Echoes of the Soul: Willow Tree Trilogy, #3

By Colby Lynn

One nurse. One soldier.  One extraordinary journey.

 

In a God-forsaken world where honor is brittle and kindness can get you killed, Jack and Erin continue the fight to make their dreams a reality.

 

On a treacherous journey toward a safe haven for their small band of refugees, Jack puts his faith in a God he'd never truly trusted, praying for a miracle when one nightmare leads into a heart-wrenching dream that shakes his world forever.

 

Jack and Erin are two souls forged by fate and bound together by an extraordinary love, but is their bond strong enough to keep them together across an immeasurable distance… or are some dreams just not meant to come true?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Colby Lynn
• Release date: Jan 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201565688

Book preview

~ 1 ~

Awarm breeze blows across the road, barely cool enough to bring any relief to the refugees gathered in front of the disabled Winnebago. The oppressive North Carolina heat seems to be concentrated on this small patch of asphalt on the Smokey Park Highway, a nice, wooded stretch somewhere between Canton and Candler. Beating down on their caravan, it weighs heavily on their skin and in their souls.

Jack lifts the Marine Corp baseball cap from his head, wipes the sweat from his brow with his wrist, and draws a deep breath of hot, sticky air. Driving the last two hours, he’d enjoyed the ride through the Carolina countryside, facing only a few minor obstructions along the way. With Erin riding shotgun beside him, along with his son, his sister, and three more of their closest friends filling the seats behind them, he could pretend it was a family vacation instead of a dangerous journey through a land of apocalyptic evil. The conversation had been light and easy, sharing stories of friendly escapades and challenging each other to miscellaneous trivia questions as the miles rolled by. He welcomed the reprieve, a temporary escape from the grisly grind they have been living for the past six weeks. Making fairly good time, he’d hung onto the hope of making Savannah, their final destination, before nightfall. But when the camper in his rearview rolled slowly to the side of the road, stalling to a stop behind a plume of gray smoke, the direness of their situation stepped back into the bright and bitter spotlight once again.

Standing at the bumper of Billy’s old Winnebago, Jack watches Renny’s hands disappear into the guts of the engine, and waits for the prognosis of the dying RV. It doesn’t take long.

I don’t know if I can save her again, Jack, Renny reports, head and hands still leaning into his overheated patient. If I can fix it, we might make it a few more miles but she ain’t gonna last much longer than that. Not with that hose.

Jack’s mind races behind the fist pressed into his eyes, spinning a web from one idea to the next until he can tie it all together and trap the strategy inside. It doesn’t take long. Alright, it’s only about ten miles to Asheville so I’ll go on ahead to see if I can steal a hose from one of the car dealerships up there.

I’ll come with you, Renny says, wiping a greasy hand down his hunting vest.

No, stay here and see what you can do with that old hose, Jack tells him. Just in case I can’t find the right size. Renny doesn’t look happy but he doesn’t argue about it.

Maybe I should come with you, Jack. A softly-spoken northeastern accent slips inconspicuously between the brawny shoulders of Tucker and Henry, standing at the fender of the camper across from George and Stan. A half dozen heads turn to look at Marla, their expressions of curiosity matching the mild bewilderment on Jack’s face. He watches her swallow hard, the sudden heat of the spotlight she’d stepped into stealing the moisture from her mouth. He lifts his brows, encouraging her to elaborate, despite the slightly dubious glint in his eyes. She visibly squares her shoulders, holding her own with the men staring down at her petite five-foot-three frame. Jack admires her tenacity, especially when Billy steps forward to defend her case, only to be sidelined when she coughs once and then plows full steam ahead. My grandmother lived in Asheville and I spent a few summers with her before she died. Marla blinks away a flicker of sadness and continues, It’s been a few years but I remember the area. I know the street where all the dealerships are, and there’s also a big body shop just before you get into the city. They might have what we need there so you could stay out of the city itself.

A proud smile shines on Billy’s face as he looks at his young bride. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he presses a kiss to her temple and then turns his gaze to Jack. I’ll come too, he offers, and then tilts his head to rest against hers. Can’t let Marla have all the fun.

After a brief hesitation – in that minuscule scrap of a moment where doubt peeks its nose around the foundation of best laid plans and best intentions, Jack accepts the offer with a nod to the young couple. Okay, you guys are with me then. The three of us will search Asheville while Renny works on the hose back here.

Jack? Stella calls from beside Marla. Won’t all the cars in the dealer’s lots be fried from the surge?

Yes, the electrical systems will be shot but we won’t need to drive the car, just open the hood to get the hose out.

I still think there’s a way to re-hotwire all those cars, Renny utters, staring into the engine of the camper for some kind of clue.

