Reunion

It began on a grey December morning, the news reports were coming in from all around the world, the typical rhetoric from the politicians and media said do not panic but panic set in, as this was the most common response to such statements. A virus had escaped, or had developed, or had evolved, in some land far to the East that no one could pinpoint, they informed us it had the potential to kill a third of the world’s population, but again ‘do not panic’ was the repeating message.

By the first day’s afternoon, cities were burning, the citizenry was rioting, pandemonium reigned. On succeeding days as more information continued to roll in, the media, hand in hand with the politicians, promoted fear and terror. Raw, gut clenching fear overcame much of the populace, a terror that runs deep to the bones, a visceral horror, and the fear of the virus became fear of one another, the healthy attacking each other, accusing one another of various crimes, parent against child, brother against sister, families torn apart by the promoted fear. I have seen the smoke from the great cities staining the sky, the flames seem to scorch the clouds, as I wept for what I knew was coming.

The cities saw the worst of the folly, wrack, and ruin. Then came the refugees, fleeing the monsters, fleeing the virus, looking for a safe haven, looking for a respite but finding none. The highways were clogged with abandoned vehicles and people fleeing on foot, carrying their possessions on their backs. The terror keen in their eyes and in the overwhelming flood not just a few were trampled to death by others from behind. I watched from above and afar in a hideaway outside the city. I saw opportunities abound, depending upon one’s questionable morals, I could have gotten much material wealth had I so desired, I could have turned highwayman, and robbed the unfortunates fleeing the cities. I could have but did not.

As the years passed and the tide turned and ebbed with fewer and fewer people making their way along the roadways, I would, when necessary, make my way down to see what could be found that might help me survive. The people in their haste had dropped many things, some of which would help me survive the winters, or so I hoped. On a dusty, windy day while out and about, amidst the wreckage and the ruination upon the roads, a flash caught my eye, it was that one flash that fixed my destiny. I turned to examine the flash, and found a hand attached to a chain, a small herringbone chain, with a golden heart shaped locket attached to the chain. The leaf work and metalsmithing were exquisite, it was obvious it was an heirloom and, just as obvious, it was hand made. The necklace was a bit tarnished but even beneath the tarnish I could see it was thing of great beauty.

When I went to remove the locket from the hand clutching it, I realized the hand was not merely a piece of flotsam upon the road, but was, in fact, attached to a living human, unconscious, but living. I still had a shred of humanity left to me, so I made space among the canned goods, and ammunition I had found scattered here and there. Seeing this damsel in distress, I lifted her out from among the wreckage wherein she lay and loaded her upon my mule wagon. I could see why I had mistaken this as trash on the road. She was barely visible as a human under the veil of filth that enshroud her.

I returned with the girl and her locket to my hideaway. Using my paltry skills of medicine, I did my best to make her comfortable and nurse her back to health. Even in her sleep she retained a death grip upon that locket, she held on as if it were her only lifeline and I never had an opportunity to examine the locket properly. As she slept, I cleaned her up, and her beauty was astounded to me and at the same time was familiar. Maybe I had been alone too long, maybe my imagination had run away with itself but I could swear I knew her from some place. ah well, I am getting old, and I have known a great many people over the years, most of whom are dead, or far away.

A day or so later, maybe a wee bit longer, she awoke with a start. Trying to curl back into the corner, out of sight, and away from my flickering campfire, she looked around wildly, as if searching an avenue of escape, there was none.

“Rest lass, and recover yer strength, ye’ve had a hard time of it”, I told her, “but ye’re safe, none will touch ye here. I found ye half dead upon the road, tangled up in the wreckage of a car, where it appeared ye had hidden”.

She did not reply but she eased visibly and edged out of the shadows, her eyes locked on mine. I could see that spark now, that fire.

“Dada”, she stammered, “it’s you”. She opened the clasp on her locket revealing a small picture hidden within. Albeit a younger, cleaner version but it was me!