It’s a brown pleather notebook he grabs for, sitting among all other objects around it, shining in their twenty-fifth-century appeal as if the world hasn’t ended. Then, thumbing expeditiously through, he finds an empty page, the last page.

“I guess this is where we end then,” he says aloud to the journal, then picks up his pen.

Day 513

I’m the only one left now. There was another, but he decided to go yesterday, stepping out into the toxic air and letting the virus take hold of him. The entire decay of the organs with this virus takes approximately five minutes. So I doubt his body is far from the bunker.

The vents here are still holding on, far more than I am. There’s no food. Not really, at least. What’s left is rotten, growing mold, and turning odd colors. After some time, I’ve become accustomed to the smell. I tried to eat from an old can. The label had been ripped off, but I believe it to be lima beans. Who knew canned foods eventually go bad? Isn’t that what people hoard in times like this?

All communication with other bunkers has ceased. I keep the radio on just in case, but there’s been no other broadcast in months. Sometimes, if I can sleep, I hear other voices, but it’s never from the radio. I can still hear my spouse yelling at me to do chores or softly saying, “I love you more.” It’s all in my head.

If only this hadn’t happened. I had so many opportunities to be better. Not working so hard, taking extra time away for the money, and having been a better spouse. I’m sorry I didn’t cherish my family as I should have while they were alive. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stop the virus from taking them moments after it ravished Earth, they were thousands of miles away, and I was here in this lab. If I had that second chance, I would have died with them.

Regret is all I’m filled with now.

It’s time, old book. Five hundred and thirteen pages of nonsense that maybe someone will eventually find after all this is over. Who knows, perhaps the human race will never exist again? Maybe . . . just maybe, I am the last one.

I told you on day one that when this book is complete, I will walk outside too. I’m going now.

Dear Future Inhabitants,

The planet you are on right now is called Earth.

Earth was home to humans. There was an era of peace for a long time. Everyone was happy. But then humans turned against each other. A world war broke out. There were nuclear rockets and bombs. Gunshots everywhere. People would fall dead in the streets. No one survived. But I did.

I want you to know to keep Earth safe. Don't make the same mistakes we did. Start fresh here and make this the best Earth possible.

But for now, I'm old (87 to be exact). It's time for me, and the species of humans, to move on.

Signed,

Your fellow Earthling.

I have exciting news!

I'm not alone! Last night, around 2AM I heard a knock at the door. This happened before, but in my dreams. I would rush down stairs and rip open the door only to find...nothing.

So last night, I heard, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK...then the door handle rattled, but I had locked it (why do I do it that? lol!) Old habit I guess.

Anyways, I just thought it was a dream, I've been disappointed so many times I couldn't believe it was true.

But here's the crazy part! When I looked out the window this morning, there were foot prints! There was a light snowfall, most of it had already melted, but up the path to the front door was shaded, so it hadn't melted.

The tracks are large, like a size 13 or 14 men's. At first I thought they were from a bare foot (not like grizzly bear I mean a foot with no shoes or socks LOL,) but that's impossible, it's too cold for a human to do that. It must be those special sock/shoes that some of the joggers used to wear for better traction. (Remember jogging?? LOL! Never jogged once and I outlived {almost} everyone. Maybe this guy is a jogger? Ugh, that would be the worst! LOL!)

The snows all melted now so I can't follow the tracks. I shouted and yelled but he must be too far away to hear me.

So, I set up a fire in the yard and covered it in fresh branches to kick up as much smoke as possible, like an old fashioned smoke signal. lol (Aren't you proud of me? I went from a cheerleader to a frontier woman and it only took a deadly virus to motivate me LOL!)

Well, I should probably go, it's getting dark and I need to keep that fire stoked. Up on a hill you could probably see that flame for a couple miles. Hopefully he sees it and comes back.

WAIT!!!

There was a KNOCK!

Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back!

Solitude, silence. There was a time where I found solace in it. I would slam the heavy door of my office shut, and try to drown out the giddy screams of curious children. I never wanted to stifle their joy, but Daddy had to work. Every once in a while, the handle of the door would jiggle impatiently, and Sarah's cooing voice would slip underneath the gaps in the door, ushering children to the backyard. I'd peek out the window to see the twins playing war games in the grass, and Sarah pushing through the bushes, trimming wilted flora from the bushes. Her garden was older than our children, and she tended to it with such grace, it could have been mistaken as our firstborn. She could have won prizes for her roses, should she had been vain enough to try.

