Page 9 of Echos and Empires (After #3)

Emma thought about the children on the island, the ones who had never known a world before the bombs. The ones who grew up in this harsh reality, but who still found ways to laugh, to play, to dream. Didn’t they deserve a chance to learn, to grow, to become more than just survivors?

The more she considered it, the more right it felt. She might not have a degree, but she had a quick mind, a patient demeanor, and a deep well of compassion. She could learn, adapt, figure it out as she went. Isn’t that what they were all doing, every single day in this brave new world?

A sudden wave of nausea interrupted Emma’s inner turmoil, forcing her to close her eyes and breathe deeply through her nose. The smell of Ranger’s wet fur tried to choke her even though he hadn’t been in the room in hours.

She cursed inwardly. This illness, whatever it was, was terribly annoying.

She’d survived the apocalypse, fought off assholes, built a life from the ashes of the old world, and found love when it should have been impossible. A little stomach bug wasn’t going to stop her.

As the nausea began to subside, Emma let her mind drift back to her newfound dream. Teaching. Guiding young minds, helping to shape the future. It was a daunting prospect, but also an exciting one. A challenge she could rise to. A way to make a real difference.

Bash’s face when she told him she was serious about this made her question if the others would accept it, or be as hard to read as he was. The surprise, maybe a little skepticism. But also, she hoped, pride. Pride in her, in her determination to build something good in this broken world.

Now she just had to get through this damned illness so she could get started talking to the council about how she could start.

Sighing, Emma rolled over and pulled the covers up around her shoulders. This puking thing had to resolve itself, first.

One step at a time. That’s how they’d made it this far. And that’s how they’d keep going, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

Just as Emma thought she could go help in the kitchen, the nausea roared back to life, jolting her upright. With one hand pressed to her stomach, she flung the other over her mouth as she fought back the urge to retch.

Do not run to the bathroom. Running implies you are going to puke. This isn’t that. Not again.

For a few tense moments, she sat perfectly still, breathing deeply through her nose, willing her rebellious gut to settle. Gradually, the wave of sickness began to subside, fading back to a manageable queasiness.

Emma slumped back against the pillows, exhausted by the brief battle with her own body. This was getting ridiculous. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this consistently ill.

A part of her wanted to brush it off, to blame it on a bad bit of fish or a 24-hour stomach bug.

Things like that happened, even in the best of times.

A touch of food poisoning wasn’t exactly uncommon, but she’d never had that to know how it would differ from the flu, which this felt a surprising amount like.

But another part of her, a part she was trying very hard to ignore, whispered that this felt different.

This felt...wrong, somehow. The persistent fatigue, the way the nausea seemed to come and go with no rhyme or reason.

It wasn’t like any stomach bug she’d had before.

She was going on day three, even though she’d pulled off hiding the vomiting the last two days with the guys all busy at work.

In the old world, she would have just called a doctor, gotten some tests done, maybe a prescription.

But that world was gone. Now, every cough, every fever, every bout of unexplained illness carried with it a very real threat.

They had limited medical supplies, and even more limited medical knowledge because there were no specialists here.

If this is something serious...

Emma cut off her line of thought before it could fully form, shaking her head as if to physically dislodge the creeping fear.

No. She couldn’t think like that. Couldn’t let herself spiral into worst-case scenarios.

That way lay madness, and they’d all had more than enough of that to last a lifetime.

But still, the worry gnawed at her. Should she tell the others?

Bash already knew something was wrong, she could see it in the way he watched her, the crease of concern between his brows.

And he was right to be worried. In this world, hiding an illness could be dangerous, not just for her but for everyone.

If she was contagious, if this was the start of something that could spread, didn’t she owe it to everyone?

Emma pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, trying to think through the pounding in her head.

She didn’t want to cause undue alarm. Didn’t want to add to the constant stress they all lived under.

If this turned out to be nothing, just a bad few days, she’d never forgive herself for putting them all through that unnecessary worry.

But if it wasn’t nothing? If it was something worse, something that could threaten not just her health, but the fragile stability of their little community? Could she live with that guilt, that knowledge that she’d put them all at risk for the sake of her own pride?

Rest , she decided. Give her body a chance to fight this off, whatever it was. And if, come morning, she wasn’t feeling better, well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. For now, all she could do was trust in her own strength, in the resilience that had gotten her this far.

Emma let out a long, shuddering breath, feeling the tension drain from her muscles as she sank back into the mattress. Tomorrow , she told herself. Tomorrow you’ll be better.

The only sound was the distant clatter of Bash moving about in the kitchen. She yearned to slip into the oblivion of sleep, to escape for a few precious hours into a world without pain or fear or uncertainty. But her mind wouldn’t settle, thoughts chasing each other in dizzy, feverish circles.

Despite the stubborn front she’d put up for Bash, the truth was that Emma was scared. Scared of this illness, of what it might mean. Scared of letting the others down, of becoming a burden rather than an asset.

All her life, she’d prided herself on her strength, her ability to handle anything the world threw at her.

But this new world, this harsh and unforgiving reality they’d inherited, it tested her in ways she’d never been tested before.

Every day was a struggle, a constant fight against hunger, disease, despair.

And some days, in her darkest moments, Emma wondered if she was really cut out for it.

She thought of the others, of Bash and Chris and all the rest, working tirelessly from dawn to dusk to keep their little community afloat.

Hunting, farming, building, standing guard against the myriad threats that lurked beyond the walls.

And what had she been doing? Puttering around in the kitchen, tending a few measly crops.

Was that really enough? Was she pulling her weight, earning her keep?

These were the thoughts that kept her up at night, that crept in whenever she had a moment to herself.

The nagging sense that she was an imposter, playing at post-apocalyptic survival while the real work was being done by others.

That sooner or later, they’d all realize the truth - that she was dead weight, a liability, a remnant of the old world that had no place in the new.

But then, like a beacon cutting through the fog of self-doubt, Emma remembered her conversation with Bash. The way her heart had leaped at the thought of teaching, of helping to shape the next generation. The sense of purpose it had given her, brief and tenuous though it was.

That was something, wasn’t it? A way she could contribute, could make a real difference. It wouldn’t be easy—nothing in this life was. She’d have to work harder than she ever had before, learn and adapt and push herself to the limit. But Emma had never been one to shy away from a challenge.

It wouldn’t be the future she’d once imagined, back when she still thought she’d work in a library. There would be no cozy classrooms, no eager young faces lined up in neat rows. But it would be something. A start, a seed of hope in the barren soil of this shattered earth.