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

by Esquibel, Don M.

  The man grows silent for a long moment, frowning as if deep in thought. Finally, he sighs, the sound heavy and weary. “What do you want from me?” he asks

  “Any information you might have,” Felix says. “As we said, we’re looking for the man who started all of this. And he’s not alone. He’ll have fifty-plus followers with him. We need to find them so we can end this. So if you can think of something, anything that might point us in the right direction, we’d be extremely grateful.”

  The man just shakes his head. “I haven’t seen anything,” he says.

  “You’re sure?” Leon asks. “You haven’t seen any unusual activity? No scouts or squads moving around town who look a little too well-fed and a little too well armed?”

  “No,” he says. “As you’ve probably gathered, I have no love for the Animas Animals. If I could tell you something that would help destroy them, I would. But I don’t know anything.”

  I search his face for a long moment, searching for any sign that he might be lying to us. His eyes flick from Felix to me and I find my answer. He speaks the truth. Felix evidently agrees.

  “Very well,” he says. He turns to us, finally lowering his weapon from the man. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not out there. We should continue searching while we have the chance.”

  Leon and Emily lower their lights, leaving my beam the only one still on him. “Thank you for your information,” Felix says. “Now let's move out.”

  The three of them turn to leave, but I stay rooted to the spot. They’ve only gone a dozen steps when Felix notices.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Nobody can survive this world alone,” I say, keeping my eyes on the man.

  “I’ve done a decent job of it so far,” he answers.

  “You’ve been lucky so far,” I say. “But one day that luck will run out.” I pause, hesitant on what I’m about to do. This is Felix’s team. Even if it weren’t, I’m not sure this would fall under my authority. But when I look at the man, I can’t help but see how broken he is. He has nothing. Nobody. It reminds me too much of how my life might have turned out had it not been for Morgan. Morgan isn’t here right now. I am. Authority or not, I find myself speaking.

  “You can join us,” I say. “You can help us build something new out of this rubble.”

  The man looks taken aback at the offer. So does Felix, and unlike the man, he has no problem finding his voice.

  “What are you doing?” he asks. “Recruiting isn’t part of the plan.”

  “I’m making it a part of the plan,” I say, rounding on Felix. “What’s the point of any of this if we’re not willing to help people?”

  “Before we can help others, we need to make sure we can take care of ourselves,” he says. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but we’re not exactly in a favorable position right now.”

  “We’re in a better position than we had any reason to expect,” I argue. “And none of that would have happened if we didn’t have help along the way.”

  “She’s right,” Emily says. She turns now to the man. “Our situation is messy and complicated. It might take some time to sort it out. But you’re welcome to join us if you think you can handle it.”

  The man opens his mouth to speak, but Felix barrels over him.

  “No,” he says, the word leaving his mouth with the weight of a gavel. “We stick to the mission at hand. We have a lot of ground to cover and limited hours to work with. We don’t have time for any of this.”

  “He’s right,” Leon says, speaking on the matter for the first time. “We have to focus on finding Barr. We can’t allow distractions right now.” He looks quickly at the man. “And no offense, but we don’t know you. For all we know, you could be one of Barr’s scouts trying to find a way into our ranks.” He turns back to me and Emily. “Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

  “Yes,” I answer. “Because I offered. He didn’t ask to join us.”

  Felix opens his mouth to reply when the man snaps and speaks up. “No, I didn’t ask to join you!” he says loudly. There’s an edge to his voice. Resentment perhaps at being spoken of as if he weren’t here. It softens only slightly as his eyes land on me. “Thank you for the gesture, but I want nothing to do with what you’re doing. Not if it involves the Animas Animals. Think what you like, make whatever rationalities you must, but I’m telling you it is a mistake to trust them. People don’t change. They did horrendous things. They’ll do them again. And I don’t want to be anywhere near them when they do.”

  “But—” I begin only to be cut off by Felix.

  “But nothing,” he says. “The man’s made up his mind. We should respect it. Unless you’d like to pull a Barr and force him along.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks at the insult. And yet, I can see the truth in what he says. This man knows the dangers of living alone better than I do. Still, he chooses it over living among those he doesn’t trust. I can’t blame him for that. Especially not when he makes some valid points.

  “Very well,” I say. I take a step forward and extend my hand. “Good luck.”

  He shakes my hand tentatively as if expecting an attack at any moment.

  “And you,” he says.

  I turn back toward the others. Leon and Felix look relieved. Emily, pitying. None of them offer the man any words of departure, only a small nod of the head before turning toward the exit. I follow them, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in the back of my head that says it’s a mistake to leave like this. I reach the exit and turn back, finding the man still staring at us.

  “I never caught your name,” I say.

  He shrugs. “Nick,” he says.

  “Nick,” I repeat, mulling the name around and deciding it suits him. “I’m Lauren. If you change your mind, you know where we’ll be...I know how hard it is to trust people. I grew up believing the only person I could trust was myself. But I was wrong. It took the world ending for me to see that. I hope you see it too before it’s too late.” He stays composed, but I think I see something flash across his face. It’s gone so fast one could think it a trick of the light. With one last nod, I take my leave and join the others outside.

