Harper's Ferry

The randomly scheduled sirens began sounding around 2am and we headed to the basement to await the “all clear” which usually meant we’d be down there at least 4 hours. As we huddled together on the old couch that once was part of our Livingroom set we tried to close our eyes and go back to sleep, but for me it was impossible. My mind was racing with worry because I wasn’t sure when I’d get another chance to slip into the old fort which had been locked. A poster with “no trespassing” was plastered across the boarded front door like all non-essential buildings in the village since the Nuclear EMP (Electromagnetic Pulse) had crippled America’s electronics on a massive scale including the power grid, phone, internet lines and every other electronic infrastructure. So, I was going “old school” in order to look for information which could be the key to discovering the origin of the old locket I’d found.

The town we’d moved to years before “The Event” was outside of Washington D.C.; which had been ravaged by angry citizens and dissonant groups, including the capitol building and the entire city. There had been a great loss of life and most major cities were “cesspools” filled with vagrants, gangs and the mentally unstable homeless. Anyone who was able to, moved away. My father had relocated us to Harper’s Ferry, in Virginia, a town which seemingly was “frozen in time” where he had been hired to facilitate an excavation at John Brown’s fort, which was erected in 1848. Artifacts had been discovered recently so it had been closed to the public and they had sent for my Dad, an expert in American History, preservation and other things for the government that he never talked about. Citizens were restricted from going out alone and we were only allowed to travel with a village security man. Needless to say I’d found a way to circumvent that restriction and I knew where Dad kept the key so getting in the old wooden door leading to the fort’s cellar wasn’t a problem for me. But, my mother had developed insomnia and severe anxiety since we’d moved and I couldn’t count on her not catching me so caution was essential. The village security men were ex- military who had moved there when Fort Myer was forced to close down and so far gangs had given them a wide-berth. They were a tight knit group who rarely mingled with the citizens, took their position as protectors seriously and frequently engaged in tactical exercises. My favorite place to read was the sundrenched room of the old engine house in the fort. The records of those who served in the military and were housed or died there decades ago were extensive, but so far I had not been able to find any information about the identity of the person whose locket I had hidden in my room. I’d found it while left to my own devices in the garden while my father guided the workmen on how to handle the precious items they were unearthing. I had bent down and pushed my fingers deeply in the mouth of the old fountain in the courtyard to clear the debris impeding the flow of water; yet after pulling out many decimated leaves my fingers felt a long root which I forcefully yanked and pulled until it came out. I was surprised to see a chain wrapped around it attached to a heart shaped locket embedded in muck. Upon cleaning it I could make out the fine engraving and embossing of the jewelry, the initials D.B. were inscribed on the front and inside was a tiny faded pink ribbon and thin strands of hair.

Tomorrow I’d go to the Community Garden in the village & market. It was sure to be sparse pickings as was everything since supplies had been cut off to most cities by gangs who had taken over the roadways. Our security teams had connections and once a month we would get “drops” via helicopter; but luxuries were few and far between. I’d have to pull the cart loaded with laundry to the tubs set up at the water pumps, washing like a pioneer instead of a young woman living in 2092. Thankfully the security team wouldn’t stay to watch me and I would slip away.

Without warning I awoke, startled by loud pounding on our bedroom doors. The voice of my father urgently told me and my siblings to “Prepare.” We all knew what that meant, the early warning sirens must have been compromised which meant the “team” was busy elsewhere possibly securing the perimeter and we needed to leave immediately. I grabbed my bug-out bag and quickly shoved the journals I’d procured from the fort the day before into the water-tight front pocket and felt to make sure my most precious photos and the heart locket were in there as well. We’d surely head for the boat my Dad had under cover at the Fort and we’d unearth the food caches we’d hidden there as well; certain areas of the dig were cleared and he’d known no one would find them. He had drilled each of us repeatedly at night so we could find our way to their locations. The Mark V (SO) Craft had been requested upon hire for the dig in the guise of “moving small equipment & workers to the site,” but it was a part of this inevitable plan. He’d had the forethought to install a well camouflaged solar panel on the roof. In an effort to disguise its working condition he had left “pulled wires” hanging off it with all connecting wires actually encased in a faraday bag hidden under a panel in the pilothouse, so the EMP had not affected them. It could run lights, the reclamation water unit and the electric boat motor. The boat was wide and sturdy, originally used by US Navy Seals, and Dad had “Frankensteined” it, so it looked barely water-worthy, but he had reinforced and waterproofed the infrastructure and left the weathered exterior, and made it livable for just this occasion.

