Sentimental Fool...

She sat in the back of her tent running her fingers over the locket. She was watching the shadows move trying to decide if it was close enough to sunset to pack up. She had been in this location for two days now and three was a bad idea. If you set up someplace for too long there were those who assumed that meant you had so much stuff it wasn't easy to pack it all. Which made you a target. 

Never make yourself a target.

She wanted to be ready to move as soon as the temperature dropped. Or right before. There were those that would risk the extra time as the sun was setting, knowing they could get the drop on those that hadn't started to move, that hadn't been ready for an attack during daylight. There used to be more daytime raids but now it was just too hot while the sun was up to risk being outside. You might be able to raid a camp, but if they held you off and kept you out in the sun you were toast. So to speak. 

It was a balancing act. Move as soon as you could, but not too early. Be ready for an attack but don't waste too much energy and time looking for one that might not come. Sleep during the day but not too deeply. Move at night but carefully. Don't draw attention to yourself. Don't make yourself a target. This wasn't a world for soft things anymore. 

She ran her finger over the back of the locket one more time before tucking it away. At one point there had been a name engraved there but over the years her finger had worn it smooth. That was fine. There was no need for names anymore. There weren't enough people left to need them. There was just you and everyone else. 

She used to open the locket and touch the photo inside. But the grit in the air and the grime on her fingers started to erase the photo. To protect it she had closed the two hearts into one and stopped opening it at all. That was fine. She had looked at it so often all she had to do was close her eyes to recall every detail. The slight turn of the head, the crooked grin, the smile in the eyes. She didn't need to open the locket to see the picture. 

She shook off her sleeping bag. The layer of grit that settled on it during the day was impressive. She tried not to think about how much of that was in her lungs now. She knew that even through the layers of protection on her face there was a constant seeping of grit in every breath she took. There was dirt in her nose. Dirt in her mouth. Dirt in her eyes and in her ears. Eventually she would be buried alive from the inside out. 

But not today. Today she was still alive and ready to move.

Her hand automatically reached for the locket again. It had turned into a talisman. A worry stone. A reminder to keep moving. It was hard to remember a time when there were things like lockets and earrings and bracelets and brightly colored clothes and shoes, impractical things that you had just because they were beautiful. There were people who made a living just making beautiful things. And people would buy them and fill their houses with them. And they all thought those things were so important. 

Those that learned quickly about what was really valuable were the ones that were still alive. Good strong shoes. Layers of clothing that could keep you warm while you moved at night, but could be shed during the day to try and cool off. Anything that could block the grit. Goggles were best but sunglasses were better than nothing. A tent that you could seal. A strong back pack. And a strong back. 

Camping stores were looted early. Doomsday preppers were next. Nothing made you a bigger target in the beginning than your neighbors knowing you had a cellar full of food and supplies. Those guns you thought would save you? Good luck keeping the grit out of them. There were as likely to explode in your hand as they were to actually shoot the bullet at someone. It was like the Dirty Harry movie she remembered. Do you feel lucky? If you were hungry enough you took the chance. The grit evened the playing field. The preppers who had made sealed basements to protect from nuclear fall out thought they would be safe. But once their generators filled with grit and stopped working their underground bunkers turned into ovens. It was come out or cook to death. And as soon as they opened the door to come out they found there were people waiting for them. 

Or maybe not for them, but for their supplies. 

Never make yourself a target. 

The shadows lengthened and she decided it was time to go. She put on the welder's helmet she preferred to wear during the last moments of sunlight and struck her tent tent quickly. She loaded the last of her supplies into her back pack and took a look around before leaving. No footprints. Nobody had been sneaking around. Or at least nobody had gotten close enough for danger. That was a good sign. 

She scanned the horizon looking for signs of life. If she could find another campsite tonight that would be good. She was running low on a few items.

It was easier to find things at the beginning. Stores weren't completely picked over, or buried in grit. There were things left behind in houses that could be put to use. Curtains and bedsheets usually. The water in the toilet tank was sometimes still there. One glorious time a large ice chest full of water. Apparently it had been full of ice and beer. Judging from the bottles scattered around the living room and the state of his body she had guessed he had drunk all of the beer and then hadn't been able to protect himself from what came next. But it was just a guess. She had come later and seen the carnage. Bad day for him, good luck for her. 

She had made that water last, filling those empty beer bottles and capping them with wax plugs from some candles she had found. Then she had used one of the bottles as a weapon to protect the rest from someone else. She had been careless and taken a drink in the open. She had made herself a target. 

Never make yourself a target.

Survival was a trick. A game. Everyone had to play differently. Those that could protect themselves did. Those that couldn't, needed to learn how to move fast and light. To stay out of sight as much as possible and to move when it was time to move. Even those that would fight needed to learn when not to. When the numbers weren't in your favor. Or the size disadvantage was too great. You became a quick judge of character or you died. 

And sometimes you died in horrific ways. Worse than suffocating from the grit filling your lungs. Worse than starving to death slowly. Worse than the delirium that could overtake you in a matter of moments in the the midday heat. Worse than hoping the gun you found would work for just one more shot. 

You could die because you hadn't yet learned that no thing was worth your life. You could die because you didn't understand that survival was all that mattered. Travel light, travel fast, never make yourself a target.

You could die clutching a heart shaped locket that meant so much to you that you went back for it when you should have run fast and far. 

There was no place for soft things in this world. Not anymore.