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He held in one hand the leather satchel with his father’s insignia. The other hand was receiving the dirty leather-bound journal that bore the same symbol.

“I’ve had this for several years now. I don’t know if he’s alive. I don’t know if he left it behind on purpose. All I know is he left in the night, and this was the only thing he left behind on the cot we’d given him.” The man paused for any reaction from the other. “I read it of course, but I didn’t move any of the loose notes or items between the pages.” He again paused, but it was painful and pregnant. He seemed not able to bare the pain of whatever he’d read. “I warn you, there may be savages ruling our lands, but what he recorded,” he stopped, seemingly not going to continue. But when he looked the young fellow in the eyes, his inquisitive innocence, no, not innocence, but there was a naivete that came with what little experience this man surely had so far, being he was here now before him. “I’ve not witnessed such atrocities myself.” the man quickly finished and looked away. Not out of shame, or fear, or disgust, but rather, somehow the young man could tell, out of respect.

The young man, barely out of his teens though a precise year of age he’d never know, stood there dumbfounded. He hadn’t thought about something like this happening. Could this hold answers of what happened to his father so long ago? Was there anything about him and his mother that would prove he didn’t just leave them? But mostly, the sheer existence of this, and that this man had it, means his father had survived whatever attacked their sub and left it so bloody on the shore.

Timin thanked the man and left the tent. He stepped out into the desolate African land. He was eager to start reading this journal. First, he would need to find a private enough space. It was somehow equally easy, yet difficult to do. The space between tents was tight. The whole camp barely a square quarter mile. Timin had so far figured out that this was surely to keep them hidden for as long as possible. Though surely, not forever.

He settled for a nook that was nearly the deepest point of the camp.

The area as a whole was half dug into the ground and burrowed into a cliff. Well-constructed camouflage nets created the illusion of sparsely grown brush among fallen boulders.

Once Timin had sat down, he pulled out his own journal, with a slightly different version of the symbol on his bag and the book that sat in his lap. He would journal his reflections immediately after reading his father’s.

Despite his excitement to move further on his journey, he found himself suddenly, and unexpectedly, stalled. Start at the beginning of the journal? Skim it for the start of his father’s expedition? Search for clues that would detail the possible destination his father had gone to, and why this was left behind?

As he sat there with the book in his hands, he slowly felt the entirety of the binding and covers. He hoped he could somehow sense his father’s presence. The pages bulged slightly where small items were tucked inside, as well as whatever loose papers had been folded and inserted as the man had told him there would be.

What got Timin’s attention however, was a lump at the top of the binding. Secured by a small strap that would likely house a writing implement like Timin’s had, was a rusty heart-shaped locket.

He almost dropped the book from the shock. How could it still be here? Surely this piece of jewelry would be worth a lot to most any buyer. Then again, that was the case in his homeland. The Nordic-American islands were nearly on the other side of the globe. Since the cataclysm, no one really knew what the rest of the world looked like, or did, anymore.

He shook off the sensation of doing something wrong and he fingered the locket. It was stuck shut for sure. Not quite actually welded, but some sort of heat and pressure had been applied. Whether on purpose or through some incident, he couldn’t be sure.

How had his father come to possess this? Surely his father would’ve tried selling it. Then again, this entire land was so different from what he knew in life. He was learning he would need to radically accept that nothing he knew mattered here.

He finally realized there was a chain attached to the locket that marked a page in the journal. He figured this was as good as anywhere to start. Turning open the book carefully, so as not to lose any of the items tucked inside, he began reading the entry that started on the left page.

***

Year 455, Day 216 Post Cataclysm

Only that which wishes well is welcome here. That which wishes ill is washed away.

I am currently held up in an old riverbed. I pulled loose a rock half buried in the face of the bank and settled behind it. I have just enough room to write, as is my duty, and to sleep, should it not be filled with visions of the terrors I most recently witnessed.

First and foremost, I ask that whoever is reading this, should it not be me, do not read further unless you abide by my welcome spell.

Secondly, should you continue, even this spell may not secure you from the horror.

This locket was hers. The girl he claimed. I still don’t know why. But I know I couldn’t let her die, or worse. While many suffered as a result, in ways worse than death, I could feel her life was worth all of ours should it come to it.

