Memory

Her hair was the color of fire. That was all I could think as she giggled and twirled away from me, the sensation of her lips lingering on mine. I smiled widely as I got up from where I had been kneeling. There she was, silhouetted against the sunset, jumping and whooping in delight.

As I watched, the light grew brighter and brighter until I realized the light wasn’t coming from the sun. Rather, it wasn’t coming from the sun that I knew. No, this was a new sun. A sun that streaked out of the sky, screaming as it flew at us like a deranged god.

The light grew brighter until it seemed to hurt my eyes. I reached out towards her, but as she turned around, the light grew too bright to see.

My fingers stretched out towards her as I opened my mouth to scream her name.

x---x

I let out a strangled yell as my eyes flew open from my usual nightmare. I shut my mouth almost immediately, already fully alert. Jumping up to a crouch, I looked around myself, trying to listen for any sounds coming from around me. I listened for a few more seconds, before finally letting out the breath I had been holding.

Living in the wasteland for the past five years had baked the survival skills into me. I walked over the rough barren ground to my pack and pulled out the thermos I had been fortunate enough to find in a car right on the outskirts of the town. The bandits had searched the woman but had somehow missed the thermos lying under the seat. As the cool water washed down my parched throat, I was more than grateful for their carelessness.

I had been tracking them for days now, having finally picked up their trail near the bone chasm. I had some help from one of their own men regarding the location. The help was involuntary, but the information was sound. This was the band of men that had been out by Miller’s Town all those years ago. They were the ones that had taken her memory from me.

God, how long had it been now? Five years since I had lost her. It was so difficult to tell these days, with each waking minute blending into the other.

As I silently packed away my meagre belongings, I thought about my nightmare again. As always, I hadn’t been able to see her face. I didn’t even know why I bothered to hope every night. Ever since the bandits had come by the town that day, and I had lost her again, my memory of her had been slipping. Every day I remembered less, even as I tried to hold onto the scant memories that remained. They too were slowly slipping through my fingers like so many grains of sand.

“Her hair was the color of fire” I muttered to myself. I had forgotten her , her voice, face, even smile. I remembered how I had felt when she had whooped in joy at my question, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what she had sounded like.

I would not forget that.

“Her hair was the color of fire” I mumble again and put away the thermos in my pack.

I shouldered the pack and moved towards the peak of the hill that I had spent the night on. As I neared the peak, I crouched low again, carefully staying out of sight. Below me stretched out a large highway, littered with old and abandoned cars. Right next to the highway, under the shade of an abandoned old water tower, there was a small spent campfire.

Arrayed around the burnt out remains were five sleeping figures. Covered in their patchwork cloaks made of fabrics ripped from their victims, holding loaded guns in their hands even as they slept. Next to them lay their packs, full to the point of bursting. Weeks of killing and plundering for their "Lord". Warlords with a sense of humor were usually the worst. They would smile as they gutted you.

“Her hair was the color of fire” I muttered to myself as I watched the bandits. Slowly, as the sun rose, one of the bandits awoke. Bleary eyed, he stumbled to his feet and walked to his canteen of water, spilling some as he drank. He then turned around and yelled at the rest to wake up. The cacophony of grunts that rose would have been unacceptable to any survivor except them.

Finally, they packed up, and started moving towards the city. I trailed behind them at a safe distance, always making sure that there was cover around me to duck behind. Eventually, they came to the rusted remains of a large strip mall. I let out a dry chuckle to myself as I recognize the familiar yellow and blue paint on the main building from a lifetime ago. Ah the promotion from junior to assistant manager had seemed like such a world changing event back then.

As I watch, the bandits are greeted by the guards, and let inside. I watch them through my old binoculars, tracking their progress through the gate, waiting to see if he came out. He had ripped it away from around my neck, and placed it around his own, laughing sadistically as I begged him to take anything but that. Still, to this day, I will never understand why he didn’t just kill me. Perhaps he was feeling kind. Perhaps he didn’t want to waste the bullet or the effort.

