Red Lockets, White Lies

The urgency struck me first.

When describing the apocalypse, most authors and doomsday preppers of yore tend to leave out the utter, lung-sapping sense of urgency. When No’Am-Erica’s final nuclear reaction finally exploded, the gentle nudge by the government to evacuate soon gave way to a rat-race of survival. In the carnage, I only managed to salvage one item- a torn half of a red locket, with the initial “T” painted in white. It was an ancient artifact, given to me by my grandmother from her mother. My cousin, Yazmine, held the other half, a familial bind that kept us together as the world fell apart. I lost her when we evacuated. “Lost” being the operative word. I’m quite certain she’s alive: she far too stubborn to die. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of our mothers. With both of us now orphans (we both lost our fathers to the Intercontinental Wars of 2186) and separated, I set out to find Yazmine and settle down in our version of paradise. It was a commerce hub in the last century, sparkling with life and innovation and productivity. Before the world went to hell, our ancestors utilized the building to buy, sell, and ship products across the world. Because of the technological advancement, it remained one of the few buildings across the country that remained relatively unscathed by the ravages of war, radiation, and time. The ArrowHouse was our dream haven when Yaz and I were children, the closest tangible location comparable to what our ancestors deemed Paradise. A place with ample food, ample water, and no violence. A place where you could rest your head and not have to worry about not seeing the next red sunrise. I was determined to find Yaz, find transport, and get us to the ArrowHouse.

I knew I’d find her at the Rage-It, a multi-doored wasteland filled with ancient nonsense and the occasional valuable artifact. The place had fascinated Yaz for years, and even though most of the structures have been torn asunder, my cousin never failed to find the one decently constructed building and sneak her way inside. I knew she’d head there first if we were ever separated, so I gathered my few essentials (a knife, a can of something that’s dubiously edible, and a kerchief I found on the ground), tie my locket around my neck with a piece of ribbon I found, and headed off towards the Rage-It. Because the landscape changes so frequently due to the violent winds and earth-shakings, we measure distance by following the bloodred sunlight, which punches holes through the smog in thinner places in the atmosphere. I needed to reach the Rage-It before the sun went down and the more ruthless scavengers came out, so I marched quickly into the blinding light. Before long, I reached the Rage-It. I stopped and marked my steps. One- step to the left, two- step to the right, walk five spaces, then turn diagonal. Yaz had a distinct pattern which she felt “threw people off her scent.” In actuality, it made her look bloody ridiculous. Still, to find her was to think and act like her, so I engage in her little dance until I reach an unopened building. I take out my knife (you can’t take chances, even though I have no idea who would be here besides Yaz), and sneak in through the door on the side.

The building is dark, lit only by a torch in the corner, presumably Yaz’s. She’s crouched by a pile of small stuffed icons, taking the shapes of animals like the one in Granmother’s books. I whistle low to Yaz to get her attention. She turns and smirks at me.

“So you found me. Finally.” She smiles wide, and I smirk back at her.

“Where’s your locket?” I ask. Shapeshifters are a largely mythical legend, but in today’s era… better safe than sorry. Yaz produces hers, a mirror of mine except with a Y with a small dot over it, tied around her wrist with a ribbon. I smile, and hold up mine in a similar manner.

“We might need to change our identity checks,” says Yaz, a half-laugh hidden in her voice.

“Why?” I query, “who else would have our locket?”

Yaz gesters to the pile of animals to her left. Attached to all of them is the whole locket. “Ty,” painted in white, with a dot above the “y”.