Echo

Distrust burned in Layton's narrowed eyes. An older gentleman behind him—with black streaks among a mostly gray head of hair—lowered his rifle.

His mouth formed a grim line as he tilted his head and appeared to contemplate something. Then, while watching Echo, said over his shoulder, "Layton, stand down."

"Bishop Molina—"

"I told you to stand down," the man barked. "I want to speak to Ms. Adams."

"She's infected," Layton hissed. "Look at her arm. She'll get us all killed if we don't turn her over."

Bishop Molina moved swiftly, whirling around and ripping the gun from Layton's hands while somehow holding onto his own rifle. His glare was so fierce, the younger man stumbled backward. "This is not how we treat someone in need. If you disagree, tell me now, but we are not sending her across that wall. I don't trust those men; I think they'll do us harm whether we cooperate or not. But I do feel Ms. Adams' sincerity, and I want to speak to her without you pointing a gun in her face."

Layton's eyes widened and narrowed again before he spun on his heel and left the house, slamming the door behind him.

Sariah, who'd been standing nearby, sighed as she stared at the spot where her husband had just been. "I can take you to the office. No one will bother you there."

He nodded once and offered a slight, if distressed smile. "Thank you, Sister Holloway. Let those at the gate know not to respond to the military yet. I need to piece together more of the story before we make any decisions."

Dipping her head in acquiescence, she led them to the office with no hesitation as she looped her arm through Echo's, completely unafraid. Inside, there was a large sectional corner desk, bordered on each side with shelves filled with religious texts. Pictures of family hung on the free wall space, and candles had been placed on two end tables.

After careful lighting them, Sariah sat Echo on the office chair, excused herself, and returned with a second chair Bishop Molina. Once finished, she closed the door, leaving Echo alone with him.

They watched each other in silence for a moment, with Echo perched on the edge of her seat and tense, while the older man folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward. He kept his head cocked to one side and appeared relaxed as if Echo wasn't someone who could wipe out entire communities.

Finally, he spoke in a soft, rumbling tone like a warm fire on a cold night. "I suppose we should introduce ourselves. As you've likely guessed, I am the leader of our community. We're a small LDS centric group, and Bishop is merely a title. My name is José, but feel free to call me whatever you like."

Echo chewed her bottom lip while fixing her gaze on her lap. She couldn't relax her shoulders if she tried, nor could she stop her leg from bouncing with anxiety. She wanted Daniel with her, but was too afraid to request his presence.

"You do not need to fear me," José said, once it became clear Echo wouldn't speak. "I understand your anxiety, though. I'm a second-generation Mexican-American, and I've grown up with my share of anxiety regarding my nationality. I only wish to ask you some questions, okay?"

Echo nodded while scooting her chair backward an inch.

"May I open our discussion with a prayer?"

His request made Echo glance upward and meet his light brown eyes. She wouldn't have guessed his nationality; there was no accent, and his skin was fair, but she also appreciated his willingness to share that piece of his life with a complete stranger. Perhaps she could open up and tell him what he wanted to know, but she couldn't yet dispel her worries.

"I'm not religious, but sure."

Bishop Molina bowed his head and folded his arms.

Awkwardly, Echo did the same and listened patiently as he prayed for peace, clarity, and protection before ending the invocation and reopening his eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Adams. Is there a name you prefer to use? We do not need to stand on formality here."

"Just Echo," she replied quietly. "I don't remember anything about my life before I woke up in that facility."

Except her boyfriend whom she'd killed, but she didn't dare speak of him. Even now, she could see his ghostly form in the corner closest to the door, watching her with nothing but affection in his emerald eyes. It would be sweet if blood didn't stain his hair or ugly, salmon-colored tie. She wondered if that was his actual appearance in ghost form, or if that's how she recalled him. Echo wasn't even sure if she believed in ghosts. But she could feel his presence, even if the bishop took no notice of their visitor.

Did that make her crazy?

She hoped not.

"It's okay, Jean Bean," he whispered.

Her eyes widened as she swallowed, prompting José to glance behind him with a frown. Redirecting his attention to Echo, he asked, "Besides the current circumstances, is something wrong?"

Tears brimmed, and she shook her head. "I'd rather not discuss it. I recall one thing from my past, and it hurts too much to talk about."

Thankfully, he didn't press her for more clarification. "Understandable. We've all lost something precious during the outbreak. You do not need to tell me anything personal unless it pertains to my questions. I only want answers for our more immediate problem, all right?"

"Okay."

Their conversation lasted almost an hour, with the bishop listening intently. As promised, he didn't pry, nor did he treat her like a disease. He'd kept his body language open and amiable while maintaining the distance Echo had created.

His demeanor, along with Echo's dead boyfriend encouraging her from his corner (which he'd never left), helped ease her nerves throughout.

Eventually, she explained her experience in the facility: waking up confused and scared, the experiments and cruel treatment at Benson's hand, her memory loss, and the state of the authoritarian society the military had built. She recalled how Monica and Daniel had been her only true friends, and her escape with Daniel's help. And finally, her inexplicable resilience to the virus despite all odds. According to science, she should have been dead or worse, yet retained enough of herself not to fully turn and harm others.

Her story finished, Bishop Molina sat still in almost serene contemplation, keeping his expression devoid of judgment. His voice remained calm, even after learning she'd been supposedly bitten and infected.

