the low wall separating the bank from the gas station. Frank quickly goes to work with the bolt cutters, while Richard pulls what he needs from the small pack he carries. I feel my pulse double watching them, my eyes constantly flicking back and forth from the highway to the DoubleTree where the Animals have set snipers to protect their perimeter. Any second I expect to see a pair of headlights fill the street or the sound of a gunshot shatter the quiet. It could all go wrong in an instant. But the instant never comes, and the next thing I know, Frank and Richard have joined us on this side of the wall.

  “It’s ready,” Richard says, sighing in relief.

  “Now we make the call,” Morgan says. From his coat he pulls out a radio, this one taken from the truck we ambushed. He clicks the button and speaks.

  “This is Morgan Taylor,” he says. “You may have heard of me. I’m the man your leader wants so badly—who he has promised anything within his power to the person who brings me in. He promises this, and yet he would refuse the one thing many of you want most: freedom from his oppression. He needs you too badly. He needs his army so he can maintain control over this town and play king over those who still live within its borders. He’ll call you family, and claim that together you’re building something worthwhile. It’s bullshit. But then again, I’m sure you know that. I don’t need to tell you that a man who coerces you through fear and violence—who would use your loved ones as a means to ensure your compliance, is not your family. He is nothing but a tyrant—one who will do anything to keep the power you have given him. But like all tyrants, he can be overthrown. All it takes is for people to rise against him. Tonight, I rise.

  “I speak now to Captain Barr. You are no king, no visionary. You are just a cold, callous man. Promise your people all you want. Food. Power. I don’t care. But hear the promise I make you: A day will come when I look over your corpse and smile. Your end has already begun. The spark has ignited. Now watch it burn.”

  “Fine speech, Moe,” Leon says, lighter in hand. He clicks it and presses the flame to the fuse as a dozen different voices sound from Morgan’s radio. “Fine fucking speech indeed.”

  The fuse ignites and no sooner are we sprinting across the parking lot. We fly past the train tracks and have nearly reached the intersection of Main and College when an unearthly explosion goes off behind us. I turn, unable to keep the smile from my face as I admire our handiwork.

  Across the tracks, at the corner of the block blazes a gigantic fire, the gas station that sat there blown to rubble and consumed in flames. The glow reaches us even from this distance, highlighting the satisfaction in our faces as we watch the fire burn and debris fall into the street. Across the highway, the DoubleTree will be bathed in that same glow. The firelight will fill the Animal's faces as they watch it burn and they will wonder if the loved ones Barr keeps from them watch also. They will feel their absence, and their resentment for Barr will grow. Their eyes will narrow in hate as they watch on, Morgan’s words echoing in their heads as the flames reflect in their eyes like flickering sparks. All we can hope for is that those sparks catch fire.

  I could watch the fire burn until the sun rises and the flames disappear. But we don’t have that luxury. I feel Morgan’s hand on my back, making me turn and face him. The firelight dances in his eyes, making them come alive in a way they haven’t been in months.

  “C’ mon, he says. “This is only the beginning.”

  Chapter 10: (Morgan)

  The past week has been a blur. Blowing up the gas station was a statement, one that has Barr rattled. In response to our actions, he has turned up the pressure to bring us in. Patrols have increased dramatically, both by vehicle and on foot. Day or night, we’ve spotted them every time we’ve ventured outside our safe house. Because though we may have succeeded in creating a spark, it’s all for shit if we aren’t able to kindle it into something bigger. So we risk ourselves to fan the flames.

  We sabotage their efforts in any way we can. Hidden spikes are buried under the snow, shredding the tires of passing patrols. We leave false trails for foot patrols to follow, ending in traps that leave them hogtied and stripped of anything worth taking. Like Marco, there are those who curse us and swear their revenge, but they are the minority. Most are simply grateful we leave them with their lives. It’s those Animals we try and press for information. But though they have no love for Barr, they are reluctant to answer our questions. Their fear is still too great for them to reveal anything that might get back to him. We could force the information from them as Richard once suggested, but we refrain from doing so. We need them on our side. Forcing their cooperation would make us no better than the man we seek to undo. There would be no surer way to turn them against us. So we leave them be, our parting message always the same: that there is a better way forward.

