The Last Human

[Dan]

Dark blue eyes snapped open, his body aching and groaning. Confused as to where he was, his tired state slowly sobering up as he sat up on the dingy mattress. The muffled beeping of his watch caused the male to stumble off it entirely, wobbling. His oximeter continuously beeping until he shut it off. The oxygen levels in the area were slowly disappearing, about five hours until this pocket of oxygen was entirely gone.

It was a problem.

Oxygen pockets are starting to get scarce these days. Half of the earth, he once knew, was gone of any oxygen. The key factor to his existence was slowly draining away—his lifeline, literally. Despite being one of many initial computer engineers in aiding NASA’s successful mission to colonise Europa, they left behind him. For what reason? He couldn’t tell you.

He rubbed the crusts out of his eyes before wandering over to the haphazard makeshift kitchen. The initial groaning of his stomach stirring awake just as he started making a fire beneath the pan. Cooking some left over rabbit, another scarce commodity; Felix figured it was pure luck that he stumbled upon a rabbit when scouting the lands. As he made breakfast—most likely his meal for the entire day—his mind wandered about how he was going to escape.

Electricity was a thing of the past. A real shame, considering he was an expert at computers. GPS still worked, despite the American government no longer existing. Cars? Perish the thought, fossil fuels dried up a year into the...incident. An incident he couldn’t recall clearly, but just that every living thing was nearly gone.

The wafting smells of the cooked rabbit churned his stomach, bringing his focus back to reality. Moving the pan off the grill to let it cool down on the side. Unfortunately, he wasn’t afforded all the luxuries in this abandoned house. Felix moved the grill off to warm himself up. It was autumn now, no telling when the winter months were going to settle in; another problem he’d face once he came across that bridge. For now, he’ll settle with the cold nipping at his exposed skin. Part of the house’s roof caved in from some time ago.

Whilst the food cooled down, he moved from the ‘kitchen’ toward the bed, gathering his things up and into his beige tactical backpack. Checking his water, oxygen tanks, and other necessities before estimating how much they’d last him. His approximation put him at a month or two. If he kept his consumption levels low—emergency levels low—then he’d be fine. After packing everything to-go, Felix turned back to his breakfast, waiting for him. Unfortunately, no spoons or forks around, not that he needed any. He gathered the moderately warm meat to wolf it down. Enjoying the juicy bits as he washed it down with some water. He cleaned up his kitchenette, packing away the pan and spatula.

Afterward, Felix grabbed his machete, sheathing it onto his hip. He rarely used weapons, but bandits were a problem before. Cannibalism was also rampant with animals, all but nearly extinct. Or at least the edible ones were. Felix couldn’t say the same for sea animals. Before venturing out of the house, Felix put on his gas mask. It might’ve seemed foolish considering he slept inside a house that was compromised. But the infection wasn’t prevalent in the air, giving him some hours of sleep before he’d start back on his initial end goal: Washington, D.C.

What was he hoping to find there? Someone else who knew where the last colony ship was going to be. Felix heard it on the radio before the electricity ran out. There was a last colony ship departing for Europa and from what he could recall that they were near completing reconstructing the ship after a re-entry into the atmosphere did more damage to the vessel. They were leaving in a month’s time. He adjusted the straps on his bag, tightening them as he continued walking down the road; hoping to find another oxygen pocket.

---

@KenżaSheep ​

 

[KenżaSheep]

Sometime in the later afternoon—she couldn't be positive and didn't care to check; it might have been morning—a dainty, pale young woman sat up from her bed, yawned, stretched, rubbed her eyes, then she reached over her shoulder to scratch an itch that felt like it hadn't been bothered in years. That's when she remembered what today was. It's as though a firecracker had gone off; she was up and dressed within the blink of an eye, in her excitement forgetting entirely about eating, before making her way to the thick, heavy, rusting metal that had stood between her and freedom for all the twenty one years of her life.

Today was the day it opened.

This bunker door had been shut tight for twenty five long years. Her parents had died after the first nineteen, taken by a sickness or a virus, leaving her alone to survive until the lock clicked open and released her into the world. Today she would meet real people, like the crowds and characters in the books she had to read or the movies there had been to spend her time on inside the lonesome bunker. She would get to see grass on the ground and trees and houses and a blue sky instead of steel bars and flat walls or pots with funny faces that grew tufts of grassy hair. She would feel a breeze, smell the scent of fresh air instead of having to stand beside a blowing duct to get away from the stagnant, stale, recirculated oxygen that she'd become so accustomed to. She'd be able to run without fear of hitting the opposite wall or tripping over something. She would stand under the warmth of the sunlight during the day and look up at the stars at night. She was filled with hope. Today was the day those dreams came true.

