Echoes of Hope: Willow Tree Trilogy, #2

By Colby Lynn

One nurse.  One soldier.  One extraordinary leap of faith.

 

In a dangerous world full of demons and despair, Jack and Erin continue to share dreams which lead them toward a sanctuary on the coast.  Along with their small band of colorful cohorts, Jack takes Erin on a treacherous journey eastward. The miles are filled with a passion he'd never known, a desperation he'd never felt, and a hope he holds onto with every breath he takes… for he knows in his soul he will lose part of himself along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Colby Lynn
• Release date: Jan 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201267810

Book preview

~ 1 ~

Three moons shine down on the Raven Run Nature Preserve, a wooded parkland on the edge of Lexington. In a quiet clearing beside the Kentucky River, a soft breeze stirs the trees surrounding the campsite, a tight gathering of seven tents, twelve cars, a couple of tables, a slew of mismatched camp chairs, and one old Winnebago. It’s been thirty days since the surge, when a random two-thirds of the earth’s population was turned to dust in a blitz of blinding light. The survivors do their best to carry on, in a land where evil breathes in shadows and monsters roam the streets. While the world continues to heal, physically and emotionally, this newfound family, thrown together by circumstance and desperation, as loving and hating as any dysfunctional family with true blood ties, continues to persevere in their fight for a life worth living.

As their little band of castaways settles in for another night beside the river, Jack inhales the aroma of smoke, laced with the remnants of trout. Erin shifts on the blanket in front of him and he tilts his chin to her hair, breathing in the berry scent of her shampoo. Directly behind him, lying upon the cushioned bench of a repurposed car seat, his ten-year-old son Christopher mumbles something in his sleep, a distorted murmur about catching a big fish. Knowing the frequent nightmares his son has suffered lately, like most people these days, Jack is happy to hear a smile in this particular dream. You get that fish, bud.

He thinks of the latest dream he’d shared with Erin, two nights ago. They were back at the cabin, lying on a plaid blanket beneath the whispery arms of the great weeping willow tree. They weren’t talking about anything of great importance, just enjoying each other’s company as the little duckling waddled along the shore of the lake. Of all the incredible dreams they’d shared over the last few weeks, the ones at his grandfather’s cabin have meant the most, even if they weren’t the most meaningful. He’d give anything to get her there for real. Maybe someday... if they ever get off this remote patch of earth. He rolls his left shoulder, releasing a soft groan at the dull ache blooming through his upper chest, still healing from the bullet that cut a path through his body a few days ago.

Are you hurting again? Do you want to switch? Erin asks, leaning forward at the sound of his discomfort, a sound he thought he’d held in.

No, come here. He tightens his arms around her shoulders and guides her back to rest against his chest again, encircling her within his arms and spread knees. It’s just sore after fishing with Chris today.

You should be using the sling still. Three days is not nearly enough.

It’s really not that bad. I just aggravated it today. I’ll rest it tomorrow and then it’ll be as good as new.

He feels the brush of her lips against his forearm as he turns his focus back to the post-dinner conversation, which has moved from a discussion of the Seven Wonders of the World to local Kentucky and their immediate vicinity. He bends his knee to put some distance between the fire and his very warm boot, and listens to George ask about other places that may keep the shadows at bay and the shifters out.

We could look at the other schools around. See if they are fenced in, Paul replies from his seat across the low burning flames.

All the schools will be within city limits or on the very edge of town – too close to the more populated areas to be shadow-free and shifter safe, Gil voices from his tree stump on the other side of Chris and Kelly’s car seat. Even if they have fences, they won’t stay up too long. Like I said before, we’re safer right here, away from everything.

For how long? Diane asks from her spot on Gil’s left. They’re going to make their way up here eventually.

And nylon tents won’t protect us, Henry adds as he stokes the fire and sends a spray of sparks skyward.

Then we run to the cars, Gil replies with an exasperated frown. We all know the drill – as soon as Mickey up there, or whoever’s on watch, calls the alarm, we get in the cars and meet down the road.

What if he doesn’t see them in time? Pete asks quietly from his seat next to George.

Jack looks to his right and narrows his eyes at Pete’s somber expression. The blood in his veins floats on a chilly current as Pete fixes a dark gaze on Al, sitting alone at his own fire across the camp.

What if we can’t get to the cars? Pete continues in a soft monotone without taking his eyes off of Al.

A profoundly quiet man, Jack has thought of Pete as a private person who doesn’t waste his breath. He speaks with weighted words; every syllable carrying an oath, an accolade, a warning, or a counsel. In the week that he has known him, Jack has come to listen to the man with his gut as much as his ears. Now, ignoring the dull ache in his shoulder as he leans forward slightly to peer around the curve of Erin’s forehead, he watches the quiet man and follows the invisible line between Pete and Al as a knot starts to curl in his gut.

