All That Remains

It used to be known as Colorado. Now there is no name. People worried about the Juan de Fuca plate but the drought and fires that mounted from below were worse than anything. I was living in Alamosa when the evacuations began and barely made it to Mosca within a week. Strokes, heart attacks and exhaustion took over seven hundred lives inside of two months. If Lee hadn't shared his water with me that day in the Great Dunes I'd be one of them.

At first we tried to save as many people as we could but there were never enough rations to satiate a group of three or more. Men fell behind and took their own paths. Others disappeared or died along the journey. Thieves made out in the night with whatever they could acquire and often their bones were later found tied in parcel alongside whatever prized object they had pilfered. A public warning to poachers that nothing is as sacred as revenge. Outside stories of cannibalism made their way to us through travelers. As the days grew numberless and food became harder to find, the realization hit me that things were like this everywhere. No one had anything left. Family was meaningless. Enemies were only other people in need of the same things as us. Eventually I stopped thinking about almost everything but my surroundings and the need to survive.

Lee wasn't exactly a mentor, moreso my only connection to the old life. I never knew him before he saved my life and I didn't learn much more after the fact. The words passed between us were as few as the gingko trees unsevered for shelter, their once viridescent leaves now golden with time. Arduous hikes accompanied by kangaroo rats and bobcats from the outer mountains were braved without any mention of humanity or the hope that dwelled so far outside our purview. After one particular instance of almost certain death I was beguiled by the presence of a pendant that had slipped by sight unseen. Lee appeared to kneel in prayer, clutching the heart shaped locket to his lips and muttering with closed eyes. The rusted cover would jar from the clasp and squeak as the necklace unfurled but the picture within remained invisible to me. His eyes would quickly open again as Lee kissed the photo and blink back shut as he withdrew it from his mouth, seemingly transfixed in some ancient ritual. Any attempt at inquiry resulted in the coldest stare this soul has ever received.

The enigma of the image taunted me with its elusive power. Could it be an old sweetheart? His mother? Was it even a human being at all? I found myself curious. Curiosity became obsession. I often thought of stealing the keepsake from Lee as he slept but this was rendered impossible since he wore it close to his heart beneath the tattered military jacket he refused to shed. Obsession became jealousy. No matter the likeness I would conjure in my imagination it was never enough to stow the thought away. Satisfaction could never be obtained until I had a definite answer. Even as my bleeding hands clutched his purple throat, I could not coerce the truth from Lee.

Burying a body in sand is an onerous task. In the void of night, as the horns louder near and the crashing screams stretch from darkness to mortal shape, I resign my shovel and make no attempt to resist. The last thing I see is a gnashing of teeth as crimson clouds my vision and I ask myself why a man would carry a locket without any picture inside of it.