We were at the shower when the news came. Alerts on the phone of every guest. Sarah was busy separating boxes of bottles and toys from crinkling paper, and pulling onesies from sparkling bags. We didn't get to do this for this boys, so we went all out for the girl. Sarah planned meticulously, insisting on a venue in the country. It was nearly an hour from home, but she was right. It was perfect. She'd made the centerpieces from her garden, unsatisfied with the arrangements the florist suggested. Those were perfect, too.

A murmur, then a hush fell over the party. Guests bolted to the door, silent as they rushed from the venue. Sarah looked at me, knowing in her eyes. Her mother came and clutched Sarah's hand tightly, hurriedly whispering words of comfort, only to stop mid-sentence and stare out of the window. A massive cloud mushroomed in the distance. I scooped up our boys and ran to the door. Sarah waddled desperately behind. I tossed the boys into the back of the minivan, unconcerned about seat belts or car seats. My mother-in-law slipped into the seat beside them, and Sarah soon caught up and plopped herself into the front passenger seat. We sped off down the winding country road. Green pastures blurred by, and the boys whined about feeling sick. We heard farm animals chirp and bray in distress, only to fall silent moments later. Sarah meekly suggested we slow down. Regretfully, I barked back, asking if she was ready to die. The boys began to cry. We turned the corner of a mountainside and crossed paths with a pickup truck.

I came to, unsure of how much time had passed. The sky was a murky, as if the sun had gone into hiding. There was a splitting pain in my side. I lifted my shirt to find a bruise forming on the right side of my body, just below the ribcage. To my left, Sarah lay sprawled across the seat, face bloodied. I turned behind me to find the boys and Sarah's mother twisted and posed in similar unnatural ways. I grabbed a piece of broken glass, and held it under the nose of the other passengers. Their air was still. The pickup truck was largely intact, save a large dent in the driver's side door. I limped to the wreckage, and found that the driver, a rugged, weatherworn man, maybe sixty or so, was dead, too. The driver's cell phone, somehow still intact, chirped loudly. The last alert, from nearly four hours prior, said that we'd been threatened by hostile nations with full intentions of firing on us. We and our allies replied "Not if we get there first." I wondered if those in power were still alive. I hoped not. But cowards always have a place to hide.

I pushed the driver onto his side and inspected the contents of the truck. The keys were still there and the engine managed to turn over. We were nearly halfway home. This would not be our resting place. I carried Sarah's mother and the boys with a surprising amount of ease. Finally, I unbuckled Sarah gently and pulled her from the passenger seat. Weeks away from childbirth, she was thirty pounds heavier than the last time I'd carried her, but I refused to leave her behind. I dragged her body across the asphalt and through a concerted effort, hauled her into the bed of the truck. The roads ahead were sparse, peppered with the occasional crumpled body or empty car. Miraculously, the truck carried us back into the suburbs and to the driveway of our home. The house was a shell of itself, mostly framework and rising smoke. The pain in my side was blinding now and so I left their bodies in the truck, hoping that future explorers will know that we were a family.

I stumbled across the debris to where my office once stood. The window to the garden had been blown out, as had most of the wall. The boys' swing set had toppled over, and their playhouse was laid to waste. Sarah's garden was nearly ashes, except for a single rose bush tucked away in the corner of the yard. A notebook from my desk was thrust beneath its thorny branches, partially intact with a pen shoved inside its metal rings- just as I had left it. Beside this bush is where I lay, scrawling the last moments of the Family Gray: Tom, Sarah, Jason, Jackson, and the not yet born Delilah. Sarah's mother Joyce and the man on the country road- I am responsible for them, too.

My eyelids are growing heavy. The bruise from the wreckage now spans the entirety of the left side of my torso, flecks of yellow and green mixed in with the purples and blues. I thought to pick the roses and press them in this journal, a final reminder of Sarah's gentle hand. But though their petals are shredded and stained, I will not be the one to rob them of their privilege.

Welp it finally happened, i told people it was in the water thats why i dont drink tap, to soon? It is so quiet, i thought i would enjoy the quiet bliss of nothingness but it gets played out very quickly. I always said " i cannot stand people" thats why i love... wait are the animals still alive. Hold on journal as i look for my puppies really quickly...journal all hope is not lost we still have animals woo-hoo. I may be the last person on earth but i still have mans best friend by my side, i coulnt be happpier. Wait do you think they will rise up and turn against me.......... nahhhh.

Ta-ta for now

P.S. omg i dont have to worry about wearing stuffy old clothes anymore because whos gonna judge me hah.