~ 2 ~

The blue-black night stretches high above the campsite. In an unplugged land where smog and light pollution is no longer a burden to the beauty of the sky, thousands of stars gaze down, along with three half-moons, shining hopeful and sympathetic on this harsh new world. The North Star, Polaris, shines brighter than the rest, proudly twinkling as the headliner of the famous band known as Ursa Minor, or more commonly known as, the Little Dipper. Six weeks ago, this constellation was barely visible on the clearest night, with four out of the seven stars barely beating bright enough to see without the help from a telescope. Tonight, all seven members of the group are jamming in the inky sea for all the world to admire. Or at least the northern hemisphere anyway.

Sitting on top of the Winnebago, the camp chair creaks beneath Erin as she lifts her arm to scratch her wrist at the cuff of her long-sleeve tee shirt. Twisted in her seat, her feet rest comfortably upon Jack’s thighs, stretched out from the matching chair next to hers, angled toward each other to provide the best views in defending the camp. With the river behind them, Erin watches the area to the right of the camper while Jack watches beyond her shoulder to the left, with enough range between them to keep a protective eye on the breadth of woods across the field in front of them.

A cacophony of sparks dance about the clearing from the multitude of fireflies flitting above the grassy expanse. She doesn’t know the science behind them, but Erin would like to believe that they are speaking to their mates, calling to each other with a unique pattern of coded flashes that only their one true love can understand. Of course they are probably just lighting up to get it on with any bug that responds, but over the past week, she has found herself completely immersed in the heart-stopping, world-rocking, grin-riddled wonder of being hopelessly, helplessly, head over heels in love. She’d never thought of herself as much of a romantic, but Jack has definitely flashed a special light from his heart to hers, putting a song in her soul with a tune that she’d never heard before she’d met him. God, how’s that for sappy romance?! Like a young teenager filled with the dream of riding off into the sunset with her Harlequin hero, the promise of wonderful, immeasurable possibilities lies before her on the path to happily ever after.

If only she could hang onto that dream.

But the clock is ticking on their peaceful existence along the river and she won’t be able to keep Jack all to herself for much longer. They’ve been joined at the hip for the past week, quite literally, while he recuperated from his injury, but he’s been itching to get back up to fighting weight so he can carry his share of the load with the rest of the men.  Watching him stack the firewood this afternoon with seemingly very little discomfort, she knows it won’t be much longer now. The thought squeezes her heart before dropping down to tumble unsettled in her belly. After a wonderful week of laughing and loving – between bouts of fervent arguing followed by fiery passion – it is going to be incredibly hard to let him go again. For now, she’ll hold onto him for as long as she can. She slips her hand back under his where it rests upon her thigh, and focuses on his voice, speaking softly in the darkness as he tells her a story about a night out with Gil during their senior year of high school.

So we go into the Wendy’s on Alexandria, the one over by the shops. We got our shakes and french fries and we’re looking for a table. A big group comes in, four guys and two girls. And this big dude is being a total dick to his girlfriend, a cute little blonde. He was ordering her around and just treating her like crap.

Trying to be cool in front of his friends, Erin adds, picturing the scene in her mind.

Without a doubt, Jack agrees. And she’s just taking it, he continues. I mean, she obviously didn’t like it, but she wasn’t arguing with him or anything.

What did you do?

Not me – Gil. He threw a french fry at the guys back to pick a fight. But the guy didn’t notice so Gil threw a handful of fries at him, hitting him in the back of his neck.

He must’ve noticed that.

He did, but he didn’t see who threw it. He whips around and sees me before he sees Gil. He assumed I had done it and takes a swing at me.

What did you do?

I ducked, of course, he replies and she smiles at his slightly caustic tone, as if he is stating the obvious. And then Gil snapped. He went off on the guy, dragged him outside and beat the holy hell out of him.

Didn’t his friends jump in?

No, I told them to stay out of it and they did. She gives him a dubious look that begs to know why three teenage boys would back down from just one.  

I was bigger than them. She gives him another look that questions the degree of intimidation his lean teenage frame would have imposed.

He concedes with a small nod and raised eyebrows. And they really didn’t want to mess with the crazy bastard pounding the shit out of their friend.

So Gil defended the honor of a girl he didn’t even know? That’s sweet.

"No, that’s not it. Yes, he picked a fight because of the way he was treating the girl. But Gil went crazy because the guy took a swing at me."

"Oh, he was defending your honor then. She grins at him. That’s very sweet, too."

Not my honor, exactly. But Gil was always there for me. Always.

He thinks of you as a brother, and that really is very sweet. She has witnessed their brotherly bond many times over the past few weeks. Even when they disagree on something, they always have each other’s back in the end. So what happened to the girl?

The next night, Gil picks me up in his shiny black Jeep. I swear he spent more time checking his reflection in the hood of that car than he did in the bathroom mirror. Anyway, we pull up to this big house over by Constitution Park. An older guy answers the door, greeting us with a thick Swedish accent and a preacher’s collar.

Oh Lord.

Exactly.

Did you turn around and leave?

