Baby's Locket

“What have you got there, Baby?” She hated the nickname. She was ten now, and far too old to be called Baby. Her name was Barbra, and she let him know it. A grin split her Uncle Vik’s blonde beard as he raised his hands in surrender. She laughed at her uncle’s antics. “Sorry, Barbra. Can I see?”

She showed him the locket. He asked her where she had found such a thing, handing it back to her as she regaled him in great detail how she’d seen it across a vast patch of dirt, the tiniest sparkle luring her; was it vast riches?

The glint of gold in the morning sunlight had drawn her as she had attended to the needs of nature. After pulling up her pants she scurried over and dug at the dirt, unearthing a fragile golden chain from which the locket dangled. Crusted over by dirt still, she rubbed at it to determine its shape; the top curving in a double arch to taper to a sharp point at the bottom. On one side of the locket's body, she located a small catch; tugging on this released the heart-shaped compartment and exposed the photos. The discovery had brought a brief moment of brightness to an otherwise uneventful journey through the wastes; her mother was sending her to learn how to use the sword.

Who had they been? The question had once burned in young Barbra's brain, the possibilities endless. A young couple in love, she had thought likely, by the shape of the locket. The photographs were faded, aged by exposure and the winds that scoured the world, but the faces were still visible. The smiles aggravated her, their teeth still shining white. The world had not been that sort of place since before she'd been born. As she tried to sleep that night her young imagination was in overdrive trying to picture life before everything changed.

It was the following morning that Uncle Vik had come to see what was occupying her attention as the small caravan was preparing to move. The roads were more or less safe from Dead, Mutants or bandits, regularly patrolled by the scouts of Coober’s Nest at this end. Keeping the roads clear of threats was an integral part of maintaining a safe environment, after all, and everybody’s responsibility. As such nobody travelled in groups of fewer than six people, more if children were travelling.

“You know they’re not real people, don’t you?” Uncle Vik continued at her confused expression. “Just a couple of models. I mean, they were real people, just that their job was to have photos taken of them. Probably had other jobs, too, but somebody thought they were pretty enough to go in this locket. Just to make the locket more appealing for sale, really.”

“Why? If you want something like this, wouldn’t you want to put your own pictures in it?” Barbra snapped the locket closed.

“That’s it exactly. Say I bought one of those for your Aunt Val, I would pop a picture of each of us on either side.” Barbra nodded solemnly as he explained. “Speaking of…?”

“Bugger off, Uncle Vik! It’s mine!” He chuckled at her enthusiasm.

She learned a great deal at The School, far more than she had thought she might; the proper use and maintenance of her father's sword, as well as how to keep and operate both firearms and bow, the various dangers of the Outback and how to deal with such monstrosities. History, as well. The world before this had always fascinated her.

In the library late one afternoon, the sun slowly descending behind almost perpetual clouds, Barbra discovered that there was more to books than facts. Curious as to the meaning of the word ‘fiction’ she pulled a novel off a shelf. It had a dragon on the cover, one with wings and breathing fire. She shrugged, taking it back to her dormitory. A couple of hours later she was swearing silently to herself about the stupid ‘lights out’ rule that the ‘little ones’ had to follow.

She learned other things as well, about herself. One of the newer teachers, a Newcomer with a blueish tint to her skin, a little taller than the average with a slightly musical quality to her voice had introduced Barbra to the world of art. The creation of an image on paper fascinated her like nothing else. After her first month staying there, she was recreating the faces of her classmates and images of the mutated beasts of the Wastes that she had seen at a distance on the journey from Coober's Nest. By the time her first year was up, she was painting portraits of people's loved ones lost either before things ended or after. A description was all she required, no more, and the resulting portrait was almost like painting memories. That was when she decided to remove the photographs of the generic happy couple and replace them with the faces of her own parents.

Her parents had met when the former world fell, had kept one another safe and sane throughout their first year together, indeed their only year together. They had gotten close; inability to trust almost anybody else in the early days had built their reliance upon each other. As her mother put it ‘one thing had led to another’ and Barbra had been conceived.