  It’s been absolutely manic. And though it feels good to finally stand up and challenge the Animals, part of me wonders if we are not just biding our time. I try and shake the thought, but I can’t help but feel like all these acts of rebellion are bound to backfire—as if all we’re doing is poking a sleeping dragon. As if any second that dragon will wake and burn this all to the ground. And while there’s fear in that, it’s not enough to deter us from our fight. Even if we wanted to stop, we couldn’t. We’ve come too far, have risked too much to back out now. Win or lose, we’re in it until it’s over.

  Still, we have a long way to go, and though we’ve drawn blood, we are bleeding as well. The Animals, as deadly and dangerous as they may be, are not our only threat. My worst fear, the one that has loomed over us ever since our home was destroyed, has finally happened: we’ve run out of food. It’s been over 24 hours since my last bite. Already I can feel the desperation taking hold. I can feel it spread through me, growing alongside the dull ache in my stomach. Soon, that ache will turn into a sharp pain, one that will consume every thought as our bodies grow weaker and weaker. Give it long enough and the Animals will have won this fight without lifting a finger. We can’t let it get to that point. So with the prospect of finding food in town next to zero, we turn to the hills.

  I walk the frozen landscape, praying that we find something, anything to bring back to the safe house. Felix scouts ahead of me, always within eyesight, communicating to me through hand signals. We are one of three hunting parties. To the west, Richard and Vince prowl the edges of the meadows below, while Frank and Leon cover the eastern side of the mountain we travel.

  It is a risk being out in the light of day. Most of our sabotage missions have been conducted at night, the darkness an obvious aid in our concealment. But hunting in the dark would be as productive as searching the abandoned houses in town for scraps of food. Risk or not, we have no choice in the matter. It feels strange to walk so openly in the daytime, to actually see the landscape around me and feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I try and keep my mind on the hunt, searching for tracks, droppings, movement through the trees. But I find myself constantly distracted, my fear of being seen not half as bad as the thought of our safe house being discovered while we're away.

  They’re fine. The safe house is secure. Get some meat, and you’ll be back soon enough.

  The words offer little reassurance. As Lauren once told me, I have a great talent for worrying. She's right, of course. I do worry. I overthink things. I drive myself crazy obsessing over every way things might go wrong. Fear is a constant presence, one I battle with on a daily basis. The others don’t see it. When they look at me they don’t see the fear, the uncertainty. They only see the mask I’ve worn since this all started. But I suppose that’s a good thing. Because as smothering as this mask may be, I’ve accepted that it is one that must be worn. It inspires confidence. Hope. And in this cruel world, hope can keep you alive as much as anything.

  Up ahead I noti
ce Felix has stopped. He crouches low, observing the ground before him. He turns and signals for me to join him. I quickly make my way over, hoping he’s found something that will make this trip a success. But instead of feeling relief, it feels as if my heart has bottomed out of my chest and settled inside my stomach. Footprints have been left in the snow, three of them in all.

  “How old are they?” I ask, looking around me as if we've just stepped into a trap.

  “Not very,” he says. “If I had to guess, I’d say they were left this morning or late last night.”

  I curse. “We should give the others a heads up,” I say. I radio the other teams. With our attacks on Animal patrols, we’ve increased our radios from two to four, a huge asset to have on occasions such as this. Soon as they reply we head out again, diverting away from the footprints and descending toward the lower part of the mountain.