Maybe, Ren, and if anyone can figure that out, it’ll be you, Jack says. But for now, I need you to concentrate on that hose. He pats his friend’s shoulder with brotherly affection and then scans the small crowd, touching his gaze to each set of eyes before him, a quick light upon Tucker, Henry, Paul, Stan and Stella, and a little heavier, lingering trace on the faces of Erin and Kelly, who have just stepped out of the Winnebago. Alright, listen up. He raises his voice to reach the top of the RV where Paul is currently keeping watch. It’s quiet right now but I want everyone to stay alert. Two teams on watch, you know the drill. He raises an arm toward the stretch of trees about thirty yards from the road. Keep an eye on those woods. He turns to meet Tucker’s eyes, putting the Indian in charge of security. Anything comes out that is bigger than you can handle, just leave the camper and meet us up in Asheville. He looks at Marla. Do you remember the name of that body shop?

Robert’s, she replies. It sits back off the road a bit but there’s a big sign at the entrance. It should be easy enough to find.

Alright, that’s the plan then. If you guys need to bail out, that’s where we’ll meet.

Can I come too, Dad? Christopher calls as he climbs out of the van and rushes to his father’s side. He peers up at Jack from beneath the brim with the gold eagle emblem. Please?

Jack frowns down at his young son, torn between wanting to keep him safe with the larger group here, and keeping him safe himself with Billy and Marla. Not knowing where the next shit storm is going to land, it’s a toss-up either way in this unpredictable world. He gives in to Chris’s pleading eyes. Sure, why not? He taps the edge of Christopher’s hat, the light in his son’s eyes giving him hope that he’s made the right decision, offering the boy a little happiness in the midst of a hellish existence. He leans down to bring them face to face, leaving no room for distractions to interfere with his next command. You just stay by my side and listen to every word I say. Okay?

Yes, sir, Chris responds solemnly, and then grins wide as he taps two fingers against the bill of Jack’s own hat.

Alright, Jack chuckles at the gesture. Let’s go. He squeezes his son’s shoulder and then steps toward Erin for a quick farewell before grabbing his pack of ponchos and salt weapons.

Sitting behind the wheel of George’s Santa Fe twenty minutes later, Billy’s voice pulls Jack out of his introspective thoughts of what a thriving world this was just a short time ago. On his left, an endless line of freight train cars stream past his window, reminding him of the days when the tracks hummed with life on a daily basis. But today, with many of the cars covered in five decades of overgrowth – in no particular order or conceivable pattern – it seems like a modern-day dinosaur, waiting in the blistering sun until enough d`ust and time render it completely extinct.

He looks ahead through the dirty windshield of the Hyundai to see what Billy is pointing at. He catches the name ‘Robert’ stenciled in bold blood-red on a large sign just up the road on the outskirts of Asheville. The large lot is jammed with cars – dented, disabled and left for dead, like so many other once-valued pieces of machinery in this post-apocalyptic world. Jack maneuvers George’s car between a battered Chevy and a maimed Mitsubishi, parking among a slew of ruined steel after completing a tight k-turn to leave it facing out toward the road, in case they need to escape in a hurry.

Can we go inside the shop, Dad? Chris asks, eyes full of adventure as his empty belly protests their lack of food with a loud growl.

Yeah, maybe we’ll get lucky and find something to eat in the office, huh? Jack replies. Let’s get the ponchos on and we’ll go through the garage to get to the lot out back. That’s where the vans and trucks will be parked, he says as all four doors click open around him.

When they are covered in Mylar and the salt rifle sways reassuringly against his back, he grips his revolver on high alert as he leads the team through the expansive parking lot. He sees an office door with ‘Roberts Auto Repair Center’ stenciled on the glass pane, next to three large bays, one of them opened to reveal a Volkswagen bug left suspended up on the hydraulic lifts. Stay close, okay? Jack tells his son.

I will. Come on, Marla, Chris says as he tugs on the sleeve of the young woman’s poncho. His thin chest puffs out with an inherent desire to protect the lone female of the group. But remembering how Marla had handled a gun at their last training session, Jack knows she is not as helpless as Chris seems to believe.

Jack walks cautiously into the open garage. The smell of oil, grease and metal permeates the air as he steps onto the cement floor of the work area. Turning to the right, he sees two more vehicles waiting to be repaired. The first one is a dusty taxi with a nice big dent in the front fender, probably from a deer. The thought of a deer brings an unwelcome vision to the forefront of his mind: the memory of Gil hunched over a dead animal. His heart stutters and he quickly blinks away the image. He looks past the taxi and his heart stutters once more, not in sorrow this time but in joy, for in the farthest bay, in the light of the opened rear bay door, shines an old Winnebago, one that looks an awful lot like the camper that a young couple once received as a wedding present.

Well, look at that, Billy says as he comes up beside Jack.

