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

by Esquibel, Don M.

  “So I choose to let that hate go. I choose to believe we can set aside our differences and work together. Because if we don’t, the alternative is too bleak to consider. We will become factious. We will war with each other, with others out there. And more of us will continue to die in the process. Some might strike out on foot, searching for somewhere safe that might take them in. But I made it here from Denver, and believe me when I tell you it is bad all over. This winter will only have made it worse.

  “The time for standing alone has passed. Barr might be gone, but there will always be those who prey on the weak. On our own that’s what we are. Weak. Vulnerable. But together? We’ve already proved what we can accomplish...Why can’t we accomplish more?”

  I can still sense the indecision. The doubt. But it is in smaller numbers than when I began speaking. Emboldened, I continue with my closing statement.

  “I’m not saying these things to try and dupe you. I have no interest in being king, the man you must answer to. We already know that system doesn’t work. What I want is a community. It’s the only way any of us have a chance to keep our loved ones safe. And I will break my back trying to make that happen. Am I alone? Or will you stand with me?”

  The pause that follows is long and silent. I watch as all around, people look to their families, then to their neighbors. And though nobody speaks, the questions they ask themselves are universal. Can this work? Can I trust them? I let the silence stretch until finally, a familiar face steps forward from the crowd.

  “My name is Lylette Baker,” she calls out. “It was my ranch that was attacked earlier this winter. That night I lost...more than I can possibly describe.” Her voice lowers. Hardens with anger. “But then, I don’t need to describe it, do I? Surely, many of you were there. You saw the fires. Heard the screams. Watched as my people were killed or captured.”

  She pauses, overcome with memories of the past. Flickers of guilt pass over the crowd as they watch her regain her composure. After a moment, she clears her throat and continues.

  “My apologies. If I seem angry, it’s because I am. That night changed my life as much as the blackout did. I’ll never forget what happened. Never forgive those who did it. But it’s like Morgan said: even if I could somehow kill everyone involved, then what? It wouldn’t bring those I lost back. It would just be vengeance, and it would leave us cold and hollow. My people deserve more than that.”

  She looks up at me, that fire I’ve so often seen blazing in her eyes.

  “Wherever we go from here, we stand with you,” she says. She looks now to the assembled crowd. “And should anyone else wish to join us, I promise to leave our differences in the past if you will.”

  Hope swells within me at her promise. I feared after all that’s happened, there may be too much for her to see past. I wouldn’t blame her. Especially after what happened with Byron. It was my plan after all. Yet, she still believes in me. I fight off the tears that threaten and nod. Hearing her endorsement right now means more than I could ever put into words. Not only that, I can see the effect it has on the crowd.

  More step forward, pledging to help build the community I spoke of. There are some familiar faces: Matt, one of Lynn’s right hands; Val, whose been with us ever since defecting from the Animals with Frank; Owen and a dark-haired man I take as his husband. Glares are thrown his way, but nobody openly condemns him. A relief. But as more faces join them, I find most are unknown, people I’ve only seen in passing. I make a note to remember them. To learn their names, their families. We may never look at one another and consider the other family. But to survive, we’ll need to become more than allies using each other for protection. For now, though, it’s a start.

  There are some who I know are a lost cause. Their posture, their facial expressions giving them away as if they have already left. But they are the minority. Others seem on the fence, their desire for safety at war with their ability to trust in what I’m offering. I get it. They need more time. So instead of pushing, I switch gears as the pledges dwindle down, suggesting we continue with what brought us here in the first place, the burial.

  I say a few words about those who fell, emotion stinging my eyes as I think of them. Uncle Will. Frank. Mitch. I loved them all. The same way I loved my Aunt Virginia, loved Maya. Now, they are all gone. But they are not forgotten. And as I step off the mound and rejoin my family, I vow to build something great in their name.

