Betty's Locket

Near dusk, Reverie Miles kneeled before her father’s tombstone and relived her people’s history…

The Last War decimated ninety percent of the world population and left most of the planets topsoil stewing in a layer of radioactive contamination that would render the surface uninhabitable for a century. Fortunately for a few G8 countries—particularly the U.S.A.—Deep Under Ground Military Bases provided safe-haven for a percentage of the American population.

These especially selected men and women became known as the Newborns.

150 years after their submersion the Newborns reemerged and began to reclaim the contaminated land, acre by acre. Plasma-glass domes modified to produce their own ecosystems were erected to contain farmland and energy facilities that would supply underground cities with fresh food and other resources.

It was within one such dome on one such farm that Reverie had been born and raised. She had grown up thinking that the Newborns were the only survivors, that nothing but death existed beyond the plasma-walls she called home. But all that changed one sunny afternoon when she was eight years old sitting in a lush pasture on the edge of her family’s large estate. She had been busy collecting flowers close to the translucent plasma border that separated contaminated desert from fresh green vegetation when suddenly something drew her eyes from the ground and she almost tumbled backward. Not two meters from her nose, on the contaminated side of the plasma wall, stood the ugliest little girl Reverie had ever seen. With eyes set far apart like a camel, and gray skin covered in sores and tumorous growths, the strange child stared at her as if she were the ugly one. Reverie stomped forward yelling and flailing her arms, but all the ugly girl did was cover her mouth as if she were giggling. Amazed, Reverie placed a hand against the glass and a moment later the ugly child mimicked her actions.

When father heard about her new friend, he had been furious.

“Excuse me?” said Robert Miles in a low voice, setting his whisky down on the table. “You befriended a mutant?”

He stared at her through the hard eyes of a man accustomed to barking out orders, not listening to concessions.

“So people do live in the desert?” She asked curiously

He shook his head. His eyes never left hers. “Not people, sweetheart, only mutants. Abominations of nature. Do you understand me?”

Reverie did not but she got the gist of his meaning. “No, papa, Betty was just like me!”

Robert slammed his fist on the table so hard that some of his whisky sloshed over the edge of the glass. He stood. “No, she’s not Reverie. None of that, be quiet now; listen!”

Reverie stared at her father. Concern shone in his steely eyes as he wagged a threatening finger at her.

“Unless she’s the One, the first sentient mutant on Gods scorched Earth, that cretin is not like you and never will be. You have a brain whereas mutants have less than half of one. They’re dangerous! They do not reason, they do not feel, they only feed. Do you understand me? They eat you and me.”

Reverie nodded, terrified, and her father allowed himself to sit back down.

“They’re animals,” he said hoarsely. “I promise, someday you’ll see the truth with your own eyes.”

The day of which her father spoke dawned six years later. Reverie was half a woman by then as she trotted along after her father’s men atop her palomino, and all the wiser with regards to the mutant clans that dotted their land. From her lessons she had learned that they were tribal scavengers with zero tolerance for anyone not of their kind. Radiation had altered their brains like a chemical lobotomy leaving behind only the shell of a human. For years the Newborns hunted them for sport, treating them like weeds that infested their land. But Reverie, remembering Betty, always questioned the possibility of an anomaly.

Unless she is the first sentient mutant… Her father had said.

“There!” shouted Richard, Captain of the Guard, dispersing her thoughts like a flock of birds. “Bring that one over!”

Reverie looked up to see her father’s men canter forward towards a mob of mutants. They scattered like insects, casting fearful glances at the Newborns blue hazmat suits and the rifles slung around their shoulders.

“You!” Commanded one of the men, pointing at a cowering mutant girl. “Don’t move!”

The girl froze, trembling, and stared at the approaching scouts astride their big horses, her eyes set far apart like that of a camel.

Reverie’s breath caught deep in her chest. Betty!

“What’s that around her neck?” Richard demanded. One of the men reached out and tore away the brightness at her chest

“A necklace, ser,” he said, lifting the chain into the sunlight. “Looks like gold to me. Take a look for yourself.”

Richard caught the necklace in the air.

“Now where in the world could she have stolen this?” After a moment his eyes met Reverie’s and a grin broke over his lips. “There’s no chance they understand the concept of love. Here, honey, this’ll look much better on you.”

Reverie’s heart was pounding as she caught the necklace. She didn’t dare look down at it. Behind her visor, her eyes were fixed on Betty who stared back in rage and exasperation and…. something else. Recognition?

“Why’s a mutant wearing a necklace like that?” Richard was saying.

“Likely got it from one of the newcomers,” said a scout, unaware that the mutants were stirring. “There are reports that the local clans are growing. Large migrations have been spotted moving out of the West. They’re headed this way, bringing—”

But the rest of his words were drowned by a bloodcurdling wail as a large male mutant lurched forward through the crowd, headed straight for Reverie. Her horse recoiled almost tossing her from the saddle. As she struggled to stay astride, the air filled with shotgun blasts. When her horse recovered, she saw her assailant on the ground, gripping a dismembered leg.