Jack matches the grin on the younger man’s face. Unless that thing is in here for a new hose, I think we just hit the jackpot.

Marla takes one step past Billy and tilts her head, studying the RV at various angles. Wow, except for the coloring, that looks just like ours.

Jack stares at the camper like a glowing oasis. Somewhat awestruck, he smiles like he’s found the answer to their prayers, which, he quickly realizes, is exactly what they’ve found. Thank you, baby Jesus.

Alright, let’s go rescue that hose. Billy leads the way and they make quick work of extracting the part from the engine. It’s far from new but it is in much better shape than the current hose hissing and spitting in the belly of their own Winnebago.

Can we go in the office now, Dad? Chris asks, taking a break in his study of all the interlocking rods and shafts on the underside of the perched Beetle.

Yeah, just let me check it out first, Jack says as he drops the hose into the pack on Billy’s back. He slips the salt rifle from his shoulder, aiming its barrel toward the office. Ready, Billy?

Yeah, I got you covered, Billy replies with a click of his flashlight and clack of his pistol.

Jack walks over to the partially opened door connecting the office and the shop. Moving slowly, he scans the space for danger. Some daylight seeps through the clouds and into the front window, but there are plenty of dark corners for all kinds of evil to lurk.

We’re clear, Jack reports when he sees no movement in the darkness. He glances around the room in a futile search for food, seeing nothing more enticing than the spice scented air fresheners on a rack beside the service counter. He steps around the counter to check the employee’s personal space and strikes gold – Rold Gold to be exact. He grabs the bag of pretzel rods along with its companion: a half empty bag of sour cream and onion Doritos. Anything in there? he calls to Billy, who has followed his flashlight into the office off of the customer waiting area.

Yeah, the young man replies when he steps out again. I got a bottle of water and two root beers.

Perfect. That’ll wash this down. Jack slides the pretzels along the counter.

Billy snatches the bag before it sails off the end, and then his eyes go wide as he looks up toward the front window. Oh shit, the young man breathes, nearly dropping a root beer when Christopher’s voice ricochets off all the metal in the garage, utter fear filling the building with a single word.

Dad!

~ 2 ~

G o, go, go! Jack rushes out of the office waving his arm toward the back doors of the garage. Everyone out the back! he orders in a hushed holler, keeping his voice low so as not to draw the attention of the horde of shifters spilling out from the woods and crossing the street at an alarming rate. They stand about a hundred wide and twenty deep, lurching and lethargic, covering the road in an army of swaying decay. Moving steadily across the road, they march upon the parking lot, sifting between the vehicles and cutting off any chance of escape down the Smokey Park Highway.

With a hand gripping Chris’s shoulder, Jack guides the group out of the large bay door behind their steel-wheeled savior, the old Winnebago. They step out onto a strip of grass that meets a field of dirt and gravel. An assortment of vans and trucks in various stages of destruction fills the field that leads up to the railroad tracks. Looking at the train sitting about a hundred yards behind the garage, Jack sees a barrier that just may keep them safe. A red boxcar catches his attention, sitting straight ahead of them with its doors opened on both sides, providing an ideal escape for the living while the mindless shifters get corralled against the coupling mechanisms that connect each boxcar and covered hopper. Look, see that red train car? He aims a finger out above the collection of disheveled automobiles between them and the tracks. We’ll hop through there and jump down on the other side. It’s our only chance. He looks down at his son. Panic swims desperately in the wide eyes looking up at him and Jack wishes he’d left Christopher back at the camper with the others. We’ll be okay, Bud. You just run like hell, no matter what. You get to that car and jump out to the field on the other side, you hear me? The boy nods his head quickly, clearly terrified but trusting his father.

Let’s go! Billy whispers hotly as he grabs Marla’s hand and sets off at a mad dash toward the open train car.

Jack clutches Chris’s hand as they follow suit, weaving through the vehicles of the gearshift graveyard. Rounding the bumper of a dirty, dented Chevy Express work van, he pulls Chris forward and then lets his hand go, giving his son the freedom to run faster while he brings up the rear, keeping himself between the horde and the thing he loves most in the world. He glances back, horrified to see the entire flock of shufflers shift like a swarm of bees, now buzzing around the building that houses the garage. They’ve increased their speed from merely meandering aimlessly to downright pursuit. Shit! he curses under his breath as he pushes Chris to run faster. Go, go, go!