  More people speak, describing people I didn’t know, who I will never get the chance to. And even though I didn’t know them, I feel the loss. After a while, there are no more words to be said. We back up as the backhoe rumbles to life and fills in the grave. My thoughts are all over the place as I watch, drifting to the past, veering toward the future. We’ve come so far and still have so far left to go. But standing here, the sun’s warmth on my face, and the woman I love by my side, I feel a hope I haven't felt in some time.

  The machine shuts down, and in the silence, I feel the eyes drift to me. But I only have eyes for one. Lauren meets them, her eyes shining green and gold in the reflected sunlight.

  “Shall we?” she asks.

  I smile, taking her hand in mine. “We shall.”

  Chapter 30: (Morgan)

  The sun sits bright and bold above, its heat penetrating through the canopy of trees overhead. Sweat drips down my face. Makes my shirt cling to my chest. I look above, hoping I might spot some gray clouds rolling in. No such luck. The sky remains a bright blue, the clouds drifting lazily like fluffs of floating cotton. I sigh, pausing to take a long drink from my canteen. It’s going to be another scorcher today. An assessment, my companions share.

  “Damn, this heat,” Leon says, uncapping his own canteen. “Not even noon, and it’s already hot as balls.”

  “They say complaining about it makes it better,” Felix quips. He alone doesn’t look fazed by the heat or conditions. He’s not even breathing hard. It’s as if the deer he helps carry were little more than a sack of potatoes.

  “Not all of us are freaks like you, Chavo,” I say with a smile.

  He returns it with a casual wave of his middle finger. “Thanks,” he says, then gestures to the deer. “But I’d like to get this back sometime today.”

  “Hungry?” Leon asks, eyeing the deer with a grin. “Some roasted venison does sound damn good.”

  “Agreed,” Felix says. “So let’s get this back then, yeah?”

  I laugh and grab a leg. Leon and Felix do the same. “Lead the way, Chavo,” I say.

  More laughter ensues as we walk, filling me with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. The jokes. The shit-talking. The three of us. It’s as it’s always been. Even before we were old enough to go out on our own, we were still together, learning the art of the hunt from the best there was. I’d give anything to have Frank with us again, to hear that booming laugh, to glimpse the smile that was ever-present during our forays into the forest. My eyes flick first to Leon, and then to Felix. He may be gone, but a part of him remains. And it’s in moments such as this that he is more than just a memory.

  We reach the edge of the treeline and step into the open sunlight. Leon says something about the heat again, and again Felix slams him. I don’t offer any words myself, just send a silent prayer for some rain, or at the very least some cloud cover. But the sky appears content with sunshine, however. We reach the gate, nodding as we pass the pair of guards on duty, a grin on my face as they inform us that we were not the only successful hunt today. Richard took down a buck of his own.

  The grin falls as we near a pile of blackened wood that was once a storage shed. It’s one of many that dot the place. Leftover reminders of the night Barr and his followers attacked. As we draw closer to the main house, the place comes alive with activity. People bustle about, doing whatever they’ve been assigned to help with. Sacks are flung over shoulders. Shovels are in hand. Everybody contributes. It’s one of the most essential rules we have here. And to their credit, they have risen to the challenge. A
s wrecked as this place was when we returned here, it was not destroyed. And we’re determined to rebuild it into something worthy of its legacy.

  The sound of hammers and saws reach my ears as we reach the main house. I nod to Owen who helps oversee the construction of the new barracks. It’s little more than a wooden frame right now, but he and his crew will make short work of it. This will be their third project, the previous two sitting on the far side of the house. With our number, the buildings are essential, especially once winter comes.

  For a moment my thoughts go to those who left our ranks after the burial at the DoubleTree. I knew I would never convince everyone to join us. There was just too much hate and hostility for it to ever work out. Still, I can’t help but wonder where they are, what they plan to do. My stomach bottoms out. I can’t help but wonder if they have even managed to make it this long. I shake the thought away. Not my fault. I tried to convince them. All I can do is focus on making this work for those who are here.