  My eyes constantly scan around me, the footprints putting me on edge. While some have braved town all this time, others have turned to the hills, meeking out a living in the forested land that surrounds Durango on all sides. And not just small groups either. During his time with the Animals, Frank heard rumors of large bands together in the area. Naturally, Boss ordered scouts to investigate, but to no avail. Either they didn’t find anything or they were never heard from again. I think of the desperation that filled the eyes of my family as I said goodbye this morning. What would it do to them if we never returned? The thought sends a chill through me, deeper than the cold could ever reach.

  Don’t think like that. Everything will be fine.

  But even as I tell myself this, I know I can’t guarantee it. Even before finding those prints, I knew the danger involved. I still haven’t forgotten the day, months ago, when Vince and I nearly got killed while hunting. We had just tracked down a deer Vince had shot when we heard people crashing through the trees, coming to claim the deer as theirs. With six rifles on us, we had no choice but to give up and return home empty-handed. All it would have taken was one wrong move, one wrong word, and we might have died then and there. That was in the fall. Things have only grown more desperate after months of winter.

  I’m still struggling to shake the thoughts away, when suddenly they disappear, my focus narrowing into a single point. Below me, meandering slowly through the brush is the answer to my prayers. An elk, either a cow or a bull with its antlers already shed. I could give a damn either way. All I see are several hundred pounds of meat that sets my mouth watering.

  Slowly I approach a nearby tree, using one of it’s lower branches as a means to steady my rifle. My crosshairs find their mark, carefully tracking it, waiting until the right opportunity presents itself. The elk stops and I take a deep breath. I pull the trigger, shattering the quiet with an echoing boom. The shot hits its mark, the elk staggering two steps and then dropping to the snow where it bucks and twitches as it bleeds out.

  Felix turns at the sound and tracks my pointed rifle to the elk below. He lets out a sound of raw excitement and races back to me with a huge grin on his face. I can’t help but smile as I take the radio out of my pocket and call Frank and Richard.

  “Yeah, that was me,” I say. “I got us some dinner.”

  Felix and I descend quickly, eager to get to our prize and start dressing it. The elk has stopped its twitching, whatever life it clung to as it hit the ground long gone. As I reach it, I can’t help but sympathize with the animal. It didn’t ask for this. All it wanted was to survive the winter the best it could. I’ve hunted all my life, and never have I felt more connected with an animal I’ve killed as I do now. I kneel in the snow, knife hovering an inch above its throat.

  Thank you for this gift. May you know no pain in whatever comes after this life.

  I cut the jugular, letting its blood drain out onto the frozen snow before we begin gutting it. Felix does most of the work, his skill with the knife far superior to my own. I keep the legs spread while he makes quick, expert cuts until the elk's innards are completely exposed. He sets the knife aside, reaches inside with both hands and pulls. Intestines, bladder, lungs. It’s amazing the sheer amount of guts that are pulled free. Felix lets out a breathy laugh.

  “Never thought gutting would smell so good,” he says.

  I make a noise, half laugh, half snort. “I never thought a lot of things,” I say.

  Felix twirls the knife almost absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” he says. The knife stops and he shrugs. “Guess it doesn’t matter now though, huh?”

  No. It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that we have food when only this morning we had nothing. He gets back to work, making cuts while I assist any way I can. I feel my anxiety grow as the minutes pass, the footprints we saw earlier weighing heavily on my mind. It’ll help when the others reach us. I feel way too vulnerable out here with just the two of us. There’s a chill prickling my skin, the hairs at the back of my neck standing on end. It’s a peculiar feeling, one I know on a subconscious level. It’s the feeling of being watched.

  My eyes rove the trees around me, my ears straining to pick up anything aside from Felix’s labored breaths and the cutting of his knife. Then I hear it: the sound of a footstep in deep snow. But that’s not what makes my stomach drop and sends fear coursing through my veins. Felix stops mid-cut and I know he hears it too. A deep, primal growl sounds from behind me, a noise no human could make.

