Human History

The old museum was dimly lit. The night wind howled through the broken windows near the entrance. It was here that Oliver knew he would find the man who took his wife. Before the collapse, this museum was an ode to our history. Now none of that seemed to matter. Oliver peered around the lobby, which was dimly lit by a few candles on the welcome desk. Graffiti spoiled the walls around him. The place was run down, dirty and dismal, a grim reminder of what we used to be. Oliver vaulted a rusted, old turnstile, but his foot slipped and moved it slightly with a loud creak. Suddenly, the PA system crackled to life and a glitched out voice echoed through the empty halls.

“We-we-welcome to the Mu-mu-museum of History-eeeeeeee!”

The voice wound down to a slur then crackled away again. Some old, automated greeting no doubt. Oliver tightened his grip on his revolver and instinctively reached for the machete on his back. There was a good chance the one he hunted now knew he was here. This suspicion was confirmed when Oliver heard footfalls hurtling towards the lobby from a side hallway. Oliver frantically looked around for somewhere to hide and noticed a diorama on the back wall that featured a caveman shaking hands with a businessman, both defaced. He ducked behind them as two other men entered the room, one brandishing an assault rifle, the other a baseball bat. The one with the rifle was tall and thin and the other was stockier, with a lot of muscle to back up the bat.

They looked around and upon seeing no one, lowered their weapons.

“See, it’s like I was tellin ya, Marlo, that creepy audio stuff is fritzy.” Said the bat wielder to Marlo. Marlo did not look convinced; his eyes were narrowed as he scanned the room.

“Search the room.” Said Marlo. “The Curator said someone might be by, especially after that new haul he brought in.”

The brutish man rolled his eyes and began half-heartedly patrolling the room. “You know, Chuck was probably right, it’s the wind howling through the broken glass or some critter. For a guy who so worried about peeps coming in to steal his junk, you’d think he’d patch up some of the holes.”

“Shut it, Nick, keep searching!” The man with the rifle slung it to his back and walked over to the welcome desk. He placed the rifle on the desk, sat down at the old chair and put his feet up. Oliver could feel his heart beating in his throat. So this Curator took her. He had heard stories about the Curator: Entire groups of people would disappear into the night without a trace, said to be added to some grotesque collection of his. He peered around the statue to see if the way was clear.

Nick, the muscled bat wielder, had finished his rounds and was now leaning against the wall next to the hallway they had come from.

“C’mon, Marlo, let’s get back, there ain’t no one here.” Nick whined.

“Nah, I’m going to stay a while, just in case. I’ve got a…feeling.” Marlo replied from the desk.

“Suit yourself.” Shrugged Nick and he stood up. He walked back down the hallway they came from whistling and swinging the bat around.

Oliver had not expected so many bodyguards. He swung out the chamber on his gun. 3 bullets. He intended that one of them be for the man that took Her. The Curator’s crew would complicate things. He eyed the rifle on the desk and the feet of the man whose back was currently turned to Oliver. The man who had no idea he was here and may have a solution to Oliver’s problems. Oliver holstered his gun and grabbed the machete from his back and silently unsheathed it. He quietly left the diorama and snuck towards the man. Every step was deliberate.

Oliver was halfway there; he feared his own heartbeat would alert the man as he inched ever closer. Step. Step. Step. Three quarters of the way there. Oliver began to feel lighthearted, not really knowing what he was going to do when he got there. Suddenly Marlo pulled his feet off the desk. Oliver’s eyes widened as the chair swiveled around and for a brief but infinite second the two men locked eyes. Marlo jumped for the rifle, but it was too late. Oliver’s blade had sunk deep into his chest. Marlo slumped back into the chair.

Oliver reached past Marlo and grabbed the rifle. It was in okay condition, but Oliver ejected the clip to find it empty. He searched Marlo’s pockets and the desk. Nothing. He had killed this man for literally nothing. The rifle was heavier than expected so he placed back on the table. Oliver stepped back to think, to refocus. He was here for a reason.

Oliver turned and walked towards the hallway the men had entered from. Large letters above read: HUMAN HISTORY. The hallway was large and on either side were glass paned dioramas that had long been ransacked. Voices echoed from further ahead. The hallway seemed to open to a large room. As he moved closer, he could just make out their conversation. He recognized Nick’s voice from before.

“-had a feeling. What’s that even mean anyway?” He heard Nick say.

“Dunno, guy’s always been paranoid. Remember last week when he posted up in the basement cause he thought someone was trying to dig in?” Said another voice, higher than Nick’s, and nasally. Oliver had snuck into the room now. He slunk behind a display of old spears. The room was decked out in Roman artefacts. Before the Collapse, Oliver would have enjoyed coming here, history had always fascinated him. But none of that mattered now.

“Be right back, you good?” Nick asked the other man.

