The Warning

Chimes tinkled gently in the breeze, and if you closed your eyes and listened, it might almost seem soothing, filling you with a longing for days long gone by. You might even remember idle summer days, playing outside in the fresh-scented grass or napping on the front porch with a cool glass of lemonade beside you, within easy reach.

You might even forget, for a moment, that the breeze is actually oppressively hot and acrid - not at all refreshing - and carries with it the odor of decay and death that has been your constant companion for too many months to count. That aside from the tinkling of the windchimes and the noise you yourself make as you walk, there is precious little else still around or living to make any of the noise you were accustomed to, not so very long ago.

The man trudged on toward home, such as it was, a heavy canvas bag slung over his shoulder and his faithful dog, Harrow by his side. He used to stagger under the weight, but a few years of laboring and growing had made it into something a bit closer to bearable. Through the trees, stunted from drought and extreme heat, past the dead and dried up river bed he used to splash in and explore. Up a dirt road that once was asphalt, and was much easier on his tattered shoe-covered feet now, if he were honest. The sack was dirty and worn in some places but it was sturdy, and it made carrying his haul easier. He was grateful when his sister found it, and even more so that she’d insisted he take it. He did the bulk of the work, she’d reminded him, and got to go a lot further out than she could when not trying to keep things going at home. As Brady walked, sweat dripping down his spine, the click and clack of its contents sounded off, mixing into a strange cacophony along with the sloshing of the fresh water he’d managed to get, too.

It had been a good day.

He and Harrow finally made their way toward the shed that was their bare abode, the smell of the outside cooking fire wafting over and masking, for the short duration it burned, the less savory odors out there. Mellie was back before him, as always, trying to magic whatever she’d managed during her food scavenging hunt into something edible and familiar. He would swear to her that the skinny, gamey rabbit mixed perfectly with the acorn porridge leftover from the morning, that the taste and texture of it was so close to the grits their Grandmama used to make, or that the canned beans and wild millet was as good as their favorite rice and beans, the dish from the restaurant they used to stop at after school every Wednesday, and he wasn’t lying. She could work wonders with the worst stuff, or the smallest amounts. Food was a blessing to begin with but what she did with it was a kindness, and Brady was always touched that she tried so hard to maintain some kind of normalcy for his sake, and her own. Harrow, for his part, never complained.

But nothing was normal, not anymore… and those small reprieves were the only bright spots in a sea of uncertainty and chaos. They kept them going, though, providing some kind of hope, ever since the Burning that was shortly followed by the Longest Winter. Those had eventually turned into the current climate, colloquially known as The Wasting, or the Hot Gates, depending upon who you asked and how religious they happened to be.

Eight years before was when it had begun. A little warmer that summer between sixth and seventh grade, perhaps… okay, a lot warmer… but it hadn’t seemed to be much worse than an extended heat wave at the time. They’d been through those before and they usually resolved with one big boomer of a thunderstorm. But this time… this time, it kept going,, without a drop of rain. Not even a drizzle, for months on end. Crops withered and died on most farms, and the few who had irrigation systems fed by wells were able to cope for a little while… until those ran dry, too, or became contaminated. And it didn’t stop during what should have been Autumn and Winter, either. In some cruel twist, while their area burned and dried to dust, feeding wildfires and drought both, other parts of the world were drowning in rising sea levels, losing everything, as the water rushed in, faster than they could run. As torrents of rain came with crushingly powerful storms that destroyed everything in their paths. The government and the news, while both were still running, chalked it up to a massive hole that had been blown into the ozone layer. No one would confirm the cause and no one seemed to know what to do, but plenty of people had seen the explosion and drew their own conclusions. Not that it mattered, in the end.

Then, practically overnight - or at least, that’s how it seemed looking back - the temperatures dropped to an unheard of degree. The world went from scorching to freezing, with everything covered in a blanket of ice and snow. By then, supply chains had been obliterated, famine was taking hold all over, and people were getting sick with strange illnesses that had no names or cures. Farm equipment was useless, livestock had long gone into the ground or into starving bellies… no one could really say anymore. Medicines weren’t coming, hospitals were overrun, and the people who had been unfortunate enough to survive thus far were rioting and taking whatever they could find. Sometimes hurting others in the process, or worse, in a mad grab for any and everything they could use or trade. Eventually, the infrastructure collapsed completely, and only a small fraction of them got through it, to find themselves once again overwhelmed by drought and terrible heat.