She had thirty minutes still before the door unlocked. She decided to put something in her stomach so she wouldn't be running on empty. (Oh, that was another thing she could look forward to: eating something besides canned, dry, or self-grown food. She was creative, but not that creative. Three times a day for six years happened to be a long time to keep creativity running. Fortunately, she wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.)

Thirty minutes after breakfast, twenty minutes since she'd made sure she had a backpack of necessities with her in case she left the bunker behind, ten minutes since she'd brushed her teeth and made sure her thin, curly auburn hair was put up in a bun, and finally, finally, finally... there was a small, anticlimactic click from the door.

It opened.

Fresh air came flooding inward on a breeze, sucking out the stale air from inside and replacing it with something much cooler. She inhaled deeply the scent of crisp, autumn oxygen as it blew a few curly strands loose from her bun. She squinted slightly when she saw something besides dim fluorescent bulbs illuminating the top of the staircase. Eager, now, she made her way up towards the sunlight, towards the people, towards the grass and the trees, the houses and the fresh air, and towards her freedom. She was ready for her freedom.

She was not ready for this.

The street was empty and the tar was cracked, overgrown by tree roots that had once been well-kept to round beds lining a sidewalk. The sidewalk, of course, no longer existed, and the only sign that there used to be a quaint neighborhood was the occasional burnt husk of a house or a demolished home with a fallen tree sitting inside it. Only one or two were still standing, but they were rotting, overgrown, and neglected. Paint was chipping off and the roofs had holes in them—if there was a roof at all. Grass grew tall and wild, trees even taller and more gnarled from the harsh conditions they had been subject to. The staircase to her bunker was in the shade of one such tree. A melted pile of rubber and broken strings that had long ago left dents in the tree's wood were symbols that a kid, maybe several kids, might have lived here.

No one could live here, now, if they wanted to. She felt disappointed only briefly, though. Maybe this neighborhood was simply run-down and abandoned. Perhaps the next neighborhood over had people living in it. So, off to find the next neighborhood she went.

As she walked, she hummed gleefully at the feeling of sun on her paper-white skin, and she picked up rocks and leaves and sticks to feel them, smell them, throw them, break them. She found a large shell without a snail and tucked it away for later because it was pretty. She looked up at the trees, seeing old webs without spiders, bird nests with long-rotten eggs, and only a faint breeze to encourage her along in the silence of rustling leaves. There was so much color up here! But where were the people? And weren't there supposed to be birds?

Slowly, something began to settle on her as she realized that all the houses she passed and still more down the way were all run-down and lifeless. There were no people. There were no birds. No dogs or cats, trash-bandits, or even rodents. She was alone. She was the last human here, it seemed, since she hadn't run into anyone else yet. Surely if they were out here, she would have seen them. Perhaps she simply wasn't looking hard enough.

She yelled, calling for anyone. Anyone at all. Someone to tell her she wasn't the only person out here. Her throat became sore after only a minute; she wasn't used to using her voice so harshly, but still she yelled. She had to find someone. There had to be someone.

 

[Dan]

A detailed map of the United States of America laid sprawled out over the hood of a long, abandoned car. A gloved hand followed the faded red outline across the state of Kansas—his current position—from outside of the town of Goddard, which followed directly toward Wichita. If his memory was correct, the University there would have some remnants of NASA being there. While it wouldn’t be close to the real thing at HQ, it was a step toward finding out where this colony ship was going to be.

A gentle autumn breeze brushed through the area. Whispers of caution stuck to it, alerting the male, as he crammed the map away. Stuffing it back into the front pocket of his pack before slinging it back on. Felix was on the right track. Keeping on the main road shouldn’t be too risky. His travel through the flat state was eerily safe compared to the west coast. A twenty-minute walk to Wichita, already losing time to the slowly depleting oxygen pocket.

As he continued, sweat accumulated behind the gas mask he wore. Thankfully, it wasn’t summer. Those months were far worse than now. Felix let his gaze wander over the flatlands. Overgrown nature poked through cracks of the unmaintained road. Taking a moment to appreciate nature’s slow progress of claiming back what was once her’s. Only the swaying of grasses and his thudding boots could be heard, reminding him of what almost claimed every living thing.

The last town had printed newspapers, bold headlines of an ‘invasion’ happening. What was it? No one could tell at first. Then, the papers started calling it an infection because whatever it was in the air, it gradually took over the host’s body yet in forcing itself inside it, the host’s body deteriorated rapidly. At least, that’s what the people on ham radio said and what the papers printed. Felix only remembered something happening in New York City about a transformer exploding and next thing he knew, he woke up in his flat. It didn’t take him long to figure out what happened to the Earth while he was out.

His mind coming back to reality once more, seeing the outlines of buildings in the distance prompts him to pick up the pace.

Wichita, Kansas.

His second goal? Finding the University of Wichita.