Billy reaches the boxcar first and grabs onto a handle bolted to the side of the large doorway. He quickly scrambles up and in, and then turns back to help his wife. Jack watches Marla spring upward, her arms nearly pulled from their sockets with the force of Billy’s hoist. When Chris reaches the car, Jack drops the salt rifle and grips his thin waist, preparing to heave him into Billy’s waiting arms. He bends his knees to support his precious load and thrusts his son upward, inadvertently tossing him onto the hardwood floor when Billy suddenly disappears from the doorway. A knee-crunching grunt from Christopher and a startled groan from Billy are quickly drowned out by the shrieking of Marla’s terrified, pain-stricken squeal. With his feet still on the ground and his heart hammering in horror, Jack leans into the boxcar, the cold metal doorframe pressing hard against his belly as he peers into the gloomy side sections, kept hidden from the light pooled just inside the doorway.

Marla! Billy screams as his young wife is shrouded in a thick black cape of evil. Her cries are muffled as her chin is drawn upward, held in place by the dark form that is stealing the life from her. Its yellow-green eyes hover beside her ear, like a lover courting with whispers of sweet nothings. But the glowing eyes hold a more sinister appeal, revealing nothing sweet at all, its embrace full of pure wickedry and malice.

Jack grabs the rifle from the gravel as Billy lunges from the floor of the train. He gets the shot off as Billy grabs onto Marla’s hand. The salt round misses the creature’s eyes but the impact to the side of its head is enough to stun it for a few moments. The shadow releases its hold and Marla falls into Billy’s arms. He pulls her into the light of the back doorway, away from the horror now crouched in the darkness. Weakened, it drifts just a few feet above the floor, its slitted eyes gleaming, glaring at Jack. He takes aim, focusing intently, fighting to keep his shoulders steady; it’s all he can do to keep from shrugging against the spidery unease slithering up his spine. The blast echoes off the train car as a cyclone of ash and misery swirls within its walls. Jack scrambles up and clutches Chris to his side, turning him away from the terrible tempest. Leaning over, he curls himself around his son, shielding his small body with his much larger one. Chris feels tiny in his embrace, helpless. In all the times he has held his son in the last ten years, he has never felt so fragile. And Jack has never felt so powerless.

When the whirlwind ends and the shadow is nothing but a small heap of sand on the hardwood floor, Jack relaxes his hold and turns to see Billy sitting with Marla in his lap, stroking her hair tenderly as tears stream in a torrent down his cheeks.

Oh, God! What did you do, Mar? Why did you do that? Billy cries, rocking her in his arms as despair pulls great sobs from his chest. Oh my God, baby, why did you do that?

I’m sorry, Marla murmurs, her voice as weak and limp as her body. He was going to attack you. She struggles for a lungful of air. I couldn’t let... she continues but her confession is drowned out beneath the moans of her husband.

Why did you push me away? You shouldn’t have pushed me away! He cries into her neck, the slender column now pale and bubbly with frostbite. It should’ve been me, it should’ve been me. He lifts his head abruptly, somewhat angrily, but his expression softens when he looks down at her again. It’s okay, babe, you’re gonna be okay. He didn’t get you long enough, not nearly long enough. He tries to soothe her as he smoothes a hand over her hair. You’re just winded, you’ll bounce back, you’ll see.

Marla shakes her head slightly and closes her eyes, as if that tiny movement has sapped her last scrap of energy. When she looks at her husband again, it is clear that she is fading fast under her hooded eyes and pallid cheeks. I’m so tired, Billy. Just let me go.

With Christopher crying in his arms, Jack chokes on the lump in his throat as his eyes burn with blistering sorrow. Unable to hold them back, the tears seep silently down his cheeks, weeping for the young woman they’ve all grown so fond of.

Don’t leave me, Mar, Billy hiccups into her hair and then leans back to see her face, his eyes begging hers to hold his gaze. You can’t leave me. I can’t do this without you.

Yes, you can, she murmurs, barely above a whisper, and then shifts her eyes to Jack. Take care of him.

Jack wipes a fist beneath his nose and swallows hard. He wants to say that he will. He wants to say that he is sorry, so damned sorry for what’s happened. He wants to say so much but emotion has thickened his throat and paralyzed his tongue. He holds her fading gaze and nods his head, his shoulders sagging under the weight of two young lives and a future lost.

Nooo! Billy howls like a man suffering unbearable pain.

Jack drags his eyes from the couple and recoils slightly when he sees the shifters moving through the back lot at an unsettling pace, closing the gap with gnarly hands and snarling teeth nipping at the hot, humid air. He puts a sympathetic hand on Billy’s shoulder. We can’t stay here, he says softly. Do you need help carrying her?

Billy sniffles hard and shakes his head. No, I’ve got her.

Okay. There’s a park with a gazebo on the other side of this field, looks no more than a half mile out. We’ll get her there, alright?

Alright, Billy agrees, never taking his eyes from his wife. You hear that, sweetheart? Do you want to see the pretty gazebo? Just stay with me, okay? Her lips form the word Yes but her voice isn’t loud enough to even qualify as a whisper.

With dread, panic and courage all vying for control, Jack’s mind