by Jordan Louis Carter
Atomic fire ruined the world. The once beautiful blue world
called “Earth” was now a frozen crater. Francis Niyara was the last man
alive, holed up in an underground Bunker. He felt distraught; his
colleagues had deserted him, left to look for other survivors in that
toxic, frozen wilderness. Francis had stayed, preferring the security
of the bunker, but knowing he would have to leave in two years.
With no warning of the apocalypse he had no time to collect
anything from his house. Everyone was gone: his Mother, Father, Sister,
and friends. Everyone. Nothing could erase the pain of his bereavement.
The animals, the trees, the rivers and the food, there was just so much
loss. He couldn’t stop crying over the thousands of deaths. Who started
this war? All the Deaths were on his head.
Such a pity, he truly loved the World. His parents painted
pictures of enchanting, captivating works of nature. He read amazing,
beautiful poetry that his Mother introduced to him from a young age. He
loved science, the idea that the world, our universe could have been an
accident astounded him. He hated man’s progression in science though.
There were marvellous breakthroughs but using Agent Orange in Vietnam,
and developing deadly gasses to use against other life? No. Science
should be a way to better humanity, not for another way for men to kill
He thought a lot about conflict. The countless wars that had
been thought? Race? Ideology? Land? What did it achieve? Always the
victims were innocent, corpses piled up in cities, towns, or
battlefields. Why did his colleagues have to go? They were so eager to
find other life. Francis kept telling them there was none left. If the
fallout didn’t kill them, the lack of food and water would. Soon he
would be forced to decide, should I leave or stay?
He kept staring at his wife’s picture every day, wishing he
could say goodbye. His diary kept him busy in the day. He had no other
way of passing time. He couldn't contemplate whether to stay and die in
this casket, or go out and find another sanctuary. Like Davy Crockett
he would find no happy ending. If the Alamo would be Davy’s end,
nuclear wilderness would be his. With no females to reproduce, the
human race was over.
It tortured him. Every time he slept he saw faces from the
world he used to live in. He saw time and again the day the bombs fell.
On that day, he went to his research lab. The Government had warned
Scientists not to stay as nuclear war was deemed inevitable.
They still stayed, knowing of its security underground. It came, on a
usual day at lunch watching television in the staff room all the
channels turned off. Francis kept flicking until he found the emergency
channel, it warned you to get to safety immediately.
Eleven months later
Time was up. With the power failing, he thought a lot about
ending his life. It was hell for him, he always thought somehow life
had to improve. But the food was awful and the air was barely
breathable. He’d take his diary with him for another race to read in
the future. It detailed the end of man and how to learn from them. Time
was up and he decided to take anything else that he needed for survival
and head out into the wilderness.
He wished he had more time. More time to exist. Existence
itself was perplexing but he’d trade anything for an extra year of
shelter. He wished he knew what the purpose of life was. He knew he
risked death to find just one person out there. He could die or he
could find other life. If he died he could end the last dark chapter of
man. But if there was a group of survivors Humanity could begin again
in a new Ice Age.
On a hilltop overlooking a
decayed town, he tried to access the town, but everywhere the eye
could see it was pale white frost with levelled buildings. Getting to
the town entrance he saw frozen skeletons, cars, buildings, anything
that resembled society destroyed. Death shimmered here, leaving his
calling card, a vast sound of silence filled with corpses.
Trapped between a bitter frost and toxic air, this would be the
place he died. He said to himself ‘I take the last steps of mankind.’
He kept his diary in a plastic wallet in his satchel. The title read
“Francis Niyara, the last man.” Truly, if Hell existed, this was the
truest definition of it. Truly humanity deserved this wasteland.
He fell from the icy blast. Feeling the pointlessness of going on
he took his helmet off. Later a short figure approached, appearing to
be wearing a silver hazmat suit. He knelt to look at the corpse and
took the satchel. Walking away, the figure looked to be intensely
interested when he found the book.
So, there were more humans. There were some survivors, but for
© 2018 Jordan Carter
Jordan Carter is 23 years old, and from the UK. It’s
been his passion writing short stories, and he hopes one day to publish
a Novel. He loves reading various genres like Horror, Fantasy, Science
fiction, Romance and History.
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