Locust and the Locket

-1-

The cool edge of the knife tickled Abigail’s throat as it caught on the necklace.

So this was how her journey ended.

Ten years of wandering. Years of roaming the wastelands, always avoiding capture by the clans. Hard times of sleepless nights, sickness, and starvation, but the ravaged land held little comfort.

Through it all, she survived.

But they finally caught her.

Abigail knew the Tahoe forest had seemed too quiet. Towering ponderosa pine trees had held their breath, anticipating her capture by this band of brutes bearing knives and spears.

The knife pressed against her skin, drawing a thin line. Wet warmth trickled down her collarbone and along the length of the worn, golden chain. Blood. Her blood. Not enough to make Abigail swoon, but enough to let her understand their intentions if she tried to flee.

“What have we here?” His gravelly voice grated against her ears, but his knife tugged the chain out of her shirt, revealing the dangling, heart-shaped locket.

His eyes glowed, the heart locket filling his pupils. He leaned close, fingers seeking to clasp it.

Too close.

No one touched her locket. No one.

Abigail whipped out her machete, dragging it across her captor’s exposed flesh.

He writhed on the ground, gargling for a whole minute before his squirming stilled.

Abigail’s chest rose and fell. No matter how many assailants she slew, it never got easier.

Still, no one was going to take her last treasure, her only keepsake.

Other assailants rushed in, snarling like wolves. They would hurt her, hold her down, and prolong her death until after they had their way.

With heart pounding and teeth bared, Abigail clutched the locket with one hand while the other raised the machete. She couldn’t gut them all. But she could go down swinging and stinging. Just like Dad taught her.

A whistle pierced the exchange.

Her assailants halted, like trained dogs.

“Tie her wrists, Mack.”

“But she butchered—”

The pack leader barked. “Craig had it coming. Now bind her.”

Mack’s glare grazed her body, like he hadn’t seen a woman in a long time. Then he leered at the locket. He grinned, exposing stained teeth.

Abigail had a choice. She could concede that she was outnumbered and accept their mockery of peace, letting Mack tie her up. But that feigned peace was temporary. At the end of that path, another choice awaited her. Either way, she’d kneel before the Swarmlord.

She’d rather they forced her to kneel, battered and bruised, then crawl willingly to him.

She lunged at Mack.

The machete scraped that twisted grin right off his filthy face.

-2-

They took Abigail’s machete, and her backpack, but let her keep her locket.

The pack leader marched them at a brisk pace along the high forest trail that wrapped around the lake. They used the butts of their spears like walking sticks to navigate the steep hike. Two captors, one on either side of her, held her arms. They, and her tied wrists, kept her from escaping.

Anxiety plagued her mind.

The clans of the new world relegated women to one sole purpose. Repopulating Earth by any means. They needed to breed sons, future clan leaders carved in the cruel images of their fathers.

Daughters existed only to become mothers.

The death of most of the world’s population and the scarcity of resources had warped even the kindest of men, leaving them scarred callouses of their former selves.

Abigail should have fought so hard they had no choice but to put her down.

Her defiant rage gave way now to chilling dread.

She’d rather die than meet the Swarmlord.

Locust, they called him.

The name made her skin crawl.

Some worshiped the clan leaders as saviors. Not Abigail. She saw them for what they were: the new oppressors of the world, wearing masks of servitude, wielding a twisted humility to impose the new system over the surviving sheep.

But of all the wastelords, Locust wielded his clan like a scalpel, trimming away society’s fat, so that those under his care lived well in the new system.

They say he wore a welder’s helmet, like a knight of old, that he only showed his face to those he intended to kill.

Abigail’s eyes scoured the scenery, desperate for any distraction.

From her vantage point she could see Lake Tahoe, or what remained of it. The rumors were true. Still blue. With the winter season snuffed out of existence, that meant no more snow-capped mountains, no more freshwater running down the alps, plunging into the valley to fill the lake. The receding water line left an entire layer of crusted rocks naked and exposed to the world.

Within mere decades, the lake would dry up. Such was the world after the cataclysm.

She should not have trekked here from SoCal. Too many memories. Her old home in NorCal lay in ruins. Abigail had heard the lake wasn’t radiated. She’d forgotten fresh water would come at a price.

Abigail’s father would have wept to see the lake so small. He’d loved this lake, had always been a big softie. Strong, true, but certain things always got to him.

He was long gone now. Ten years gone. Swept up in the cataclysm. Abigail wanted to believe that she’d finally healed, but the locket still weighed heavy around her neck. Mack and Craig’s bodies proved her wounds would never seal shut.

Usually, fathers were the ones that abandoned their families, but dear ole’ Mom had decided to buck that trend.

Abigail’s father on the other hand, he’d always been a mainstay in her life. A constant support.

Whenever the world got too big, too threatening, he’d wrap Abigail in a big bear hug and squeeze the fear out of her. Those strong arms had always comforted her. Nothing could break through those walls of muscle protecting her.

The locket hugging her neck was the only embrace she’d felt for a while.