Nope. Gil musters up his best Sunday manners and says, ‘Evenin’, Reverend. Is Wendy home on this blessed day? We’re on our way to a Christian youth group gathering at the bowling alley and thought she might like to join us.’

Seriously? Erin asks with a chuckle.  

Well we were on our way to a group of youth’s gathering, but the balls weren’t for bowling and the only Christian thing going on was the praying that the guys were doing in hopes of getting the girls into the lake for little touchy feely under the water.

Her chuckle bubbles over into a hearty laugh. Oh yeah? Did you get lucky yourself that night? she asks, imagining a young Jack Quinlan flirting with a classmate. Were your prayers answered?

Nah, my prayers weren’t answered until I touched a fiery redhead in a river. He lifts her hand to his mouth for a tender kiss on the inside of her wrist.

Her flutter blushes at his touch and the memory of their first time making love. And what about Gil and the girl, Wendy was her name?

No, actually. That’s the funny part – her name was really Wanda, but because he’d met her at the Wendy’s he couldn’t get it straight in his head. Kept calling her Wendy all night long.

Oh jeez. He asked for Wendy when he spoke to her father at the door, didn’t he?

Yes, and the guy probably thought Gil’s funny American accent was the reason he’d pronounced his daughter’s name wrong. He gave us a weird look, but before he could say anything, the blonde girl comes running down the steps behind him and the three of us are climbing into the Jeep.

Erin recalls a scene from ‘Footloose’, one of her go-to DVD’s during her chemotherapy treatments. Preacher’s daughter looking to have some fun.

No doubt. So we go meet up with our friends at the lake and Gil introduces her to everyone as Wendy. And no matter how many times she corrects him, he can’t get it right.

Did she get annoyed?

No, she’d just laugh and correct him again. She was so cool about it, and by the end of the night, she was calling herself Wendy.

That’s pretty funny.

It was funny. And it was a really clear night with a ton of stars, like we’re seeing now. Gil thought he could impress her by pointing out the Little Dipper.

Was she impressed?

"No, she ended up giving him the astronomy lesson. Turned out he was pointing to the Big Dipper. She had to show him where the Little Dipper was."

Erin looks up to the heavens and scans across the speckled sky. It doesn’t take her long to find what she is looking for. That’s it right there, isn’t it? She aims a finger upward, pointing to a cluster of stars above them to the north. With the North Star at the end of the handle, right?

Yup, and then just below the ladle to the right is the Big Dipper. See it? He takes her hand and brings it down a few degrees, roughly an inch or so in earthbound measurements.

I see it. God, everything is so clear up there now.

And Libra should be over here somewhere. Let’s see..., he murmurs, scanning the sky as the crickets sing and the fireflies continue to dance.

That’s the one with the scales, right?

Yes... and there it is. He moves her hand lower again and to the left. Dragging it from one star to another, he outlines the sides of a somewhat lopsided house with a pitched roof.

Well I, for one, am very impressed. Did you learn that from the Swedish girl?

No. My grandfather taught me. He said if you could read the sky you could always find your way home.

Sounds like a very smart man.

He was.

He was worried about you.

He was. Jack’s reply is so low that Erin barely hears it as he looks down at his lap, hiding the shame he’s been carrying for all of his adult life.

You found your way back from the alcohol though. I’m sure he was proud of you, Jack.

Jack nods his head slowly, thoughtfully. He was. He gives her a smile that outshines the remorse lurking quietly in the deepest chambers of his heart. Then he blinks and a pang of heartache sneaks back in, dulling his expression once more. But now it is dimmed with the grief of losing a loved one more than the regret of disappointing one.

So tell me more about the party at the lake, she asks, offering a diversion from the   painful memories. Did you go to this lake often?

Often enough, I guess. I met Sheila there a few weeks later.

Ah, that’s where she got her hooks in you, huh? Lured you out into the water for a little touchy feely, did she? Erin teases him to lighten the mood and is rewarded with a throaty chuckle.

Not exactly the way I remember it, but yeah, that’s where she got me.

Hook, line, and sinker, she adds before asking, How long were you two together before you got married?

Not nearly long enough. We were both way too young.

What were you, like twenty?

Yeah, and just barely at that.

So I guess I was..., she pauses, doing the math in her mind and then blurting out her answer, somewhat shocked at the number. Twelve years old when you were walking down the aisle.

Christ, now I feel old.

So while I was a pre-teen daydreaming about my knight in shining armor, he was seven-hundred miles away getting hitched to another girl.

Had I known what was waiting for me, I would’ve stayed single. I’d have waited a couple years and swept you right off your roller-skates.

But then you wouldn’t have Christopher. You can’t say he’s not worth every ounce of crap you and Sheila went through.

No, totally worth it. But to be honest, we didn’t really throw a lot of crap at each other. We just kind of drifted along together until we didn’t feel like drifting anymore.

Was it her decision or yours, in the end?

"Hers. I think she started to have feelings for someone else and my feelings for