  It’s been challenging to say the least. There was still plenty of anger and mistrust going around when we moved out here. Those first few weeks were by far the roughest. Rations were tight. Tempers were short. There were days I questioned whether this was not all some grand mistake that would end up unraveling in some violent disaster. But we pushed through it. Hostilities dwindled. Things improved. That’s not to say everything is perfect. It never will be. But I no longer wake up, wondering if we made a mistake. And as more days pass, I can’t help but feel hopeful.

  We meet Richard in the butcher shed. He smiles at seeing us, a wicked scar reaching from his neck nearly to his eyes marring the right side of his face. A souvenir from the warehouse explosion this past winter. On anyone else, it might appear grisly. Ugly. But it somehow suits him. A scar worthy of a warrior.

  "Nice kill," he says, setting aside his bloodied knife. His buck hangs behind him, even bigger than the one Felix took down. “Some venison will make a good change of pace from salted pork.”

  Yes, it will. Not that I’m complaining about the swine. It was a welcome surprise when we arrived here and found most of the livestock still alive. Barr didn’t kill them as we thought he would. No doubt, he had aspirations of returning here once he finished with us. It’s kept us from starving while we get the place up and running.

  “So which one of you wants to lend a hand with this?” he asks.

  “I got it,” Felix says as we lift the deer onto a low table. “You two should report back. I’m sure some grunt work needs doing.”

  Leon flips him off, but I just laugh. “Whatever, boy scout,” I say. “Be careful not to cut yourself.”

  Felix twirls his knife deftly between his fingers. “Never,” he says.

  We don’t even make it to the house before my mother finds us.

  “Perfect timing,” she says, scribbling on her clipboard. It’s an extension of her these days. When we arrived here, it was clear we would not make it far without leadership and organization. Councilors were chosen for that reason, seven in all. Technically, I am one of them, though I’m far from the most important. My mother and Lylette do more than the rest of us combined. They’re the real ones running the show. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “I need the two of you to help cut some trees,” she finishes. Leon grumbles under his breath. She catches it too. “If you’d prefer, you can muck out the stables?”

  “No ma’am,” Leon says promptly, making me laugh. “Cutting some trees sounds like a swell of a time.”

  It isn’t. It’s laborious, hot work. But it’s also necessary. We need the wood for more than the barracks Owen builds and the restoration efforts Lylette oversees. We need it for defense. We knew from the start we would never be able to secure the place in the event of an attack. Not all of it. Even with our numbers, the ranch is simply too big. But what we could do is secure the vital pieces. Hence the logs. We will use them to create a wall, one that surrounds our living quarters and our livestock. Tried and true since the dark ages. Fitting that we would use the same methods here.

  The sun is brutal as we work. It’s not long before I’m sweating rivers down my face, my shirt clinging to my chest and back. I drain the last of my canteen in one long chug. As I go to refill it, Leon calls out.

  “Careful, Moe. Don’t want to give yourself the flounder again.”

  I flip him off and take a drink in defiance.

  “The hell is flounder?” The question comes from Jake, one of the former Animals who chose to join us. He’s an enthusiastic youth, always smiling, laughing, joking. I like the kid. He reminds me only too much of someone I know.

  Leon turns to him with a smile to match his. “Your mom ever tell you not to drink too much or you’ll make yourself sick?”

  Jake laughs. “Can’t say I have. Not with water anyway.”

  “Well, take it from Morgan, water can make a man just as sick as whiskey ever could.”

  I shake my head as Leon describes that day. It wasn’t too different from today, truth be told. It was just as hot, the work, just as demanding. So much so that I kept guzzling down water despite Frank’s warning for me to slow down. The end result was not pretty. After throwing up spectacularly in the field, I suffered the rest of the day with stomach cramps and nausea. Frank shook his head and led me back to the house where his wife helped nurse me back to health. She had me lie down and made me soup after the nausea had subsided. That was the first time I ever called her mi otra madre. My other mother.

