The Locket

The Locket

By Debra Schleitwiler

Without the usual traffic, the river ran clear. Amy watched from the bridge as the fish, now teeming, swam and played, their movements mimicking the ebb and flow of the current. She turned and continued walking down the freeway, empty now, the cars gone except for the occasional vehicle left abandoned in the rush to safety. As she walked, Amy checked out these forgotten cabs and trucks, looking to see if the owner was careless enough to leave the keys and fuel in the tank. Having had no luck, she continued her hike west.

The city was empty now, the Willis Tower looming silently over its domain. This used to be one of the largest cities in the country, now it was quiet. The citizens having been taken by the virus. Out of millions, it seemed that Amy was the lucky winner. The one who was left behind. There may have been a few others, but they would be shells of humans, the life having left their eyes when their minds snapped from watching so much death.

She wasn’t hungry, or tired so she continued on working her way to her home in the western suburbs, the shallow hope of finding her mother alive keeping her moving. She hadn’t felt much of anything for some days now, just the need to find her home. Her people. Find them and figure out what to do next. Where to go.

This didn’t stop her from breaking into the shops on her way though. She knew she would eventually need food and water so she kept scrounging, collecting what she could find and packing her bags appropriately.

The day wasn’t hot, and she wasn’t on a schedule, so she took her time. She still found the silence a bit disconcerting, the constant noise from the trains and traffic now gone, but she found she was getting used to it as the days went on. The days. How many had there been since the world ended? She couldn’t remember. She had looked at calendars as she rummaged through stores and homes, but without anyone marking them, they had lost any meaning. What day was it? Month? Year? She had no sense of time passing in the usual way.

The last thing she remembered was waking in the hospital and it was quiet. The halls were empty, except for the bodies on gurneys and bags stacked neatly as though someone would be returning to take care of them. She had seen so many bodies on her journey out of the city. The virus, it seemed, had taken everyone. Fingering the simple gold locket hanging from a delicate chain around her neck, she hoped her mother wasn’t one of them.

Her mom would know what to do. She always did. Amy would get home, her mother would enclose her in one of her wonderful hugs, and somehow, know what to do.

The days melted into one another, and Amy had no sense of time passing. She would look at the grey sky but could see no sun with which to estimate it. She wasn’t sure if she had been wandering the city for hours or days. She continued on.

The scenery gradually changed from urban to suburban, the buildings giving way to small shops. Apartments became three-flats, and houses with lawns. Things started to look familiar to Amy’s tired eyes and she realized she wasn’t just tired, she was exhausted. But she couldn’t rest yet. Not when she was finally getting close to home.

She began recognizing the names on street signs and got a burst of energy from being so near her goal. She ran. She ran for block after block, only stopping to catch her breath when she reached the street where her home stood waiting for her.

Slowly she walked up the steps to the front porch, broken now, the ivy growing unchecked without her father to tend to it, to the unlocked front door. The hinges protested having not been oiled in ages.

She carefully entered the shadowy front room as though this wasn’t the house where she grew up. She felt like a stranger despite the years spent here. How long had it been? There were no lights on, the curtains were drawn, and a thick layer of dust seemed to cover everything.

Finding no one in the living room or kitchen, she walked as quietly as she could, so as not to disturb the shadows, down the hall to look in the bedrooms. There, curled up on the pink coverlet on her childhood bed she found her mother. Dead for many months, desiccated and wearing her housecoat, and held gently in her hands, was…

A simple gold locket on a delicate chain.

And Amy knew.

Her eyes fell on the newspaper clipping on the bedside table:

Girl Dies of Unknown Virus

Amy had been among the first to die.