The Locket

Everyone thought the COVID pandemic would be the worst of our lives. It was. Until the next one. Turns out the next pandemic would make COVID look like the common cold.

Scientists blamed it on climate change. Politicians blamed it on nations. In the end, it didn’t matter. It took COVID a year to kill 600,000 Americans. SARV killed as many in the first month.

First it was the hospitals to fall, when doctors and nurses were no longer able to attend to the sick because they themselves were dying. Supply chains ground to a halt. Last time there were empty aisles. This time, entire stores were cleaned out. There were no lines waiting outside, as there was nothing inside worth waiting for.

Some say it was the panic that brought down the government. Others say it was the virus. Either way, when first responders stopped responding, everything went to hell. Other services stopped. Where COVID revealed the thin veneer of our civilization, SARV ripped it right off. No one knows who is in charge anymore.

Most of the people fled early on. But it didn’t matter. It was the same everywhere. Chaos. Those who had somewhere safe to retreat to flew off while the planes were still flying.

They say everyone needs a car is SoCal. That it’s impossible to get around without one. Well, not so anymore. Gasoline has become something of an urban myth. It seems everyone knows someone who found a gallon but never find it themselves. What used to be a forty minute drive downtown was now a two day journey on foot.

Even if you had the fuel, where would you go? The interstates were the hunting grounds of Marauders now. Everyone knows someone who either lost someone to the Marauders or became a victim themselves.

It’s just - what? - thirty miles that separates them? Thirty miles that might as well be thirty thousand. But it didn’t matter. She would walk forty miles. She would walk forty thousand.

After all, he had left to help. To help her. Now she would help him. She always told him as long as they had each other, there was nothing they couldn’t handle. They had no one else.

She took one last look around the house. What she would give to have just one more day, one more night of normal. One more day at the beach, at their friend’s house. One more movie, one more dinner. Even the banality of evenings spent on the couch watching TV together. Just one more day.

She finished the letter in case he retuned while she was gone. They would have that day, even if it was in this, this whatever it is… she refused to accept it as the new normal.

Gunther watched from the sofa. He would be fine. She had left him a month’s worth of food and as much water. The removed floor vent and torn air duct allowed him to get under the house and outside, so he could go do whatever cats do.

She scratched him behind the ear, receiving an affirmation in return. It was time.

She finished packing. She was as prepared as she would be and every bit as nervous. She hoisted the backpack on her shoulders, cinching the strap tight. She grabbed her locket in her hand and closed her eyes. He said he was giving her his “heart” at the time. It had been an anniversary gift. It was now her strength. And just maybe, mankind’s future. She closed the door behind her. She would bring him home.

**********

Gunther watched as the door closed behind her. His ears were dialed in to bemusement, his eyes to contempt. He knew she won’t be back anytime soon. She barely left me a week’s worth of food. Hence the contempt. He would show her his discontent. He headed for her running shoes on the floor at the foot of the bed to relieve himself.

He would give her a week. Then, once the food ran out, he was gone. So long and thanks for all the fish. He heard a couple dolphins say that on the TV once. Now he understood. The dolphins got it. Like him, they too were a superior species. In the meantime, it was back through the vent to go look for that stray cat he scented the other day. If he couldn’t find her, there was always that randy rabbit ready for a good shag.

**********

She had been traveling far enough removed from the road to remain unseen from the Marauders. But she was close enough to hear them, or at least the occasional sound of gunfire and horns that indicated they had fallen upon prey upon those few who still thought there was somewhere to go and were desperate enough to try to get there.

Early on had been the slowest, as she stuck to hiking and biking trails whenever possible. They routinely biked these trails, which according to a local Native American friend followed the same game trails his people had been using for centuries.

She was able to remain unseen for the first day. The next day had been tougher. She had to cross through Marauder territory to reach the Miramar Barter Market, or MBM. Once a proud airfield that was home to the Navy's Top Gun school, Miramar had been abandoned. The aircraft had redeployed elsewhere, presumably to go fight some enemy unseen. She had waited until night, which brought its own set of perils.

She reached the gate uneventfully. What had been a metropolitan population nearing 3 million was now maybe 30,000, scattered over 4,500 square miles. The MBM had began as a local community outreach. And as the scattered remains of outlying communities came to know of it, it grew in size. It was the only place you could hope to reliably find life’s basic necessities.