Before she knew it, they’d descended the path and approached a dilapidated ski lift. It took her a moment to recognize the old resort. She’d been here before, ages ago, when fresh snow bleached the ground blinding white.

Now, overgrown pine trees cast long shadows over the resort. Smashed windows stared at her, longing to add her body to the decay.

Out of habit she reached for the locket, but her wrists were still tied behind her back.

She and her father stayed here the winter before she graduated high school. An early graduation present for the good grades she’d maintained. They’d had an amazing time snowboarding, window shopping on the strip, and eating great food at quaint restaurants.

As she trudged over dry ground past the same abandoned locations, those memories seemed like a mirage, melted by time.

A barricade of rusted trucks, buses, and cars formed a wall around the Swarmlord’s stronghold.

Cold sweat ran down Abigail’s back as the armed guards let her captors pass and lead her to a central building.

Ahead, a shadow loomed in a dark double doorway. She knew this former battered building was Locust’s fortress.

Thoughts of escape raced through her mind, but without her machete or backpack she had no means to break her bonds. Only the locket remained.

She remembered a time when a thief had broken into her dorm room during college. With a heavy heart, she’d called her father to let him know.

She could still hear the cold weight in his voice when he assumed they’d gotten her keepsake.

“If they stole the locket, I swear, I’ll track them down to the ends of the earth.”

The edge in his voice had surprised her. She hadn’t realized how much it meant to him. His soft spot for her could easily morph into wrath for anyone that threatened her.

“I'm wearing it, Dad.”

She had almost felt his sigh of relief through the phone. “I’m glad you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

She wished Dad were here now.

Against all odds, he’d have wrestled her free from these savage men. He’d have found a way. Abigail closed her eyes so tight it hurt, searching her memory for some clue. What would Dad have done in this situation?

All too soon, they loosed Abigail’s bonds and presented her to Locust, the Swarmlord.

-3-

Abigail clutched the locket. She didn’t care if she seemed frail to Locust. She and this locket had made the whole journey together. Its cool touch had gotten her through all the hard times.

Even wearing his helmet, Locust seemed to eye her locket, as the wolves Craig and Mack had. But unlike with them, Abigail could not see the hunger in the Locust’s eyes. They lay hidden behind the lifeless welder’s mask.

Despite her predicament, a final memory invaded Abigail’s thoughts.

When she’d graduated high school, the idea of college down in SoCal had excited her, until she realized she’d be away from her father for the first time in her life.

Dad had found her crying, curled up in a ball on the side of her bed like a child.

“Been saving this for a special occasion,” he’d said.

She’d had to dry her eyes with a tissue so they could focus on what he held.

A heart locket dangled from his huge hand, spinning at the end of a gold chain.

Abigail sniffled, but rose to inspect it. “What’s this?”

He fumbled with it. “Don’t know how I got this dang thing open in the first place.”

She took it from his large hands and opened it easily with her nimble fingers.

Inside the locket nested a picture of her and her father standing in front of the Disneyland castle. Huge grins were plastered across their faces.

He’d taken her there a few months after Mom left. A trip to bury their woes, he’d said.

Fresh tears streamed down Abigail’s face at the sight, but she let her father embrace her.

“Wear this around your neck, and you’ll always have a piece of me with you, wherever you go. And look—” He held up another. “I’ve got a matching one.”

Between sniffles and tearful smiles, she managed to return his hug. “Thanks, Dad.”

That memory seemed like eons ago.

It was the recollection of a different Abigail, one who died in the cataclysm.

A new Abigail had crawled out of the wreckage, warped by the corruption of human ruthlessness.

Locust’s rough hand reached for the locket.

Abigail backed away, but bumped into guards behind her.

The Swarmlord held out his hand, palm up, a cold edge in his voice. “Give me the locket. I’ll not ask again.”

Agonizing helplessness enclosed Abigail.

Gritting her teeth, she held back tears, and dropped the locket into his hand.

He inspected it, but struggled to open it. When he finally did, his back stiffened, wrath apparent in every ounce of his body language. “Where did you get this?”

Confusion wracked Abigail. Why would this man care about her locket?

His voice thundered. “Who did you steal this from?”

She stammered an answer, furious at her voice for cracking, for betraying her dismay. “I didn’t steal it. It’s mine.”

He lunged at her, locking her face in an iron grip. She struggled to look away, but could not wrestle free from his piercing gaze.

Suddenly, the Swarmlord’s hands went slack. He stumbled back, sinking into his makeshift throne.

Attendants rushed to his side, but he batted them away. His hands trembled.

With care he retrieved the fallen locket, scooping it from the floor like it was a wounded animal.

His calloused hand went for the edge of the welder’s helmet.

Slowly, Locust lifted the visor of his welder's mask. Tears drowned his eyes.

Abigail gasped.

For an eternal moment she stared at the changed face before her. Familiar, but changed.

“Dad?”

His strong arms surrounded Abigail, and she melted into his embrace.

“Abby, you’ve come home.”

-END-