“Yeah, doing a recount. A tribe up north looking for exactly what we got.” Said the other man.

“Heard that, be back in a bit.” Said Nick and he whistled away once more. Oliver peered over the cabinet and saw the other man. He had a clipboard in one hand and was looking over a few crates. Oliver couldn’t make out what was inside them. He crept forward through the darkness; his eyes were glued to the man when…

CRUNCH

Oliver stepped on a shard of glass. The man looked up in surprise and saw Oliver. He stumbled backwards and into the crates, falling over backwards. Oliver pulled his gun and aimed it at the man.

“Hands up.” Oliver demanded. The man obliged and raised his arms.

“Please, don’t shoot!” The man pleaded.

“The latest delivery, where is it!” Oliver demanded. The man stayed quiet. “One more chance. Where. Is. It.” The man got to his knees to beg.

“Please, they’ll kill me!” the man cried out.

“I’LL kill you!” Oliver retorted. “Just tell me and I won’t have to.”

“Okay,” the man relented, “I’ll tell you.” He pointed a shaky arm down the hallway Nick had left through. “Down that hallway is a room where they used to keep a bunch of medieval stuff. That’s where the good stuff is. That’s all I know I swear.”

Oliver leered at the man through the darkness. He un-cocked the gun and lowered it. The man visibly relaxed at this point.

“Now go, get out of here.” Oliver told the man. The man nodded, getting to his feet.

“Fool.” The man brandished a small knife and stabbed Oliver in the right leg. Oliver yelped in pain and hit the man who fell back. Oliver raised his gun and fired once. The man crumpled to floor motionless. He looked at his leg, it was stained red. He desperately looked in the crates and found one to be filled with clothing. He removed the knife from his leg and wrapped the wound with the fabric. Once the pain dulled, he limped down the hallway towards the only room off it.

Once at the doorway, he peered inside. It was well lit, electrical lights flooded the room. A generator puttered away in one corner with a barrel of what must have been fuel sitting next to it. What was once an exhibit had been cleared out, instead the room was mostly filled with crates piled high along the walls and several pieces of art and piles of books. At the far end was a large wooden door. In the middle of the room was a collection of couches and a table. Nick was lounging on one of the couches, muttering to himself. There was no way to sneak into this room and Oliver, who was frankly at the end of his patience simply walked in.

Nick looked up and saw Oliver limping towards him. He grabbed his bat and charged. Oliver raised his pistol and shot Nick dead. Oliver did not even stop to search him, instead limping straight towards the door. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted her back.

Oliver made it across the room to the wooden door. He pulled it open with a loud creak. Inside was a small, circular room. The walls were laden with books and in the very center of the room was desk at which sat a man, his hands clasped, glowering at Oliver. A nameplate at the head of the desk reads CURATOR.

“You.” Oliver said, spilling into the room, pointing his revolver at the Curator. “You took her!” Oliver screamed. The Curator looked nonplussed. He removed his glasses and polished them, then folded them and placed them on the desk.

“Did you kill them? My men?” The Curator asked.

“Yes. I’ll kill you too if you don’t give her to me right now.” Oliver said through gritted teeth. The pain of wounds began to pulse.

“Surely you must have realized these aren’t all my men, the rest are out…collecting.” The Curator said. “You may have seen by now I do not deal in people; I deal in history.” he said flourishing his arms. “So much of it was lost, so much of it forgotten. I collect items to record our history. I pay well too. Food, resources, money, whatever is needed. But prisoners? I have none. Those stories? Just that!” The Curator stood up. Oliver kept his aim on him.

“What I’m trying to say is that I have no idea what you are talking about.” He said plainly. Fury rose within Oliver.

“She’s here, I KNOW she is. I followed your man, that man…” Oliver shouted nodding towards the corpse of Nick, “…here. Where is she?” Oliver was losing patience.

“Ah. I see now.” The Curator said calmly, peering over Oliver’s shoulder. He opened a drawer and pulled from it a golden locket, shaped as a heart. He placed it carefully on the desk.

“Is this what you killed so many for?” He raised an eyebrow. “But I understand. We both refuse to let go of the past. We both will do whatever it takes.” He said grinning. “Marvelous is it not?”

Oliver pulled the trigger and the Curator slumped forward onto the desk, still grinning. Oliver dropped the revolver and walked to the desk. He gingerly picked up the locket and with a shaking hand he opened it to reveal the face of Victoria, his wife. Engraved on the inside of the lid was a single word: ALWAYS. Oliver turned and left the museum.

He traveled a day or so to a park. This was her favorite place in the whole world. He found the old oak they used to climb with the river rambling not too far. He kneeled at the base of the tree and dug a small hole. He placed the locket in the hole and buried it, placing a rock overtop.

"Always." Oliver stood up and walked into the wasteland.