A Locket Full of Dreams

The cross hairs are aimed squarely between his shoulder blades. I could end this threat right now. He’s fishing in my pond. The pond she and I had built the first week we settled here. Now there are more voices. More strangers are approaching the pond.

I lower the Henry X Model lever action rifle, my fingers drumming the stock. My breathing’s labored, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the thought of strangers cleaning out my trout. All I have to do is line up the cross hairs and pull the trigger. Poof, problem solved.

I exhale sharply and squeeze my left eye closed. All I see is a blurry image of light and shadow. That last breath had fogged over the scope’s lens.

I didn’t want to kill anyone today anyway. Besides, Mila wouldn’t have wanted that.

Sliding on my belly I back away from my little rampart. I walk home, watching over my shoulder. I even walk backwards a few times. They’re not going to catch me by surprise.

Ten minutes later I’m slipping through the back door of my apartment building. I’ll spend the the night hunkered down by the window. Watching them.

I haven’t seen strangers in a long time. Two summers, I think. They don’t show up around here very often. That’s why we had picked Lake City. Not many people visited here even before the world went to shit. That was ten years ago. Or was it eleven?

It must have been ten. I bought the rifle a few months before we came up here. Mila had made a face when I brought it home. I told her it was for hunting in case we needed food. But she knew better. The violence was getting bad, and she knew I was scared.

The plague had been ravaging inner city populations. Our friends Mark and Aspen had been nurses and had heard the grim predictions; the daily death tolls were expected to reach tens-of-thousands, even in the suburbs. We needed to move to an isolated area, and soon.

I was hunting with the rifle soon after.

The metallic bang of car doors echoes through town. The strangers’ voices follow. They don’t seem worried that anyone can hear. Or might be watching.

The sun was beginning to lighten the gunmetal colored clouds. I yawn as I watch the strangers enter the small supermarket at the center of town.

A giggle slips past my lips. It’s odd hearing myself giggle. I cleaned out that supermarket over a year ago.

Mark and Aspen had wanted to keep the supermarket and it’s supplies open for anyone. Why be greedy, they said? That store is a good start to building a community. They went in search of other survivors. They never came back.

I gnaw at a piece of jerky as I wait for the strangers. It isn’t long before they leave the supermarket and load into an old Toyota Highlander. They drive in the opposite direction from my building.

There are four of them. Two men and two women.

I reach in my pocket finding two cartridges for the rifle. Added to the three already loaded makes five rounds. Five chances to kill them.

Voices. I wake with a jolt. Holding my breath.

Voices. Distant. I breathe again. Slipping my sweaty hand from my pocket, I pull myself up to the window.

Damn. There are seven of them now. Standing in front of the supermarket. A new vehicle sits nearby with its doors open.

One of the new arrivals is holding a burlap bag. He pulls out something large and orange. Oh my god, that’s . . . a pumpkin. He hands the first one to a woman and pulls out another. It was mid fall, perfect time for harvest. I wonder where they found them.

Mila and I loved carving pumpkins. Halloween had been our favorite holiday. She had an Armenian recipe for rice, fruit, nuts, and honey baked in a pumpkin. It was after one such meal I had given her the locket. The locket I lost.

Looking back, I wish I’d learned to grow pumpkins. Hell, learned to grow anything. Mila had wanted a garden. The thought of roasted pumpkin with cinnamon makes my mouth water. Instead, I’ll have to settle for canned peas and jerky, just like yesterday. My stomach growls.

The strangers are driving away from the supermarket. The sun is setting. I guess they’re calling it a day. Maybe I should too.

The dust-colored clouds are streaked with red and violet as the sunrise paints the mountains. It’s quiet outside. Cold in here. The fire had gone out in the night.

Hopefully the strangers will leave soon. It had been several weeks since I last visited Mila’s grave. It had been six years since I buried her in the town cemetery. Six years since I had removed the locket from her body.

I also need to check my traps or go hunting. The sight of that pumpkin made me long for a little variety in my diet. I was tired of peas and jerky.

I peek through the window. The stranger’s Highlander is climbing the switchback highway leading out of town. Holding my breath, I scan the town, searching for the other vehicle, or signs of movement.

Lake City is deserted. I snatch up my backpack and rifle.

The sun is warm on my face. Visiting Mila’s grave always leaves me feeling . . . weird. Mixed up. Sad, but somehow happy too. I guess having her for a short time was better than never having her at all. I talk to her when I visit the grave. I guess it’s more for me than her. But, for some reason I still haven’t told her I’ve lost her locket.