The two of them had helped many people in their year together, all over the country. They had been betrayed by a notable few as well. Barbra had no shortage of descriptive material available for her father, even here at The School. Her mother had been no problem at all, though she felt sad as she sketched her mother's left eye. She’d lost it before Barbra's birth and had never divulged the story to her daughter. That was alright; Barbra had ways of finding things out. Uncle Vik had told her the story, long before they had left for the school. Eloise, The Queen of the Rainbow City of Adelaide had taken it. For no good reason that Barbra had been able to ascertain.

After a few good hours work under the watchful eye of Meera, her blue-tinted mentor, it was finished; both portraits perfectly sketched. Meera then took her to laminate them so that they would last longer. On the way she talked of her home. She had come from a world much like Earth, just with a green sun and a slightly denser atmosphere, just at titch more mass resulting in greater gravity. She spoke often of her home world, always with a sad smile. Barbra never knew how to talk to her after these moments. She just walked silently alongside her, feeling awkward.

Once laminated, she trimmed away the excess so that her parents would fit within the frame of the locket. Now that her job was complete, she could go back to her dorm and… realisation dawned on Barbra that the sun was going down. Fury nearly overriding pride in her accomplishment, she stormed off to the cafeteria as dinner would be served momentarily. Then it was story-time, tonight. Because it was a Tuesday. Barbra hated Tuesdays. Story-time interfered with Barbra’s reading, and they never wanted to tell any good stories or read any fun books. Everything she’d suggested was considered ‘too grown-up for the little ones’, most of whom were older than Barbra.

It turned out not to be too bad, this time. The story was about her parents, how they had helped set up the radio system that the whole country had been using to keep in constant communication with each other, to call for help or to offer aid or shelter. To warn of bandits or swarms of the Dead. To keep Australia, much as it had changed, as whole and united as it was possible.

Then The School’s Headmaster began to speak. An older man, Barbra’s sword-master also taught medicine to most of the older children. He spoke of unity, humanity, the need to help others. Then he turned on the radio and began speaking to someone that sounded a little different. Someone from New Zealand. In twelve years, there had been no sign of any survivors anywhere other than Australia, though it was always assumed that people must have made it somewhere. Now there was proof. The Kiwi contact spoke of trade with ‘Sea People’, traders and merchants that travelled the world in cargo ships. The Sea People wanted more business and had a lot to offer in trade.

Hearing news of other survivors in such large numbers led to a night of celebration that The School had not seen in many years. Barbra had known The Headmaster was hiding something, had tried to wring it out of him.

A few days later, she arrived. The Rainbow Princess, Laura. With her green hair and smug git face that Barbra just wanted to punch. But it was not her fault, what her mother had done to Barbra’s mother. She was a few years older than Barbra, and upon finding out just who Barbra’s parents were stuck to her like glue. Or a wet fart.

In time Barbra realised that Laura was not all that bad, in fact after a few weeks the pair became friends. Laura invited Barbra to come and stay with her any time she felt like it, though both of them knew that would likely not happen. Certainly not if Barbra’s mother got wind of it. Barbra extended an invitation to Laura that was also refused for similar reasons. They could, and would, keep in touch via radio. This was determined by handshake and hug the night before Barbra was due to head back home to Coober’s Nest.

Uncle Vik stood tall in the courtyard as they prepared to leave. Barbra trotted up to him.

“Ready to head home?”

She nodded.

“Haven’t found any more golden lockets, have you?”

She shook her head.

“Bugger. Come on, let’s head out; your mum’s waiting for you.”

Laura and Meera waited by the exit to what remained of Melbourne’s streets beyond The School. There wasn’t much of the city itself left. Only a few blocks around The School were still standing, the rest just piles of rubble. Meera held a portrait of Barbra that she’d painted, presented it to her student with a hug and a tear in one of her violet eyes. Laura held nothing, just hugged her friend fiercely as she said goodbye.

"See ya, Princess," Barbra told her friend quietly.

"When I'm done here, I'm coming to get you, Barbra!" Laura said with a grin.