  “Don’t move,” he says. He speaks slow and calm, but I can see the fear in his eyes as they settle on some point behind me. It takes every ounce of will I have, not to turn around and search for the source. He reaches slowly for the gun at his hip. Too late.

  Felix curses, moving faster than I ever could. He hits me hard, tackling us both to the ground as a massive, dark shape sails over us. I roll to a stop as the beast rears back around, teeth bared, claws long and sharp. Predatory eyes focus on me as it snarls a loud, feral roar, one that I translate to “You’re about to die.” It crouches for another lunge as I reach for the Glock at my hip. The beast lunges and the sound of breaking thunder sounds from behind. The beast skids to a stop at my feet, blood weeping into the snow from its fatal wound. I look incredulously from the mountain lion to Felix who looks every bit as surprised as I am.

  “You two are luckier than a whore without the clap.”

  We turn at the voice, both of us drawing our guns. A man stands not 30ft from us, the barrel of his rifle still smoking.

  “Who the hell are you?” I ask.

  He looks annoyed at the question. “I’m the man who just saved your life numbnuts,” he says. “So if you could lower your guns, I’d appreciate it." When neither of us do he sighs. “Look, if I wanted you dead, all I had to do was let that thing do the work for me.” He has a point. Felix looks to me and I nod. We both lower our weapons.

  “Thank you,” the man says. “Always prefer talking without a gun in my face.”

  “Our guns might be lowered, but that doesn’t mean we trust you,” I say.

  The man’s laugh is mostly a wet hack, ending in a wad of phlegm on the ground. “Of course not,” he says. “You’re still breathing ain't ya’?”

  “Who are you?” I ask for the second time.

  “Name’s Lynn,” he says. “And yours?”

  Felix and I both say our names.

  “Well met,” Lynn says. “Now tell me, is it just the two of you out here?”

  The question triggers a warning bell. What’s that matter to him? I look to Felix and I see the same mistrust I feel at the question. Before either of us can answer, a voice rings out behind us.

  “No, it’s not just the two of them.”

  Richard appears at our side a moment later, Leon, Frank, and Vince following after. Unlike us, Richard does not have his gun lowered.

  Lynn smiles. “May I ask you to lower that?” he asks.

  “And why would I do that?” Richard asks.

  “Because I’m not alone either.” Lynn whistles and nearly a dozen men and women emerge from the tr
ees and brush behind him, all with the grizzled, lean look of people who’ve had a rough go of it. Then again, I’ve seen better days myself.

  “Richard, lower the gun,” I say. He scans the new arrivals, no doubt weighing his chances against them. With a grunt, he lowers the gun as he realizes how out gunned we are. Only words can get us out of this.

  “That’s better,” Lynn says. “Now I don’t mind the skepticism, but believe it or not, I’m not here to try and fuck you over.”

  “Oh no? Why the hell are you here then?” Richard asks.

  Lynn smiles again. “Fiery son of a bitch ain’t ya’?” he asks.

  “According to your wife, yes,” Richard says. I cringe, mentally cursing Richard’s hot head and big mouth. But Lynn doesn’t take offense. Far from it. He laughs that wet hacking sound and spits another wad of phlegm on the ground.

  “I’ve decided I like you,” he says. “But just for the record, you couldn’t handle her on your best day.” Richard looks confused by his reaction. He’s not the only one. This man is intriguing, to say the least.

  “Now, as for the reason we’re here,” he says. Lynn points to the mountain lion. “We heard the shot when you brought down the elk. We don’t get too many people venturing out this far. Thought you were one of ours. Picked up the paw prints about a half-mile back. Led us straight to you.”

  “Why all the firepower then?” Richard asks, still shrewd.

  Lynn shrugs. “You raised your gun first. What should I have done, stand here and wait with my thumb up my ass?” A guilty flush fills Richard’s face. Good. He deserves to feel it. I’ve grown to respect him a great deal, but sometimes it still baffles me how rash he can be at times.