Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25633515-20141106215119

The Last One

The Zombie apocalypse and the preparations one made for such an event were always an aspect of an individual that while never utilized, was used to evaluate someone’s devotion to the impossible… And how nerdy they were. Not the case anymore. There’s no one left to judge anymore; the nerds are the only ones that have survived this long.

I was one of the few that prepared for what I had hoped would be the inevitable due to my infatuation with media associated with the undead; The Walking Dead, George Romero, The Last of Us and so one. It would be a fine end to the world and I couldn’t conceive of a better one. Preparation was what kept me alive in the beginning, but now I consider it to be a curse rather than a blessing.

It started on the 13th May 2016, not sure how long ago that was. I can’t even remember what day it is anymore. And the end began as you would expect; vague news reports and rumours passed around the town. Excitement struck me as if I had won the lottery rather than learning of the end of the world. Huh. As if money meant anything to anyone now. As planned I called the others that cared enough to plan for the zombie apocalypse; James who was the captain of the baseball team and a valuable resource to my group, Phil who spent most of his time indoors but was great with computers and could get any equipment we stumbled upon working, Simon who was a member of the cadets and therefore knew how to use a rifle and then Sheila who for a girl actually enjoyed the thought of the dead rising and killing almost everyone on Earth as exciting as we did.

When reports arrived about the dead in further parts of England we jumped and grabbed our pre-packed bags and headed to our secondary school. We tried to gather any family that would join us and ignored the instructions of the others who told us to be home before dark; Phil lived with a foster family and didn’t even make the effort to warn them. After years of zombie films and games we were actually looking forward to the end of the world. But God were we wrong. And if you’re reading this then I hope you forgive us for behaviour; if there’s anyone left to read this.

I awoke in the middle of the night to find the world basked in flame and the smoke covering the ruins like a sorrowful shroud. After sitting on top of the admirations building near our clandestine fortifications at the entrance I sat for what felt like forever watching the world burn around me. I returned to our camp in the gym shaking as if there were an earthquake and when the others questioned me on what had happened I could do nothing but point to the door. A mere glance reduced the others to a state like mine and we spent the rest of the night huddled in the corner.

The fires never reached the gates of the school but we felt as dead as everyone outside. After a while the fires died and we tried to salvage what semblance of life could remain. We built more fortifications with desks and chairs and tried to fill the hours with anything that would stop us going insane. Until they came.

Once the ruins of Hertfordshire had died completely they emerged; the dead that weren’t too burned or crushed or torn rose from the ground and roamed the charred streets. The once dead streets became undead and they were just as the films would have shown, slow, shambling, rotting. We wanted the apocalypse and we bloody got it, we thought we would have fun and live our lived like the survivors on TV but I think there were more of them than what we had. Over the months our numbers dwindled. We lost people on supply runs or to fear but I still survived; it all seems so pointless now. After a year, or what I believed to be a year there was only seven of us; Me, Phil, Simon, Sheila, Sheila’s mother, Simon’s uncle and then his brother. James died when he became cocky when encountering a group of the undead; being good with a bat didn’t make you immortal and those things can still lunge for food if it’s in their grasp. I was with James on that supply run and the blood from where they tore into his throat even managed to reach me, I can still feel it on my face after all this time.

We had hoped that after a while we might see others that survived, whether they came to brighten our lives or end it, it didn’t matter as long as someone else was alive other than us. But we eventually came to the conclusion that we were the only ones left in this hellhole. But this hellhole manage to break Simon’s family, of all people. His uncle, David I think it was, lost it overnight and cast himself over the gates to the undead. He was already dead but Simon’s idiot brother had to play hero and try to save him which inevitably lead to his demise. They screamed as they were being torn apart by the undead, lost in a fleshy sea of burnt corpses. Phil shouted at them to shut up in the name of dignity as their screams were attracting more of them but Simon had him on the floor whimpering before he could utter another syllable.

The undead had consumed what remained of Simon’s family and the tough cadet I had grown up with stood there broken but one family wasn’t enough so they stormed the gates. Our shoddy defences were practically useless and they had it down within a matter of seconds. We all stood frozen until I raged at them to get them to move, all did with the exception of Sheila’s mother and Sheila herself died trying to save her mother from her fate. The last group of survivors diminished to three in a matter of seconds. Our first thought was to head to the roof of the canteen which was located at the centre of the school and we would be able to retrieve some supplies in the process, not that there was any point in running anymore.

Phil died when we made a wrong turn and ran straight into a pack of the undead and me and Simon narrowly avoided the same fate as they were too distracted by the meal that cowered before them. Computer skills didn’t count for much when faced with a fight in the end.

Simon and I ascended the canteen building, managing to retrieve a backpack each. When we reached the roof and blocked our exit we glared at the chaos that lied below. The last glimmer of hope for humanity, destroyed within a matter of minutes. “Funny,” Simon said “Looks like the end of the world wasn’t exactly what we had expected. Eh Clay?” He showed his arm to reveal a ghastly scratch before throwing himself off of the roof so as not to endanger me. That was three days ago.

“I guess it is funny,” I think as I glance down at my own scratch on my leg “, But I guess we were thinking of two different things as funny.” In the packs there was some canned food and water which had kept me alive the past few days and I used the bandages I found to cover my leg; perhaps I wanted to look presentable for when I die. Simon had also stored his father’s M9 in his backpack with a full clip. I guess it’s time to go, the fever is getting worse.

If you’re reading this, congratulations on getting past the undead hordes and making it to my humble abode, you moron. If you get here before I rot then that’s my brains plastered across the roof, hopefully I can get some of me further than James. I’m Clayton Casmerick and I hope you got the apocalypse you were hoping for…  