The Locket

The trifecta of misery hit hard in the summer of 2040 leaving the world’s population reeling from another pandemic, shortages in the food supply, and curfews implemented by the new world government. The new world government portrays itself as being for the people, the protection of the people. Sometimes, your protector is your oppressor.

I am watching the inmates of the internment camp as they wander aimlessly about the fence line. I can only think of us as inmates. This place is as dank and dingy as the old pictures of prisons I read about in history class. A depressive fog bears down on me as I listlessly pick at the rock-hard bread we are served for our evening meal. Food is scarce and tasteless. I distract myself by thinking of the wonderful meals we ate around the family table. My mouth waters at the thought of the table laden with food and happy, laughing family members chattering and enjoying each other. We had a family tradition of having everyone express thanks on special holidays. Each family member would take a turn. Some were funny, some serious, and sometimes there was sadness. I am struggling to find gratitude today.

One year mom gave me a beautiful heart-shaped locket, rimmed with garnets, with both of our baby pictures inside. She told me this represented a bond of love that no one could break. We lost her the following year. Somehow, I have managed to hang onto the locket through illness, hunger, and being herded into this infernal camp. The locket grounds me and reminds me of who I am.

I warm with a rush of rebellion. The locket lies between my breasts hidden beneath the rough cloth of my jumper. A grimy string replaces the beautiful gold chain that once held it. The garnets feel warm and seem to pulsate with a long-forgotten feeling that I struggle to recognize. Expectation? Hope? The feeling is alien as I try to excavate recognition from deep in my gut. Fear is my prevailing emotion and this surge of longing sets me off-balance.

I am startled when the bed-time drones begin to buzz above camp, the signal to go to the barracks and prepare for sleep. I fall into step behind Tors who sleeps opposite me on the men’s side of the barracks. Tors mutters from the side of his mouth, “Rendezvous at 2300 in the latrine.” I acknowledge him with a slight nod of my head.

The barracks contain bunk beds that are stacked three high. We are packed in like sardines and just as smelly. Fortunately, I am on the bottom bunk at the end. If you can count anything fortunate in this hell hole. I lie on the bed remembering how I ended up here.

The world seemed to go crazy overnight. News of the latest pandemic broke in late June. People made a run on the stores. By mid-July, troops were deployed to all major metropolitan areas. Flight-cycles were a common sight, with drones covering areas they could not. The skies lit up at night with hundreds of drones darting here and there. The world government offering its protection to the common people.

Violence swept in like an insolent beast as food was in scarce supply and rationed by the world government. People began to riot, and I was taking my life in my hands any time I left my house. The news media threw gas on the fire, inciting fear. I sat alone in my home paralyzed with indecision. I could only leave the city with special permission from the Consul. At some point, the definition of that office changed from protect and promote to oppress. I wanted to go to my family home and continuously applied for a pass out of the city. The Consul continued to deny permission. And my fears continued to escalate.

August 29, 2040, enfolded the city like a wet blanket. Misery abounded. People were angry. When the violence exploded downtown, the streets were filled with rioters throwing bricks, steel rods, anything they could lay hands on to destroy any target they chose. There were small groups setting fire to everything that would burn. Electric cars were ripped from their chargers and upended in the streets. Downtown looked like a war zone. The whole city looked devastated.

My small home was around the corner from the riot’s point of origin. I barred the doors and windows and sat in a darkened room. I could hear the noises slowly advancing through the streets. The angry mob’s voices stalked in advance and left me shaking in the corner. I held onto the locket around my neck as I prayed for invisibility and protection. As they encroached on the neighborhood, I could hear sounds of destruction, windows breaking, strangers screaming for help. Under the noise was the insistent approach of the drones and flight-cycles.

I heard noises on the front lawn and peeked carefully out the window. Several men broke away from the crowd and loped to my door with reckless abandon. I scrambled backwards and turned to dart towards the back of the house. As I heard the front door splinter, I managed to open the French doors leading to my back yard. My feet felt as if they were sinking into quicksand and my heart was pounding loudly in my ears. As I sprang towards the back gate, I felt a hand grab and clutch the gold chain of my locket. I reached for the precious heart and clutched it tightly even as I struggled to run. The chain snapped and I lunged forward barely eluding the intruder’s grasp. And ran headlong into a flight-cycle hovering at just the right height.