I don’t even know her name. I’m not even sure she has one. The mere fact she was blonde amidst all the brown hairs here would most likely confirm her being of foreign descent, not unlike myself. Perhaps a generation or two her people were here. She didn’t seem to have much knowledge at all. She seemed so resigned to this life.

The day I arrived at that camp, I should’ve run right then and there. Getting mauled to death by the hybrid tyrant would be preferable to what I live with knowing now. Yet, I must complete this journey. I no longer have a choice. It’s not just my life, or hers, from what I gather so far, she’s the key.

That creature, I had only heard second-hand of the visages with which these things had taken. This one however, was beyond anything I could’ve imagined. Its scaley skin, like a reptile’s. Yet stood like a human, usually. When it wanted more blood, it turned somehow, indulging to more of its alternate influence.

What it did to the others on my vessel. That evisceration. I don’t understand why it ran off at their word, but it did. Otherwise, my blood would be mixed with all theirs.

They lead me to their camp. Helped me get cleaned up. Shared with me the little history of their land they knew. Generations of ants. The hybrids had managed to give themselves a much greater lifespan, though not immortal, their incredible healing ability made it hopeless to combat them. Ants, all of them, for their whole lives. Forever it was, forever it would be. That was how they saw it. Such despair that physically hurts.

That evening, the same lizard hybrid walked into the camp, covered in blood, pieces of flesh still on his face, hanging from the jaws, clinging to his claws. Everyone seized. Not a muscle moved, not even lungs seemed to function. As he approached their central fountain, several of them rushed forward from their stillness and worked at his blood-soaked white robe to remove it from his body. He stepped into the fountain and they began scrubbing him. They were actually cleaning him of their fellow human’s remains. I was appalled. Yet I stayed under cover as I had been told.

Once the fountain was fully flowing red and the scaley tyrant was pleased with his level of cleanliness, the eight who had bathed him lined up. I was watching from under the tarp laid on a scaffold floor. Their backs to me. I watched as it rose from the water. Now I could see that the manner in which this thing was hybridized appeared to vary quite acutely to its will. As it stepped out of the fountain, his body became less like that of an anthropomorphic lizard, and much more like a scaley human. He began to pace the line. My stomach lurched and my skin crawled as I watched him assess them. I feared what may happen.

I was suddenly made aware that he had maintained his claws. He swiped a man across the face, then the chest, then the gut. The movement was so fast, those who stood next to him had barely moved away after the third slash. The monster then just stood there as the man dropped to the ground, heaving in pain. Immediately begging for death. His blood soaking into the arid ground. Then it struck me that everyone else still just stood there. Even those directly beside him.

The creature stepped back into the fountain, appearing much more human, rinsed off, and stepped back out. A single person raced from a nearby hut to dress him in a fresh white robe. The person then knelt quickly, bowing their head. The creature strode away towards his abode further from my location. Once a horn blew, apparently indicating they could continue with their evening, the bustle continued as it had been prior to his arrival.

I don’t have much more time to write as the light is fading. But I must express the most crucial detail.

The girl.

After the first few days, I was taken to him. I could see he recognized me from my ship. He’d asked what I was doing coming here. I explained we were simply explorers, seeking to gain knowledge from those we’ve been cut off from for so long. The conversation ended there. He dismissed us all and I was set to work as all the others.

For some reason, he favored her above all else. She was never injured in any way that could not be treated by the others.

Not that I was being desensitized to these actions but in the several months I had now lived there, I had not seen him do this to anyone else but her. He would grab her by her long blonde hair and throw her around the camp center. Just tossing her around or dragging her for no apparent reasons. No one else was taken by their hair. No one else who, once selected, would survive being chosen.

Then one day I was informed that I along with several others, including her, were to go a merge market. When my confusion was evident, they quickly explained that at borders between tyrants’ lands, they would occasionally have markets, to swap used ants.

I had been interacting with her for most of the time I’d been there. I could tell she was inexplicably drawn to me as I was to her. Something indescribable.

I convinced her during the train ride to run. I would take the fault and whatever punishment came. She tried refusing, but eventually we established a plan. She snuck away onto another train just after our arrival at the market. Before going, she gave me this locket, which had been given to her by her mother.

When I returned, having been the only one not chosen as a swap, I told him she had been chosen by another. He knew immediately that was a lie.