The lost heartbeat

There it was.

A gemstone in the wilderness.

A completely intact warehouse.

Before the collapse, these were some where internet based sales corporations would store their, well, their wares. Vast monolithic structures, stocked with towering shelves, manned by overworked peons and armies of small robotic loaders.

Now? Little more than fortresses for any small time king, any band of raiding scavengers.

She slipped her hand under the heavy cloth, rough sewn into a poncho and caressed the locket. A small thing, her mother had given her as a child. A prewar relic that pulsed with a phantom heartbeat and faint warmth, supposedly it connected you to your soulmate, but that was no doubt just a bedtime story from her nostalgic mother.

To her? It was a good luck charm. It had seen her through the loss of her family, her safe harbor, the run from the raiders that took everything from her, and the months of loneliness since.

Now, it was a beacon of bravery, helping her steel herself for the slow creep across the concrete moat that offered no hiding places. A 'parking lot' for the decadent time when motorized vehicles were as common as blades of grass, was the last obstacle to this untouched treasure trove.

No doubt the unbroken doors of the windowless edifice indicated possible lifetimes worth of tools, food, maybe even entertainment left behind.

The thrum of the heartbeat against her palm reminded her of the passing time, so without another thought, she readied her spear, and began the terrifying journey.

As she slipped across the last feet to her goal, she pulled the slender rod and old screwdriver she kept in her pocket. A lock like this would not take more than a trifle of time and effort, and... there!

The door was tight with old hinges, but back then, they used good steel in the most odd ways, and the door opened enough to let her in without much noise.

As she lit her makeshift torch, the glory of Shangri-la was at hand. All her wishful daydreams after finding this place were nothing compared to the mountains of unopened boxes, shelves, bags, even the abandoned sea of drone lifters were there. Any raiding party would doubtless have stripped them of useful parts, so this truly was it. A place she could have the first pick, the cream of the take.

Days and nights blended into moment after moment of joy, as she found everything from clothes, to weapons, even 'survival rations' whatever that meant. For the first time, she wasn't worried about where her next meal would come from, or if she would get sick after this mouthful.

She wasn't a fool, all the time and equipment meant she could set alarms and traps all around her nest of goodies. And it was only too soon that she heard the telltale clatter of a can on a string.

Something or worse, someone, was in the wood behind the warehouse.

She dashed to put out the lights, not the sad fire of a torch, but real lights, plugged into solar powered batteries, then hid behind the barricade she had assembled in front of the best door, the only door that she did not completely block off, and held onto the rope.

This rope was another treasure, one of many she had claimed, but it was special. One swift tug, and she would loose a large weighted barrel. The barrel was not so dangerous, but the knives, sharp sticks, and coating of toxic mess she slathered them with would pose a much greater threat to anyone who dared to enter her domain.

She sat for what seemed like days, one hand on the rope, the other on the heart shaped locket, and as the sun slowly set, she gained the courage to let go, and take a look.

Once on the roof, she saw the culprit. A pack of wild dogs. Now sleeping on the warm pavement of the parking lot. She could just make out the bush her string alarm was attached to, and saw the mangled mess the dogs made escaping the noose.

After that scare, she spent the next several days covering the surrounding land with traps and alarms, and only after tripping one herself did she finally give in and return to picking over the warehouse of loot.

So the second time the alarm rang, she took her time, she left the lights off, using only small flashlights, so the metallic clank of the alarm meant she had only to climb to the roof and watch, the new triggers to her traps laid out in front of her.

This time? It was a person.

A person that was completely unidentifiable. Covered head to toe in leather and cloth, they had obviously worn everything they owned, lending them a shapeless quality, and also robbing them the awareness needed to see the trap they had triggered.

This would be a chore. She had no use for scavengers, and was not yet ready to find a settlement to join, so she would let the intruder wander into her lair, and like a spider in a web, simply pull a string and watch as the fly died.

It was easy. She watched, one hand on her good luck charm, the pulsing seeming as quick as her own heartbeat, drumming a tattoo on her palm, while her other hand slowly pulled tighter on the deadly rope.

She heard the creak as the door opened, the clatter as the tripwire at the door gave a fatal warning, and with a snap, she pulled.

She heard a cry of pain, and with a nod to her ingenuity, she descended to see if the fly had any juicy treats.

As she carefully walked up to the mess, she again reached for her good luck charm. A silly thing she knew, who believed in true love, but the heartbeat and warmth of the old toy gave her comfort, and she had not after all ever killed anyone.

That is when she began to feel like something was wrong.

The person lying in her perfect trap wasn't dead. Not yet. They wheezed and coughed wetly, and groaned as they desperately twisted to reach something behind them.

She couldn't pinpoint what was bothering her, after all, this sad person was on deaths door. They were losing too much blood, and the long splintered shaft sticking horribly from their chest was far beyond any recovery.

She stirred as a small voice, trembling with fear and pain broke her reverie.

“No, please. I don't “ was all they could manage, before sagging in defeat.

The metallic clink as something fell from their hand was the loudest noise she had ever heard.

She stood there. Transfixed.

One hand on the heart shaped locket she kept around her neck. The heartbeat against her palm, slow, almost as if struggling to keep going, the warmth slowly cooling.

The other hand reaching down to pick up a little toy, a small locket in the shape of a heart, burning hotter than the blood spraying off its thunderously beating rhythm, a beat matched only by her own.