I woke in the camp.

Tors is leaning against the wall in the latrine speaking quietly to a young man I haven’t met. The two motion me over and continue their conversation.

“We can leave tonight. I’ve found a way out of here.” The young man spoke earnestly.

Tors shook his head. “We have one chance, and we need to be sure we don’t mess this up. Let’s talk it through.”

“What are we talking through?” I ask quietly.

“Houdini here is working on how to get a few of us out of here. Here’s your chance, Texas. We can get you home.” Tors said.

I feel that unfamiliar surge in my gut. I want to go home. I want to be out of this regimented, depressing place. I want to be a person again with freedom to choose. I am almost afraid to think of the possibility.

“Houdini? Is that your real name?” I know the name sounds familiar but I can’t place it.

“No. Tors calls me that because I can get out of any situation.” Houdini replies.

“What can I do?” I ask.

Tors spoke with quiet authority. “Be ready when I give you the signal. This will not be easy and it will be dangerous. The safest time to leave is around 0300 when the night shift is over. We’ll have to move silently and quickly. We can’t take anything with us. Travel light.”

I looked to Houdini and Tors with hope blossoming fully in my chest. The locket warmed in response, and I felt it pulsating as if to send a message. We left the latrine separately so as not to call attention to a small gathering. I quickly returned to my bunk and lay waiting in tense silence, aware of each creak in the barracks. Somehow, miraculously, I sleep.

Tors gently shakes me awake as he holds his finger to his lips to indicate silence. I swiftly roll out of the bunk and follow him on quiet feet to meet Houdini outside. We stick to the shadows around the barracks and make our way slowly past the outbuildings. Houdini is waiting by the fence. We are facing a large hill that inclines steeply into the night sky.

“Okay, Texas, are you ready for this?” Tors asks.

I nod my head mutely. My heart feels like a butterfly in my chest. I quickly follow Houdini’s lead through a small hole under the fence and stand on the other side waiting for Tors. Tors barely slips through, his muscular body flattening to almost impossible proportions. Houdini motions us towards an imperceptible trail that winds up the hill. There are no signs of drones or flight-cycles in the near vicinity. We begin to climb.

“We’ll need to go as far as we can before full sunrise.” Tors says quietly.

“Don’t worry, I have a plan.” Houdini moves at a fast pace up the hill.

We continue in silence the night noises playing nature’s music to our flight for freedom. Everything seems surreal. I’ve been in the camp so long that new-found freedom feels dizzying. Almost frightening. Like stepping out during adolescence but knowing the evil that lurks in the world. I feel the comfort of having Tors at my back. Without him, I would not have had this chance. Without him, I would not have survived the camp.

Houdini disappears around the next bend of the hill. We are getting close to the top and I can see the merest glimmer of sunrise breaking over the horizon. I stop to take in the beauty of the moment murmuring my appreciation to Tors. We move forward as one and round the bend.

Houdini stands beside a small cargo ship, pointing a gun at Tors. He no longer looks like the earnest you man I met earlier. He’s taken off his mask and I see his true nature, a criminal driven by greed.

“Tors, I’m going to cuff your hands behind your back and load you on the ship. We’re going to a slave colony where I will get a nice price for both of you. Turn around and put your hands behind your head.”

Tors silently measures Houdini’s gun and his own reach. Slowly he turns around and raises his arms. I move silently and put Tors between me and the ship. I can feel my locket pulsating and becoming warmer. It feels as though it will melt my skin. I reach inside my jumper to pull it out. At that moment, the sun breaches the sky and sends a beam directly to my locket. I am not sure if I made a noise because Houdini looks up at me in surprise and begins to scream in pain. I stare at him in astonishment. The locket is focusing the sunbeam on Houdini’s eyes.

Tors pulls me to his side as we watch in amazement. Houdini begins to run in circles flames now dancing through his hair and across his face. His screams are excruciating. When I think I cannot watch anymore, Houdini runs directly to the cliff-side and leaps falling to the boulders below. We stare at his broken body.

“Let’s go home, Texas”, Tors says turning towards the cargo ship.

I put my hand around the locket and know that somewhere, somehow, my mom’s love saved us both. My heart light, I step on to the ship as Tors charts the way home.