My parent’s and older brother had lived in countries with unstable regimes, well before I was born, and this had driven them to train all of us. Both my mother and oldest brother were well versed in health and natural healing and worked diligently to build up our emergency stores; including precious medicine like antibiotics, food, multi-climate clothes and items to trade. While the internet was still working they had networked with those who respected anonymity and self-reliance and provided invaluable resources. In return, Dad occasionally supplied ammunition which was extremely hard to come by since the fall of our government and the political structure. His connections made it possible to stock-pile and cache huge amounts of it and use it as currency, since money had lost all value. Ammo was a commodity which had gained great value.

We had made it to the second cache when we heard the first gunfire, it was “now or never” and we dug quickly as it sounded nearby. Strategically the intruders would have tried to secure the market since food was scarce and without food the citizens would be paralyzed. The boat moved away from under the covering trees and we gave thanks for the electric motor which was virtually silent. My brother disappeared in the dark to position himself at the bow ready with huge wire cutters as he counted off the distance to the wire barrier the city had constructed across the narrow channel leading to the Potomac. Once we went under the Winchester and Potomac Railroad Bridge, we’d make our way out to the Point and upriver to “McCoy’s Landing,” in West Virginia. Getting there would be a challenge, there were many locks and dams and many were controlled by unscrupulous men. Moving at night would not always be an option due to sandbars, islands and other water traffic as well as armed shooters on bridges and one could only hope recent Intel was still viable.

Looking back to Harper’s Ferry was sobering, even though we were now quite a ways away we could see figures moving across the bridge in the glow of fires now burning the fort. I thought “how sad it is that they’d chosen to burn the very landmark which marked in history one man’s conviction that others should live freed from slavery.” My eyes turned to my mother who was holding tightly onto my baby sister who slept without a care in the world. Mom’s mouth was chewing her lower lip raw as she exhibited her inward feelings of anxiety. Her eyes and brows looked older than her years as they furrowed, and when she turned toward me her eyes were vacant, so I sat next to her and rubbed her back in gentle circles. Her hand lay limply in my other one, and she didn’t visibly register my contact with her, but I sensed her relaxing under my rhythmic touch. With nothing else to occupy me, my imagination played scenarios as to who could be the owner of the child-sized locket, I was now holding in my pocket.

The next morning I squirreled away under the canvas tarp attached to the deck support in the bow of the boat and read the journals and records I’d brought with me. I began to read about abolitionist, John Brown and the report of the Harper Ferry Raid. Supporters had entered the town in the early hours of October 17, 1859 and they’d taken refuge in the same room I liked to read in; he’d been captured by 1st Lt. Greene, placed on trial and charged with slave insurrection and hung. Since his last name started with a B it made sense the owner of the locket had been his family member. The record stated that he had been married multiple times, had 20 children by them. His first wife, Dianthe, whom he’d married in 1832, had died in childbirth after having 7 children. The baby had been buried wrapped in her arms. It saddened me to imagine the grieving father and his children standing by the grave as the eulogy was read. Perhaps John Brown, in that moment stood silently looking down as one finger from his large work-weathered hand stroked the tender lock of baby tied in a tiny pink ribbon hair inside the locket.

Tonight the river was peaceful and silent and my father spoke in hushed tones since ever so often we’d pass a river town and could hear voices carried on the wind. Stealth and remaining undiscovered was our best security right now, so he employed military grade Global Vision Night Goggles to watch the shoreline and motioned for me to do the same and watch upstream for anything moving or unusual. Observation was one of my particular skill sets and my Dad knew it. All of the years he had taken me out on night walks, boat trips and hunting had prepared me for tonight and I wasn’t about to let him down. I crawled up in the bow and dangled my legs over the edge with my arms supported on the rails, goggles planted against my eyes. It was going to be a long night but I wasn’t tired. The sound of the water lapping against the hull and the cloudless night made me feel cocooned and peaceful; yet, I wondered what would tomorrow bring?