But Mellie and Brady were survivors, if one had to sum them up in a single word. They’d made a life foraging and scavenging for food, for items that were considered valuable, for medicines and beneficial plants… anything and everything. It was through their rough system of mutual aid that they’d been able to retain some semblance of community, even if all else seemed lost for a time. It was also how he’d gotten Harrow, then a small, starving pup. The woman who had him was a passerby, and she couldn’t keep him. So Brady had traded - Harrow was worth the couple of empty sketch books and a colored pencil set, more than worth it.

“Mellie, I’m home!” Brady called out, lugging the canvas sack in front of him so they could begin the daily process of sorting through everything he’d found. Harrow couldn’t help but nose through it again, even though he’d given it a thorough canine inspection just before. They had a good set-up going - you never knew what someone might need or want so even the more interesting and seemingly useless finds were put safely away under lock and key. They’d had to contend with some menacing types before, but their little network could be counted on to come together and protect one another when things took a turn.

He finished dumping everything on a tarp, far enough from the fire that Mellie would have kept a hawk’s eye on throughout her cooking time, and waited for her to join him as he began sorting the haul. A few books that had survived a house fire. A rusted rifle that might come back to life with some cleaning and oiling, and if not, could be melted down into something else by the metal worker a mile up the road. Some cans of what was probably tuna or chicken, judging by the size, with nothing but expired dates on them. They weren’t bulging, though, so they might still be okay, and meat was hard to come by besides.

But Harrow wasn’t interested in the cans even though Brady was certain he had the best sniffer of any dog left in existence. It was strange, because Harrow also had the best appetite out of all of them, and almost never ignored food. No, instead, the shaggy yellow pup was going for a small velvet box, so dusty and faded that what should have been black was now a dusky grey. He let out a huff as he nosed it toward Brady, and sat, tail swishing away, while he picked it up and looked it over. A crease formed in Brady’s brow as Mellie finally arrived to look over the fresh stash. Deftly sorting through the canned goods and the water, she inspected each for dates and telltale signs that something was irretrievably gone bad.

“What’s that you got there?” She asked, finally done, redoing the tight bun she used to keep her wild brown curls off her neck in the oppressive heat. She eyed her brother as he stayed silent, seemingly unable to take his eyes off the jewel box.

“I’m not sure,” he said softly, even as Harrow let out another impatient huff ending on a whine, a paw set upon Brady’s knee. He pushed sandy brown hair out of his face and finally opened the box, his head tipped to the side as he lifted the tarnished, heart-shaped locket from the pins holding it inside.

“That’s beautiful,” Mellie breathed, her eyes lighting up as she looked over his shoulder with a grin. Even so many years later, something pretty and useless was enough to bring the past hurtling back. Enough to evoke memories of what had been and was now lost. Brady couldn’t fault her; it was a hard life and sometimes… sometimes it was nice to have something frivolous, when they had precious little. “Open it?”

He smiled at her and pressed the little button that should have popped it open without much trouble, but it seemed a bit stuck now. He fished around for his pocket knife and slid the blade into the seam, trying to gently pop it so they could see inside. With a little jiggling, it finally gave way.

...And promptly knocked them both backward, while Harrow sat just out of the reach of the blast, wearing a goofy doggy grin.

A brilliant light exploded all around them as an ethereal figure slowly formed. They both sat up, trying to see through squinting eyes, trying to make sense of what - no, who - stood before them as she took firmer shape.

“Grandmama?” Brady whispered, unable to believe his own eyes. But she was unmistakable, clad in gauzy lilac, looking as young as she was in her wedding portrait.

“Brady... Mellie,” she said with a soft, loving smile, the words echoing gently as she glided closer and the pair clasped hands, leaning away, in equal parts terror and wonder. “My darlings. You finally found me.”

The pair exchanged a glance, not knowing what to make of it. Magic didn’t exist here, not anymore... if it ever did. But the sight of someone so familiar and long-missed was enough to have Brady believing, a sliver of hope forming at her next words.

“My darling babies… what if I told you there was a chance to change everything? To go back to before? Would you take it?”

Brady stood, then, releasing his sister’s hand, and eyed the celestial being before him. A rigid look formed upon his features, trying to reconcile her, her words… the surely foolish hope that he wasn’t hallucinating. “How?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“The locket,” she murmured, the words echoing all around them, bouncing and doubling back. “Pick it up. Both of you, and Harrow, too. You only get one chance at this.”

Melanie and Brady exchanged a grim look, then nodded, before Brady promptly closed the locket, and tossed it into the fire.