She had no problem finding what she needed. She purchased four bullets for her handgun and enough antibiotics to stave off infection from any unforeseen injury. She was able to refill her camelback and secure enough food for the rest of her journey. She was aware how lucky she had been to find everything she required. Unfortunately she was not aware of the man who also noticed her good fortune.

She left at night to cross the freeway under the cover of darkness. There was enough moonlight to navigate her way past the surface streets to get back off the beaten path before daylight. Only then would she rest.

The sound of a cracked branch woke her up in a start. A coyote night be loud underfoot but it wouldn’t crack a branch. No, only one species could have done that. She wasn’t alone. Her heart raced as she worked to control her breathing. Relax. You’re armed. You can protect yourself. It wasn’t just an affirmation. They had long made it a practice to visit a shooting range about twice a year. She could and would protect herself in an emergency.

She strained to adjust her eyes in the predawn morning as she quietly grabbed her handgun. Her hands trembled slightly as she attempted to chamber a round as quietly as possible, an effort rendered pointless by the very loud and deliberate sound of another handgun racking a round behind her. She froze with fear.

“Hand it over.” She wanted to flee. She thought momentarily about trying to shoot him, but she never was able to chamber a round. It was useless. She handed him the pistol.

“No. You know what I want. Hand it over.”

“What are you talking about?” But she already knew. It dawned on her this wasn’t a random robbery.“I don’t have it.” He questioned her at length, then searched her at gunpoint. Nothing. She wasn’t lying.

“Then I guess you’re of no use to me.” His voice was cold. Emotionless. She felt the terror rising, the realization that she would not be walking away. She had failed. Tears began to well in her eyes as she heard the hammer click.

The last noise she heard before everything went black was the gunshot. A gunshot that seemed to last an eternity, the sound echoing somewhere in her ears as all suddenly went dark.

**********

Gunther’s doctor had very clearly said that birds of prey won’t go after a cat over eight pounds. At least that's what he reminded himself as the ground quickly grew smaller beneath him. Stupid humans. She might have been right. But she didn’t count one very slow California condor who was particularly poor at estimation. But this was little consolation as he felt himself slip from its grip. He always wondered what it would be like to fly. Now, as the ground suddenly became larger again, he realized no sir, he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

Fortunately, it was not yet Gunther's time. The tree canopy saw to this, as did four outreached paws with claws extended. By the time he hit the ground, it really wasn’t much worse than jumping out of trees he had climbed. But it still sucked. And somehow this was the humans’ fault. Gunther was sure of it. Eight pounds my furry ass.

But he could play the blame game later. Now, he was hungry. To think that he had three days’ worth of food back home… oh, the irony. Her shoes would pay for this. By his estimation, he was a full day’s journey from home. He would have to eat en route, of course. And therein lied the rub. How was he supposed to hunt with this thing around his neck? It wasn’t bad enough that 2 1/2 ounces of 14k heart-shaped gold hung around his neck like a cowbell. That rattling from inside would make it impossible to sneak up on damn near anything.

**********

The headache… That was her first conscious thought. She tried to open an eye but the pain was too much to bare. “Rest,” the man’s voice said. She recognized the voice, reassuring in both tone and familiarity. This time, her eyes didn’t protest as loudly when she cracked them open for the first time in what seemed days. She knew this man. “Jerry?”

“I saw you leaving the market. When I saw the man following you. I kept my distance, and when I saw he was going to shoot you I fired on him as quickly as I could, but I saw you fall immediately afterward. I was terrified I was too late. And I guess in a way I was.” Fortunately, his shot had altered the killer’s shot enough to just graze her. She’d have a scar under her hair, but aside from the concussion she would be fine.

And that wasn’t the only good news. Jerry wasn’t alone in his camp, another half day’s journey away. He was there too; they would soon be together again. And they had managed to make contact with the UN microbiologist. The emotion was overwhelming. The flood gates opened for the first time in what seemed like months.

Two days later they were reunited in their home. Jerry had stuck around. Gunther too had found his way back, armed with contempt and one heart-shped locket that had almost cost his human her life. She explained how she had tied the locket to Gunther’s neck in case they came looking for it at the house while she was gone.

Tomorrow the three of them would depart together, for the reservation where Jerry and his people had escaped the collapse. They were an anomaly amongst the population for their immunity to the virus, and the genetic study she had led at Biodyne had discovered why. The UN now had the micro SD card that had been inside the locket. And on it the genome sequencing of Jerry’s tribe and the answer for fighting the virus. The answer for our survival.