The hike to the creek is pleasant. Finding a squirrel in one of my traps would certainly make for a lovely meal. I’m feeling comfortable and carefree knowing the strangers had moved on.

The babbling water reminds me of the day I gave Mila the locket. I’d given it to her on one of our walks along the canal after dinner. She cried when she saw the number two engraved inside. The number of children we’d hoped to add to our family.

At the bend in the creek, I hop into the water to get around a large stone. The icy water laps at my pant leg.

My heart freezes. Holding my trap is a very large man. The trap with a snared squirrel. My finger slides off the rifle’s frame and caresses the trigger. Then I hear a voice.

To my left is a petite woman, red hair flowing from under a beanie.

She smiles.

I run.

She says something. I don’t know what. I don’t care.

I keep going, sloshing through the cold water. My chest aches as I climb over an embankment. How could I be so stupid. I walked right out into the open.

I hear them behind me. I run harder. Through a clump of trees. To the old mill.

The large gaping door welcomes me. I know where to go. The offices upstairs. The metal staircase twangs as I climb, the sound echoing in the dusty shadows.

I press inside and slide behind the office door. Heart pounding. Breath ragged. I wait.

My eyes dart over the office walls. Over the dusty photos of the mill and the trees they desecrated and my chest heaves. Water flows down my face. Everything is pain as I recall the last time I was here.

After I buried her, this is where I came. I went for a walk. I took the last of the pot and tequila and came here. I meant to die that night. So, I came here with the rifle.

Unfortunately, I forgot, or lost the courage, to do what I had come here to do. I had finished off the pot and tequila. And I paid for it too. I was sick for two days. Not hung over sick. Sick, sick. So sick I almost left the rifle behind by mistake.

I still wish I’d done it.

I can hear an engine approaching. I push the emotions down and wipe the tears. It’s their vehicle. They must have seen me enter the mill.

They turn the engine off. The car doors bang shut. Footsteps. They’re inside. They’re looking for me. Why are they interested in me? I don’t have anything.

The redhead is talking. Shouting. But her voice is friendly. She says her name is Ella and she knows I’m scared.

Damn right I’m scared.

She says she’s with a group and they have a community eighty miles to the east. She says they’re growing food and raising livestock. They even have electricity.

Then she says they would like me to join their community.

What? Does she really think I’ll fall for this shit?

Silence lingers.

The vehicle’s engine turns over. I hear the car door bang again. They’re leaving.

But then she’s talking again. She begs me to think about joining them.

Then she gets weird. She says she’s leaving a pumpkin for me. My mouth salivates. She says I can dry the seeds and plant them next year. If I don’t know how, she would like to teach me.

Grow my own pumpkins? Really?

She promises she only wants to talk. Their community is simply trying to re-build and start over.

My chest heaves again. It aches so bad it feels like it’ll explode. Re-build. Start over. That’s what Mila wanted for us.

Before I know it, the vehicle’s engine is fading into the distance.

The tears have dried and my chest no longer aches. I’m emotionally spent, cried out.

The sun is going down and washes the wall with golden light. Then my eye catches a glint in the corner. I squint it’s so bright.

Pushing off the wall, I slide across the floor. The closer I get the more the glint takes shape. The shape of a heart and the color of gold on fire under the light.

I rush to the object, failing to see the desk. I bounce my forehead off the corner, causing a bruise to rise.

Squinting against the pain, I reach for the object. It’s small, attached to a chain. I lift the object and hold it before my eyes. It’s a heart shaped locket.

I tear at the lid until the locket opens. Staring at me is a photo of Mila and me. And the engraved number two. This is where I’d lost the locket.

Mila’s smile could light up a room. For me, she lit up my life.

The pain is unbearable. I’m chest is heaving. My insides trying to leave my body. My vision is blurry through my flooded eyes. We had come here to re-build. Start over. But somehow all that died with her.

Can I really go on without her?

The next morning, as the sun paints the horizon, I place the pumpkin in my backpack and head out for the stranger’s camp. I don’t know if this is the right thing to do, but I do know my life needs a change. Mila would want that too.

The first stranger looks panic stricken as I approach. He’s gathering water from the creek. His face turns white and his eyes bulge with terror.

That’s when I realize I have my rifle in the two-handed ready carry position, like I always do when hunting. I must look ridiculous.

Slowly, I shoulder the rifle and offer the man a smile. The color returns to his face as he waves me on. We enter the camp together.

I find Ella cooking. She lays down her utensil as I approach.

Certain I’m ready to start over, I walk up to her and hold out my hand.

She takes it and smiles.

A Locket Full of Dreams. © 2021 Jeff Cochran. All Rights Reserved.