Oasis Key

I am Winter.

My mother gave me that name after her favorite season. She would tell stories about how before the earth was scorched, snowflakes would rain down from the sky. Her words would bring my comfort, to her, Winter meant hope.

“Despite the ice and snow,

New life will surely grow.”

Now the thought just makes me thirsty so I unhook my nearly empty canteen from my belt and dump the last few drops of silty liquid into my mouth, the familiar metallic flavor and grit abrasive against my tongue as I force myself to swallow. I shake the canteen again but no more drops come.

Dap. I swear, before returning the canteen to my belt. I can already feel the relentless pounding of the sun overhead cooking my exposed skin and sucking the last bits of moisture from my body.

What I wouldn’t give for a real Winter.

With a sigh, I survey the wasteland that goes on for miles before me, speckled with the spines of forgotten skyscrapers stretching towards the sky like the claws of a great silver beast. A beast that I’m about to walk right into the mouth of.

If you don’t go out there and search, Winter, how will you ever find a key to the Oasis? I argue, and with a deep breath, begin the steep climb down from the crumbling overpass, trying to ignore the nervous jitters that exploring a new place always brings.

Dap, I swear again as my foot sends a spray of loose gravel cascading down beneath me, announcing my arrival to anyone who might be close by. I jump the last few feet down, landing on the balls of my feet and roll myself behind a stack of deteriorating building materials, praying that the shadows will be enough to conceal me from any nearby hunters.

You’ve been growing reckless lately. The voice in my head chides, and I ignore it. I’ve been talking to myself a lot recently. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m going crazy. Of course, that’s not the worst thing that’s happening to me, I muse, adjusting the scarf that I’ve tied over my smooth scalp to keep the sensitive skin from blistering and retrieving the sword from across my back.

The hunters or the radiation in the air will certainly kill me before insanity does.

Not if we find a key. Now get to looking.

“Alright”, I grumble aloud, giving the open area around me one final scan before emerging from my hiding place, my eyes searching for the tell-take glimmer of an Oasis key. I’m not sure who the creators of the Oasis thought they were helping by scattering a handful of keys to paradise across a barren wasteland, I would have much preferred that they let us fight each other for them. Hiding them and making us search just takes too much dapping time, and time is not something that any of us have much of.

I pause my searching to cough, wincing at the sight of the black twinge my spittle leaves on my gloves. Myself less time than most.

The sound of gravel crunching beneath a heavy boot to the south of me causes me to instinctively drop into a crouch, my grip on my sword growing tighter. I hold my breath as two figures emerge from behind the rusting hull of an automobile, arms raised overhead.

“Please! I don’t wish to fight, only to trade.” The larger figure announces, pushing the smaller figure ahead of him, much smaller in fact. A child, I realize grimly, and return my sword to my back before raising to my full height.

“I have no interest in a trade!” I snap, my eyes scanning the dozens of automobiles scattered across the highway around us, on the lookout for any signs of an ambush as the figures draw closer. When they get close enough that I can see the fear in the wide blue eyes of the child and the tracks that the tears have left on her sunburnt cheeks, I raise a hand to stop them. “That’s close enough,” I warn. “I told you before old man, I have no interest in a trade.”

He shakes his head, giving the child a shove that causes her to stumble forward towards me. “I’ve been saddled with this child for long enough,” he pleads. “I’ll take anything for her, a bite of food, a drop of water, anything.” My stomach churns, wondering how many people the child has been offered to, and what sort of fate awaits her if I don’t buy her freedom.

The odds of you finding one Oasis key are nearly impossible. The voice warns. There is no way in dap that you’re finding two. I glance back at the child, who clutches her tattered clothing around herself with tiny fingers and stares at the ground, trembling.

“Fine,” I growl, angry at myself for not being able to walk away. I retrieve a handful of berries I foraged on my way here, shoving them into the man’s open palm. He thanks me with a dip of his head and crams them all into his mouth, sucking the last remaining of berry juice from his fingertips before turning to leave, leaving me standing alone with the girl.

“Do you have a name?” I mutter but she doesn’t answer, instead placing her tiny hand in mine, sending a shiver of warmth up my arm until it reaches my heart. It’s been a long time since I’ve had physical contact with another human. It feels wonderful. “Alright then,” I say, speaking for the both of us, “well my name is Winter.” Her little blue eyes watch with fascination as we pick our way through the city ruins and I recount the stories of snowfall to her that my mother used to tell me when I was just as small, about how tiny drops of frozen water would fall from the sky, turning everything white and about how you could spend all day catching them on the tip of your tongue. Her voice sounds like a cry of a small bird when she finally speaks.

“What’s a mother?” The question brings me to a halt, and I spend a moment debating on the best way to answer.

“A mother...is someone kind,” I begin, leading her past the empty windows that stand like open mouths on either side of us, careful to look within each one for the glimmer of an Oasis key. “She protects you, and takes care of you.” I explain, fighting against the disappointment that comes with another failed search. The girl peers up at me with innocence.

“Are you my mother?” she wonders, and I stop, frozen in place. Not because of the question, but because of what I see peeking out from underneath the child’s worn leather shoe. A locket made of gold, in the shape of a heart. I swallow, fingers trembling as I carefully crouch down and retrieve the object that I’ve been searching for as long as I can remember. I don’t breathe as I feel it’s weight against my palm, wondering if my eyes are deceiving me. But no, it’s as real as the child in front of me. I curl my fingers around the object, an Oasis key. The child watches me with inquisitive eyes as I tuck the treasure into my shirt, the smooth metal finish soothing against my skin, bringing with it a promise of hope.

“Have you ever heard of the Oasis?” I finally say, taking her hand in mine and walking swiftly West, towards my future. Towards safety. She shakes her head as she struggles to keep up with me. “It’s a beautiful place, full of food and clean water. It’s not so hot there. And the people don’t want to hurt you.” I explain, looking over my shoulder for any sign that we are being followed. My heart drops as I see a mountain of dust rising from behind us. Hunters. Oh great Earth, how did they know?

I bring my feet to a stop, and firmly grab the child by both shoulders, explaining in hurried detail the directions to the Oasis as my own mother once did for me. Head West. Find the mountains. Show them the key. Her wide blue eyes look like that of a bird as she peers at the shiny golden locket that I retrieve from its hiding place and fasten around her neck. What are you doing? The voice objects. We’ve searched our whole life for this!

“Go!” I yell to the child, pointing towards the horizon. “Run and don’t stop until you reach the Oasis!” I wait a moment to make sure she follows my instruction and as her tiny feet carry her away to safety, I draw my sword from my back and turn to face the Hunters. I plant my feet firmly in the dirt below, chanting aloud,

“Despite the ice and snow,

New life will surely grow!”

I will never live to see the Oasis, but the child will. The thought brings me comfort as I stare into the flashing red eyes of the Hunters. I raise my sword.

I am Winter.

And Winter means hope.