I hoped that he still had it. It was a small hope, but hope is all I had these days. Hope that I would eventually find it. Find her. For if I didn’t, I would never remember her. I would never see her again, not even in the moment of my death. My life would flash before my eyes, but she wouldn’t be there. The thought terrified me.

I watched as the bandits went in, but I didn’t catch a glimpse of him. He was a lieutenant now, the bandit I caught had told me. He had helpfully provided me with the layout of the place as well. As a lieutenant he would have his own room on the second floor, an appreciation for his commendable service in murdering and pillaging his way through this hellscape.

The guards closed the doors, positioning themselves inside crudely built guardhouses. Of course, they set up shop inside a big box store like that. With their weapons they could drive off any other scavengers that came there. It would take a small army to take the warehouse from them, and armies were in short supply ever since the great war was so abruptly ended.

I retreated farther back onto the highway and hid behind a large overturned semi-truck. Its cargo was long gone, but it provided me some shade against the harsh sun.

I waited until nighttime to make my move.

I pulled out the gun I had taken from the bandit, sliding the magazine out to check on the number of bullets.

All I’d get was four shots. I grimly load the weapon before tucking it into the waistband of my pants. I check on my hunting knife strapped to it's usual place at my right thigh. I had begun to rely a lot on the sense of safety that it seemed to provide.

Weapons prepared; I sneak up to the warehouse. The main gate was heavily guarded, but I doubt they knew about the service entrance right under the HVAC units. Softly walking across the parking lot, grateful for the dark moonless night, I sidle up to the entrance. The door, like all it's peers, only has a half pin lock. I slip the blade of my knife into the gap between the door and its frame and violently jerk it to one side, popping the simple lock.

I slowly move in, crouching low to the ground, my footsteps muffled with the rags tied to my shoes. In my right hand I carry the gun, in my left I hold the knife, ready to strike.

The service corridor opens onto the ground floor of the warehouse. I look around, trying to look for the staircase to the higher floors. I spot the door and walk over to it cautiously, listening for movement from the other side. When I don’t hear any for a good while, I open the door gently. Finding the stairwell empty I start climbing up. I reach the first floor without incident and turn to being the climb to the second floor.

Suddenly the door to my right swings open to reveal a very drunk bandit, stumbling into the stairwell.

“This new booze that Little Johnny got is the bomb” he slurred to me, before tripping over his own feet and falling to the floor, passing out.

My heart is racing a mile a minute. I cannot be found here, or I will die. I will die without having her back in my mind.

I swiftly make my way upstairs, thankfully without any more drunk bandits interrupting me. I slowly open the door to the floor and peer in. The corridor is empty, a single measly bulb throwing a pool of light on the floor. The solar panels were still working then, I thought to myself, sneaking towards the room at the end, where he lay.

The door was unlocked as I walked in, pushing the door open to let the meagre light in. With my heart in my throat, I approached the figure lying asleep on the cot. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and the light from the corridor glinted off of the heart shaped locket around his neck.

I found it. I found her. I would have her memory back.

I walk over to him, holstering the gun, the nervous energy in my body nearly causing me to trip, but I reach him without a single noise. Slowly, carefully, I reach down to grab the locket with my right hand.

Five years of living in the wasteland had baked the survival skill into him as well.

Just as my fingers brushed the locket, his eyes flew open. He grabbed my hand and shouted at the top of his lungs, yelling for the others around him.

I brought up the knife in my left hand, and without hesitation, plunged it into his heart, a second after he plunged his own blade into my stomach. I felt the blade of my knife quiver as his final heartbeat escaped him, a soft yell dying on his lips.

Blood flowed freely from my wound as I gasped out loud, and grabbed the locket with my weakening fingers. Dimly I could hear the men outside the room, but I only cared for her. Only cared for having her memory back. My fingers, slick with blood, slipped on the locket over and over again.

"I don't want just anyone to get into your heart" her words came to be unbidden. He had laughed as she said it, as she showed me the hidden clasp.

I finally manage to twist the clasp as my eyes close. There she was.

Hair the color of fire, framing her beautiful face.

God, was she always so beautiful?

My eyes close as the world fades away. She is there with me, whooping in joy, her wild hair flying around as she jumped and danced.

I finally had her back.