  It’s an odd moment. The encounter with Nick has left us unsettled. For a second, the easy harmony that has always flowed between us was absent. The awkwardness remains as we leave the building and continue our search. Slowly, we settle back into it, the importance of our mission requiring nothing less than our full attention. We enter a large block building several streets over, the action of breaking and clearing the place helping to erase any lingering tension.

  We continue on down the list, checking them off one by one. The sun begins to sink, as do my spirits as each place turns up nothing. We reach the final building as the last of the winter light wanes. Like the others, it’s clear, not a single trace of any scouts Barr might have deployed. We can only hope the other teams have had better luck. With the sun nearly set, we begin our quiet journey back to the DoubleTree.

  Having searched the streets all day, we hit the river trail on the off chance it might yield better results. It sweeps around to the DoubleTree after all. There’s reason to believe a scout might use this as a thoroughfare to maneuver about. The temperature drops as twilight falls in earnest, whatever hint of spring I felt at the onset of our journey long forgotten as the wind shifts and I feel the cold pierce through my layers. But what chills me most is the prospect of returning empty-handed. Barr made it clear what would happen if Morgan didn’t turn himself over to him. And with the tension already so high among us, I feel nothing but dread at the thought of another killing. It could be the thing that snaps the fragile balance we have.

  We pass under the 9th street bridge, the DoubleTree hidden only by a slight bend in the trail. It will come into view soon enough I realize, sending yet another wave of anxiety through me. Not for the first time, I find myself cursing Barr. Why couldn’t he do what we expect just once? We thought the prospect of finding Frank
would be enough to draw him out of his hole. Perhaps it was. Perhaps his scouts spotted us first and he connected the dots from there. It doesn’t matter now, I suppose. It doesn’t change anything.

  I’m still lost in my miserable thoughts when Felix shouts and draws my attention. My gun is raised instantly, my eyes zeroing in on a figure stumbling into view from the riverbank ahead of us. We advance, Felix’s voice ordering the figure to stop. The figure complies, all but collapsing onto the trail, their body jerking and spasming something terrible. We approach cautiously, guns trained on him in case this is some sort of ruse. I flick on my flashlight and it hits the figure’s face.

  “Mother of Christ,” Leon says, lowering his gun and taking a step back so Felix can assess him. He’s soaked head to toe, a sheet of dark hair plastered to his forehead standing out starkly against the paleness of his face.

  “Owen, what happened?” Felix asks. “Can you speak?” Owen’s only answer is to shiver more violently, his teeth chattering as his eyes roll to the back of his head. Felix curses. “We have to get him inside.”

  Felix and Leon carry Owen between them, his feet dragging lamely across the snowy trail as we race toward the DoubleTree. Thank God we were almost there to begin with. We round the bend and the hotel comes into view, its shadowy silhouette never so welcome as it is now. The sentries spot us as we approach, shouting for us to halt. When they see who we are, they stand down, allowing us to rush through the side entrance without breaking stride.

  People flatten themselves against the walls as we race down the hallway toward the medical wing, their faces paling at the sight of Owen’s nearly unconscious form. We enter the lobby, heads turning our way from all angles. Felix and Leon don’t stop, continuing past the rush of bodies until we reach the converted lounge. Sonya, the lone doctor among us, rushes forward the moment we enter. She takes one look at him and begins issuing orders, pointing at assistants in turn.

  “Towels; Blankets; hot tea with honey,” and the list goes on. Her assistants rush to do as they’re told when she turns to us. “What happened?” she asks, helping Felix strip Owen out of his clothes. I look away as his pants hit the floor even though his modesty is an illusion at this point. As I turn, I spot Morgan rush into the lounge, the people stationed at the entrance allowing him through while repelling the dozen or so would-be onlookers. He pulls me into his arms a moment later, squeezing me tight as if we were apart days instead of hours.

  “Thank God you’re alright,” he whispers into my ear.

  The words untangle a knot in my chest, and I feel myself breathe properly for the first time since seeing Owen’s face. The image comes back to me, the pale skin, the blue-tinged lips, and rolling eyes. He didn’t come to be in that state by choice. Something’s obviously happened. Being here doesn’t mean we are out of the woods. Morgan knows this too, squeezing me once more before turning his attention to the team surrounding Owen.

  The story is retold: our unsuccessful search; returning to the DoubleTree via the river trail; finding Owen and rushing him here.

  “Have the other teams showed up?” Felix asks.

  “Frank has,” Morgan says. “We’ve sent word to Lylette and Lynn about what’s happened. They’re inbound as we speak.”

  I see the look of relief Felix has at hearing his uncle is safe. It’s short-lived however as our attention is once again focused on Owen. He sits shivering under the layers of several blankets, clumsily sipping from the honey tea Dr. Sonya has made. It’s a slow process bringing his core temperature back into a normal range. Lylette and Lynn have reported back by the time he’s recovered enough to talk.

  “We were concentrating on the areas north of town,” he says. “We roamed far out, ended up near Hermosa without a trace. We were on our way back when it happened. We were creeping past the Animas Museum and decided to check it on a whim. Hadn’t even made it to the front door when I felt eyes on the back of my head. Turned just in time to dive for cover.”