  A faint sadness overcomes me. It always does whenever I look back at the world before. But as I watch Leon and Jake laugh, the youth telling his own tales now, I realize that's just life. Things have changed, but the most important of them have remained the same.

  We wrap up our work and head back to the ranch, unloading our logs near the latest stretch of the wall. We’re not halfway through when Emily appears suddenly, calling my name and looking frantic. On instinct I unholster my Glock, eyes scanning for threats, ears listening for the tell-tale signs of violence.

  “Morgan!” she pants, breathless. “Vince. Kelly. It’s happening.”

  It takes me a second to put the sentence together. Then it clicks. She’s not frantic. It’s excitement I see.

  “It? Now?” I ask.

  She nods, her smile wide with delight. I holster my Glock and we take off, Leon and Jake yelling after me about skipping out on work. I don’t bother replying. The two of us make it to the main house in under two minutes, flying past the door and up the stairs. There we find the hallway packed with family. My father laughs at the questions coming from Abigail’s mouth, her little mind exploding with the event unfolding. Her mother, Jenna does her best to avoid the questions altogether, steering her attention elsewhere. My mother speaks with my Aunt Claire and Leah, trying to put them at ease no doubt. My younger cousins gather near the stairs as if hoping to distance themselves from the adult conversations. I pass by them and reach Lauren, my arm sliding easily around her.

  “Hello, beautiful,” I say, squeezing her close. “I miss anything?”

  “Not yet,” she says. “They took her in about ten minutes ago.”

  She’s nervous, I realize. I tell her not to be even though I feel it myself. Childbirth. Even in a hospital, with all the advantages of technology and modern medicine, it was a scary proposition. Wonderful, but scary. But now? Well, we don’t have those same advantages. Our only advantage is the presence of Dr. Sonya. I was thrilled when she decided to join us, no more so than right now. Kelly’s in good hands. I know she is.

  Time passes. Around us, I feel the emotions intensify. Excitement, but also anxiety. Muffled cries sound from behind the door, adding to the growing unrest. My father has turned his attention from Abigail, sitting with his eyes closed and his hands folded in his lap. Praying no doubt. Across from him, my mother continues to be the soothing presence between my Aunt Claire and Leah, but I can tell she too is anxious.

  Lauren fidgets beside me. I look her over,
concern spreading through me as I take in her features. It’s not nerves I see. It’s fear. I’m about to ask if she’s alright when the door opens and Julia walks out. Her smile gives it away before she even speaks.

  “A boy!” she says.

  Cheers roar throughout the hallway. Aunt Claire and Leah hug one another, both of them sobbing with joy. My father whoops, his excitement only second to Abigail who jumps up and down, happy she’s no longer the baby of the family. The younger cousins are happy in a subtler way, wearing smiles as they watch on. I turn to Lauren who wipes tears away from her eyes. Again I’m about to ask if she’s alright, but again the door opens, my question lost in the uproar as Vince exits.

  Hands are shaken. Congratulations, given. Lauren hugs him with an excited squeal, still hastily wiping the tears from her eyes. Then Vince knocks into me, wrapping me in a crushing hug. He lets go but keeps one arm wrapped around my shoulders.

  “You’ll be Godfather!” he says. It’s a statement, not a question.

  I’m too stunned to speak, tears springing to my eyes.

  “Of course,” I say, eventually.

  He claps my shoulder roughly and actually kisses me on the cheek. “Good man!” he says. Smiling, I ask if they’ve settled on a name for his son. He smiles, his eyes bright and misty.

  “We’re naming him William.”

  That evening is a special occasion, one I have not seen the likes of in some time. Roasted venison is served along with garden-grown greens and veggies. Bread, fresh-baked along with spreads of various preserves is also on the menu. Everyone eats their fill tonight. It’s not only the family who celebrates either. Everyone joins in. Smiles and laughter is had all around. Lylette rises from her table and raises a glass, wishing health and fortune to little William. Cries echo the toast, the cheers ringing from table to table.