The Last One

Last One

All was quiet; the only sounds Maxwell could hear were his own labored breathing and the wind blowing through what trees were left.  But this wasn’t unusual for Earth anymore.  There were no other sounds.  Sometimes Max heard the wild dogs in the distance, but that is not what bothered him at night.

But now, the wind sounded different, like it was calling to him.  He shuddered.  How much longer do I have here?  He wondered.  But no, he was just being paranoid, he wasn’t coming for him, it was just the sound the wind made as it whipped through the many abandoned buildings.

Max continued to climb up the hill.  I’m getting too old for this.  But, looking at him, it would appear that he wasn’t.   Having made this trek everyday for the past twelve years, Max was in great shape for his age.  He was the ripe old age of 73, his arms that should have been weak, and fragile were strong and muscular from carrying boxes and food every day.   His glasses had broken long ago, but he wore them despite the cracked lens, at least he could almost completely see.  He checked his watch, forgetting that it had long ago run out of batteries.  I have about twenty minutes to get back home.  If I don’t, I will defiantly be eaten.  He thought, stating the obvious.  It was almost dusk, and that was when the creatures came out.  He had to be safely inside by then.

He locked the door behind him and went to put the food that he had gone so far for on the counter.  “There isn’t much left there darling, we will have to be careful, the next store is quite far away.”  There was no answer, but Max ignored that fact.  He had already exhausted the supplies at the Cumberland Farms around the corner from his house, as well as the small drug store.  Now he walked every day to and from the Stop and Shop, it was about seven miles both ways.  The next closest store was a Wal-Mart.  By now it would smell in there from the spoiled meat and produce, but there would be canned food on the shelves. 

Max opened a can of green beans and dished out two measly servings.  “Seeing as it’s your birthday, I managed to find your favorite.”  There was still no answer.

He placed the plates on the table and sat down to eat.  He savored every last bite, making it last as long as he could.  When he finished he looked at the plate he had put out for his wife.  “Margret, you didn’t eat.  You know you need to eat to keep up your strength.”  But there was no answer.  Finally Max reached over and ate the beans himself.  He stood up and cleared the table.

Max went through this routine everyday.  He just couldn’t face the fact that his wife was gone, and he was alone.  He had loved her more than anything, more than life.  He walked slowly to the mantle; his hip was bothering him today.  Looking at the pictures there made him so gloomy.  It broke his heart to see his smiling wife there, holding their first born who had died a year later in a car accident, to see her smiling at the camera when they went to Florida; she was wearing a Mickey Mouse hat and a pink sun dress.  Standing there, he thought about how easy it would have been to join her all those years ago.

It had been almost 13 years since his wife died.  It had been 12 years since he became the last human alive.

The human race had been whipped out by an epidemic.  Countries at a time, sometimes in a month, sometimes over the course of years, had been whipped off the face of the earth.  The population plummeted, billions, millions, thousands, hundreds, until there were only about a hundred who had congregated here in Connecticut.  Then, one by one, they too had died.  Max had held his wife as she took her last breaths, he had told her not to worry, and he would inevitably join her soon.  But now, here he was 12 years later, and the only one out of the six billion people still alive.

Later that night, Max sat in his chair, reading by the last of his candles.  Electricity had long since ceased to exist, gas stations ran out of gas for generators a few years before he was the last man standing, and he hardly even remembered what batteries looked like.  Tonight, to celebrate what would have been his wife’s 70^th birthday; Max used one of his last candles to read part of his wife’s favorite book.

He jumped, startled out of the other world by a sound he had not heard in the past twelve years.  He waited, thinking he had imagined it, but then it came again.  It can’t be… but it was.  When it came a third time, he got up to go look.  Before he made it over there, the sound came again.  Now he was certain that it was not his imagination.  There was someone knocking at his front door.

He pulled it open and stood face to face with what he had waited twelve years for.  “Are you ready Maxwell?”  He

asked.  Max nodded, and without saying a word, stepped out into the night.  He walked away from the house without looking back.  Although he felt weaker than he ever had before, Max left with a smile on his face.