  He pauses, his voice suddenly constricted, his eyes filled with tears. After a moment he continues. “The rest of my team wasn’t so lucky. Animals didn’t even shout a warning. They just gunned them down before they could even turn around.”

  He stands, the blankets dropping from his shoulders. He’s unsteady on his feet, shaking as he holds onto the wall for support. One of the assistants reaches to help, but he flings their hand away.

  “They died without even a chance to defend themselves,” he says, voice cracking. “They were my friends and they were slaughtered like pigs.” His hands form into fists, his muscles rigid, anger alone keeping him on his feet. We give him a moment to compose himself.

  “Did you get a look at them?” Morgan asks. “Are you positive it was Barr’s men?”

  Owen nods, eyes reduced to slits. “Yes,” he says. “Got a good look at two of em’. I’m positive it was them.”

  Knowing this shouldn’t matter. Their deaths are horrible regardless of who pulled the trigger. But knowing it was Barr makes it sting so much worse.

  “How did you make it out?” Richard asks.

  “Shot my way out,” he says. “Killed at least one of them. Possibly two. Can’t be sure. Soon as I could, I bolted. Ran like hell and they were on my ass the entire way. They were closing in fast once I hit the river trail. I knew there wasn’t a chance I’d reach the DoubleTree before they caught me, so I did the only thing I could think of and dove in the water. It worked. By the time I surfaced again, I was far enough away that they stopped their chase.”

  He’s lucky he’s still alive. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.

  “You must have someone watching over you,” Morgan says finally. “A mild case of hypothermia is a small price to pay for a life.”

  Owen wraps the blanket back around himself and sits down. “They must know my work here isn’t done,” he says. “My men followed me because I asked them to. They died, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.” I watch as the guilt inside him gives way to rage. “I won’t forget that. I’ll add it to the many, many sins Barr must answer for. And before he dies, I will make him pay.”

  His words awaken that anger inside all of us. The desire to get Barr high as it’s ever been.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth,” Morgan says. “After all, I have my own promise to keep.”

  As if on cue, there’s static from Morgan’s back pocket, followed by a low, melodic whistling, the sound making the hairs on my arm stand on end. After a few more notes, a voice calls out, one instantly recognized and hated by all around.

  “Morgan Taylor,” Barr draws out the name for several seconds. “Heard you caught yourself a fish this evening.” None of us are surprised he knows what happened. Surely the mole would have seen to it that he was well informed. Morgan clicks the button on his radio.

  “What do you want?” he asks through clenched teeth, practically vibrating with pent up anger.

  “You know what I want,” Barr says. “Turn yourself over, and the rest will be spared so long as they swear fealty to me. Do that and we can get things back to normal. No more fighting. No more killing. Everything can be how it was supposed to be. You can save hundreds of lives, Morgan. Or do you like seeing people die in your place? You have 24 hours to decide.”

  The radio goes silent. So too does the room. Beyond, the silence expands. It seeps into the crowded lobby. Snakes its way through the hallways, toward the stairwells. Above, it will reach the snipers who overwatch the highway and river trail. Below, it will infect the guards covering the entrances and our captive Animals. On and on the silence stretches long and horrible. And I fear the sound that will soon follow.

  Chapter 17: (Morgan)

  My rage has died. The fire inside reduced to a bed of smoldering coals. The storm of guilt and acidic thoughts swirling through me has seen to that. I’ve tried to stoke the coals, hoping the flames would rekindle, give me something to focus on other than my own desolation. No such luck. It doesn’t help matte
rs that every hour, more issues crop up that we must deal with. That feeling as if we sit atop a powder keg deepens by the hour. Not only that, flames seem to be sparking to life on all sides. It almost seems inevitable that the sparks will catch and this will all explode in our faces. I tell myself it won’t come to that. That somehow, we’ll make our way through this. But even in my mind, I don’t sound convincing. And yet, I somehow managed to convince my family this was all for the best.

  “This place is held together by stitches,” Uncle Will said only an hour previously. “Sides are being taken, words are turning into violence. We should get out of here while we have the chance.”

  “And go where?” my mother asked. “We can’t hide like before. Not now that we’re here. Whoever is reporting to Barr will see us leave. They'll track us, and so will Barr. We’ll be caught within days.”

  They both make valid points. I understand where Uncle Will is coming from. With things as they are, and the hostilities threatening to break out at any second, the urge to cut our losses and run has never been higher. I’d be lying if I pretended part of me doesn’t feel the same. But no matter the urges, the fact remains the same: that there is nowhere to run. There’s no hiding from this. Our course was set the moment we decided to rise against Barr. There’s no turning our backs on that despite the temptation to. Our futures lie in the balance of the fight at hand.

  It’s the message I imparted on the family to convince them to stay. As has been the case more times than not, they listened. And now I feel that decision weigh heavy on my shoulders, my mask as smothering as it’s ever been. I carry both as well as I can, but the strain strikes a heavy toll—one I’m not sure I can continue to pay without it breaking me.

  “Moe?”

  I hear my name as if from a great distance, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Sorry, what was that?” I ask.