Dystopian Locket Lost

When she had talked to her cat, it didn’t seem so odd. But now, wandering around her childhood home talking only to herself, Nora worried that she might have gone over the deep end. What would people say if they saw her having a complete conversation with only herself? This was a strange fear, given that Nora hadn’t seen another person in over three months.

In fact, it had been hours since Nora had heard any sounds at all. Or was that just her imagination? It seemed as though even the birds were on lockdown, making not a single chirp. Nora opened the window and craned her neck, listening. There was something. Perhaps it was a low hum from some faraway machinery. She must have missed that with her windows closed. After years of hating the sound of trucks on the highway, Nora‘s mother had purchased fancy windows that blocked the sound. Nora was surprised how much she now missed those sounds.

She wistfully remembered the sound of a train whistle or a truck lumbering up the mountain. Now, however, even after sitting for an hour, she heard no such sounds. She had grown excited when she thought she heard a car horn, but realized it was just the sound of two geese squabbling over something. At least there were still birds. But that was weeks ago.

When had she last seen another person? Nora had driven down the mountain three months ago. At the time, she saw a few neighbors and ignored them. She regretted that now. The virus was deadly and contagious, so Nora was afraid to be within ten feet of anyone. Now, she contemplated walking down the hill to the nearest neighbor. Of course, Mrs. Somerset may not open the door, even if she were home. Nora probably wouldn’t open her own door if someone knocked... even if it were someone she knew.

Nora went back into the house and tried the television again. Only three months ago, she had 500 channels and the complete library of television history to watch on demand. Now, she was unable to find anything on TV. Nothing. She remembered saying “nothing was on” back when all 500 channels were broadcasting. She realized now, of course, that she had been spoiled. She opened her computer and tried again to find YouTube, FaceBook, TikTok… nothing. She opened her own photo library. She felt grateful that she had opted to not use cloud storage for her photos, now that everything she’d stored on the cloud was unavailable.

She played a video of herself and her mother at the Eiffel Tower. “Oui oui, mon ami.” Her mother did not speak French, but she pulled together that phrase as she presented Nora with the small golden locket on a chain. Nora would position the heart-shaped locket directly in front of her own heart when she wore it.

Nora instinctively reached for the locket and was surprised, again, that it was not there. Of course it was not there. She had placed the locket around her mother’s neck at the mortuary. She thought it would help her feel closer to her mother in her absence. Now, she wished she had held onto the locket.

Nora scrolled through hundreds of photos, but could not find any of her mother. Had she really been foolish enough to paste photos to Facebook and not save copies? She scanned her computer again. And again. At least she had that video from their trip to Paris. She really wanted a photograph of her mother.

Nora shut the computer and headed to the panel in her bedroom ceiling. She pulled over her desk chair and tugged the small canvas strap that protruded from the attic panel, causing the ladder to unfold. Nora climbed up into her attic. She searched box after box until she found a promising one. She dropped it onto her bed, spilling the contents. Several greeting cards sailed onto the floor. Nora slid down the ladder like she had as a child. She emptied the remaining contents of the box onto the bed.

Nora moved to the kitchen table with three envelopes full of photographs, plus her mother’s most recent journal. That’s when the electricity cut off.

Nora was grateful now, that her mother had been so prepared. Nora knew her great grandfather had constructed the bomb shelter during the Cold War, and had viewed her mother’s stocking it with supplies as a bit of paranoid lunacy. “Well, mom, you were right,” Nora sighed. The cases of soup and cans of drinking water had saved her life.

Nora turned the spigot on the sink and heard the last gasp of the municipal system. The water was now off, too. This was too much. Nora had exhausted her resiliency. She slumped onto the floor and sobbed.

Nora’s mother had planned for just such an emergency. She had stocked plenty of food, water, batteries, and fuel. She even had firearms.

When her mother had mentioned the gun closet, Nora had been aghast. Now, not knowing what might come, not having seen or heard another person for three months, she open the gun closet and took stock. There were three rifles, two handguns, and enough ammunition to last a lifetime. There were also six grenades and two dozen smoke bombs. Nora was sure that her mother had overdone the supply but she was grateful to have a weapon.

Blam! Blam! Blam! Nora shot three more rounds towards the target, and again none of them hit the mark. If only the Internet were still functioning, she could have watched a YouTube tutorial on how to shoot. Instead, she sat back and tried to remember.

What is her mother had said? What has she seen in movies? Just how did one aim, anyway? And, how was she supposed to keep her arm from jerking back when the gun kicked? “Relax and squeeze” she remembered her mother saying. How on earth could she relax and not fall over backwards from the force of the bullet being fired? Very not helpful.

Nora vaguely remember a John Wayne movie where he had instructed a woman to brace herself, look down the barrel of the gun, and pull the trigger. This made more sense.

Blam! Blam! Blam! The first two shots missed completely, but the third shot nicked the edge of the target! Progress at last! Nora hoped she wouldn’t run out of bullets before she learned to shoot properly.

Nora sat on her mother’s front stoop as she finished the last can of soup, eating slowly and savoring every bite. When she’d run out of water, she figured she would get some hydration from eating the canned food. But now, the complete supply of food and water—even the wine—was exhausted. The shelter was now stocked with only bullets, Band-Aids, and her mothers autoharp.

The house was a quarter mile up a private driveway, behind a large wooden gate. The trees were trimmed back around the entire perimeter. Not even a stray squirrel was getting in here, let alone anything big enough to eat. Nora wasted a few rounds of ammo trying to down birds, but she knew she was not a good enough shot. She was going to have to go outside the fence to roust up some food.

Nora stood at the foot of her mother’s driveway. An asphalt road led left and right. To her left, was town, about ten miles down the mountain. Nora didn’t know what was to the right, but she figured there would be fewer humans up the mountain, thus less competition for food and less likelihood of exposure to the virus.

Up the mountain she climbed. She had an empty canteen tied to her belt. The idea gave her some hope. She would find a stream and fill the canteen, and then she would shoot a wild turkey or a few squirrels or something.

Nora hoped whatever she would shoot would die quickly and without too much pain.

Nora was dismayed when she reached the end of the paved road. It ended at a large metal fence. To her right, she could see the vast national forest. She would have preferred to stay on a road, but she needed food and water, so she went that way.

Nora was dehydrated and scared. She should have left earlier, to avoid the heat of the day. She had assumed she would find water quickly. There was no water in sight. Nora stopped every few feet, suppressing her breath, and listening to running water. She heard nothing.

Remembering that streams caused erosion, she headed for what appeared to be a valley. When she finally heard the gurgling, she thought she might have imagined it. No, it was real. She kept hiking until she came upon a small stream. She was saved, for now.

Why hadn’t she brought a larger container for water? She knew she would die of thirst faster than she would starve to death. Although the dehydration impaired her thinking, Nora was suddenly happy to remember that animals, too, would flock to the source of water. All she had to do was wait for them to arrive and then shoot accurately.

Nora filled the canteen and then drank all its contents several times. She finally allowed herself to drink directly from the stream. She knew she wasn’t savvy enough to avoid all the dangers of this forest, but she decided to let her guard down regarding waterborne predators.

She settled in and waited. When she awoke, she was a mere three feet from a mother bear and her two adolescent cubs. This wasn’t good. She only had six bullets in the gun. She wouldn’t be able to kill all three of them at once. She wouldn’t be able to reload in time and she wasn’t a good enough shot. She decided these bears were not food for her, and hoped it was mutual.

The end. (For now.)