"That is quite a story, and rather distressing at that. I'm sorry to learn you were treated so poorly. I said it before and I'll do so again; I do not trust these people. The Church warns against false prophets, and we should not blindly follow anyone just because they set themselves up in positions of power or knowledge. Though I do not fully understand how this man Benson has come to destroy humanity, I feel uneasy every time that facility sends broadcasts inviting the public to find them. If they do this to you—someone who has survived the outbreak firsthand—what will they do to others to replicate the results?"

Unable to provide an answer, Echo shrugged. She didn't doubt there were others like her; after all, someone else surely had resilience to the virus as well, but she wouldn't be surprised if José's speculation was on the nose.

In fact, his theory practically aligned with everything Monica and Daniel had told Echo while she'd been locked away in that sterile room. As far as she knew, this man had never interacted with the government, preferring instead to keep to himself and the secluded community across the Nevada border.

Running his hands through his salted hair, José sighed. "I think it would be best if you leave sooner rather than later. We can't keep the government out forever, and I'm not sure you'd be safe here either."

"What even is safety?" Echo asked with a humorless laugh. "No matter where Daniel and I go, we'll be a target for looters, zombies, or the government. Or we'll be shunned just because I'm missing an arm, and people, like Layton—" she paused to sweep her left arm toward the door, "will automatically assume the worst about me. But I'm not a zombie. I'm still me. Sort of. I mean, I couldn't tell you much about my past, but I'm not... mindless."

A deep crease lined José's forehead as he hung his had and frowned. "I know. I feel the sincerity of your words, and I see for myself you're not like others who have been bitten. Does anyone know about the location you're heading toward?"

Echo shook her head. "I don't think so. Daniel assured me that information was classified, so not even Benson knows where it is. We were promised it would be safe."

The ghost in the corner frowned, matching Bishop Molina's grim expression. What did that mean? Aside from calling her Jean Bean, this guy didn't say much. Yet another reason Echo couldn't be sure of his existence.

Scratching his chin, the older man hummed. "I suppose all I can do is pray on your behalf and send you on your way. You should have been provided with supplies; I'll make sure your friend receives an additional rifle."

"Aren't Mormons supposed to be against murder?" she blurted.

Shock momentarily froze the bishop's features before he suddenly chortled. Clutching his stomach and wiping his crinkly eyes, he said, "Gracious, Echo, there's a difference between self-defense and murder, but no, we don't condone willfully taking someone's life in cold blood. Regardless of religious text—which is riddled with violence on both sides—you must understand that you have a right to protect yourself. Although I hope you do not use that gun, I would much prefer you have it than find yourself unarmed."

He rubbed his palms on his thighs and grew serious again. "We do not have much time. Let us pray, and then you must be on your way."

And thus, Bishop closed their conversation with another invocation, and led Echo into the living room where Daniel paced nervously.

Upon seeing Echo, Daniel's eyes instantly brightened, and he was quickly by her side, slipping an arm around her waist.

Echo's dead boyfriend had mysteriously vanished.

Bemused, she followed Daniel outside, occasionally glancing over her shoulder.

They'd barely climbed into the truck when Sariah's footsteps crunched over the gravel, and she appeared to Bishop Molina beside the truck, out of breath.

Daniel's window was rolled down, so Echo leaned close to hear what Sariah had to say.

"I tried to tell Layton not to do anything rash," she wheezed between breaths. "But he told the men at the gate about the girl. They've contacted the military to let them know she's here, but now they're all arguing about who's right, whether we should turn her over, or shoot her and burn the body."

José's reaction was immediate in the clenching of his jaw and stiffening shoulders. Even in the dark, Echo could see his face turning a different color. For a moment, she wondered if he'd start swearing.

Instead, he faced them and spoke through the window, catching Echo's gaze. "Be safe out there, and look after each other. Stay vigilant and out of sight if you can; everyone will either hunt you down to kill you, or run more experiments. Now go."

He slapped the hood of the truck before taking off in the opposite direction, running toward the gate Echo and Daniel had come through.

Daniel quickly turned on the ignition, bringing the truck to life with a loud rumble. Not bothering with his seatbelt, he pressed the gas and sped down the dark streets.

As the houses blurred past, Echo glanced behind her when she felt something tap her shoulder. It wasn't Daniel; he was driving with his eyes focused only on the road. But there was no one behind her or in the rearview mirror—not even her dead boyfriend. But she knew as they fled that it was his touch she'd sensed, as if to reassure her as she rode toward a dangerous location in an uncertain future.

~*~

Hello!

I'm so excited to be back! I'm still working on my traditionally published series outside Wattpad and making progress, but I wanted to come back to Zombie Soap.

Taylor felt like the perfect turning point in the series last chapter, and now I'm ready to dive into the characters' journeys outside the facility as the new government sets itself up, and survivors struggle to stay alive.

Echo is such a great character to write, and I never expected to see her go in this direction.
Jeannie was supposed to die in her first chapter in the first book, yet here she is, still alive and steering her own story. And she sees dead people. Or more specifically, Eric. But what does this mean? I guess that's up to you to decide.

Much love to you all! 

P.S.

I was a member of the church when I married my husband, and technically still am, but haven't practiced since I was 25 years old. Too much to explain, but let's just say I went my own way.

(I grew up Southern Baptist despite my mom's family being Catholic but that's a completely different and weird story by itself.)

That said, I'm trying to keep religion out of the story while focusing more on the people in that community while the groups are passing through.