Who is he? She thought wildly; then her eyes widened, and she glanced at the necklace. No…Could it be….?

Clutching the necklace, overwhelmed, Reverie turned her horse and galloped for home.

Now, years later, she knelt in front of her father’s monumental tombstone, her peoples history giving way to the horror of that day. She gripped the golden heart-shaped locket tightly in her fist. Betty’s locket.

I have seen father, she thought to herself. I saw the truth with my own eyes, and yet I did nothing.

Reverie stood then, clutching the necklace more tightly than ever, and turned to face the sea of distraught faces.

“Newborns,” she said somberly. “I know now what must be done.”

From her place of honor next to commander Garulath, Zembetta looked down at the horde gathered around the enormous dune and smiled triumphantly. The day had finally dawned. It had taken years of patience and careful lessons in communication and organization, but alas the stars above were spoken and fate was upon them.

The agenda had begun to take shape many moons ago at the death of her first love Magu. He had been killed trying to retrieve his gift to her from the thieves. An honorable gift it had been, too, one of gratitude for her blessing him with new powers, the least of which had been communication. Yet it had only been when the frightened Girl of Light, disguised as a Blue-Skin, turned her back on Zembetta that she decided she would use the Great Power the girl endowed her with that day so long ago at the Great Shimmering Eye for the purpose of rebellion

Her powers are not so great, thought Zembetta, disappointed, or surely she would have returned with Magus gift.

The clans that had come to her people from the distant land of crumbling towers and forgotten pathways brought with them more than just garments and finery, however. Zembetta still recalled the day she brushed aside sand covering a wooden crate revealing red symbols painted across the surface like dried blood.

I do not understand the language of the Blue-Skins, she had signaled.

The stranger tapped the crate eagerly. Looks inside.

As her clan’s sage and mystic, she was designated to undertake tasks that involved dealing with novel or foreign matters; it was her duty therefore to ensure that dark spirits did not dwell within this box or conspire to deceive her people. But when the lid was cranked open it was a smile that brushed her lips. She turned to face her people and all she could see was Magu.

My good brothers and sisters, she had signaled elaborately. The spirits have conspired in our favor.

Now, for the first time in history, she eyed those firearms in the hands of her people with hope instead of dread.

March? Commander Garulath signaled to her with ill-contained patience. Thirst I for blood.

Zembetta glanced at the stars, but discerned nothing, no sign that contradicted her organized attack on the Blue-Skins.

March.

Silence, the commander signalled, and the mobs chatter ceased. This day, brothers and sisters, this day we march and slaughter the Blue-Skins. With power of thought and action taught us by Great Zembetta, reconquest of land only matter of moons. But this moon we feast upon fresh flesh! On this moon blood like rivers runs sweet between our teeth and fingers!

A resounding cheer rose from the mob and together they set off through the barren desert, Garulath and Zembetta leading the way.

Little expression, Garuleth signalled, bloodlust shining in his eyes. For food not…. excite?

I am happy for other reasons, she signalled. You cannot possibly understand, Garuleth. Quiet now.

The plight of the past, of history’s endless toil lay scattered in the wasteland around them; the land that would bear no fruit, that offered no safe-haven from the harshness of the elements; that had poisoned their body’s and minds. That night, their hard-calloused feet passed beneath the pulverized shells of a forgotten civilization; the remnants of ancestors who, according to her secret dreams, destroyed themselves in pursuit of one of the Seven Despicable Ones: Greed, then fled into the bowels of the Earth. But today the survivors would cease to languish in their ancestors mistake; today the forgotten ones—

A hand barred her next step. Zembetta look!

Zembetta squinted. Through the gloom ahead, a pale silhouette gingerly picked its way through the rubble. A murmur broke out across the clansmen and women, and all at once they lifted their weapons.

Stop, Zembetta signalled. It is a Sign!

Weapons fell and eyes were drawn to the distant spectacle.

It was a girl, Zembetta saw, perhaps no older than herself. As she drew closer, tracing a graceful path through the debris and stone, they saw she was completely naked. Not a single garment shielded her body, or even protected her feet. She was entirely exposed to the elements, to them. Glowing in the light of the moon she seemed to drift over the stones towards them light as a dove’s feather until she stood quivering before Zembetta. Then, just as the Girl of Light had done all those years ago, she raised a hand as if to place it against the Shimmering Eye; but this time, woven in between her slim fingers and dangling in the air was Magus’ golden heart-shaped locket. With tears pouring from her eyes, Zembetta reached forward and took the girls hand into her own. No sooner had their palms touched that deafening gunfire rippled across the sand, cutting down all the armed clansmen before they could attack. When the last one fell the girl smiled.

“Welcome to my family, Betty,” she said, as men in black emerged from the shadows to surround them. “The others are welcome once you have taught them that mind and body are nothing without feeling.”