The Last Human

By Ink Pieper

As the world collapses upon itself due to humanity's horrific decisions, a newly parentless teen is forced to fight for his freedom, his love, and his life in order to maintain his humanity. See the decaying world through Clay's eyes as he's taken from his home, shipped to a facility that batters his mind and body, and tortured by the very people originally enlisted to protect us.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483526560

Book preview

9781483526560

Chapter 1: This is Me

It’s morbidly depressing to be alone. It feels as if all life drains from you even though, theoretically, I am a fairly healthy individual. I eat my fruits and veggies. I eat my meats...well I eat fish at least. The fruits aren’t ripe either. The vegetables are whatever I can scavenge and are rarely in the pristine condition I always hope to find them in. It sounds as if maybe I’m a vagabond, maybe I’m a bum, but I’m not. I’m just a person like you.

Logically, you would think that I being a person like you, I would never feel lonely for I would see tons of people on my travels and be able to connect just like you would. You would say earth has eight billion people living on it (depending on the time period you’re reading this from) and I would respond in kind: Yes, there were eight billion people. Now though, well, you’ll see.

I’m in Florida now, the sunshine state. It has none anymore. All I ever see are clouds and ash. Imagine living in a house with no windows, that is painted straight dull gray – no whites, no blues, no brights, just grays – morbidly depressing is what you’d become. Nighttime is the best time. At night you see nothing, you know nothing, there’s just black. And I think because all I can see is nothing I always hold out a little hope that tomorrow maybe, just maybe, there will be something. But tomorrow never holds something.

I never see birds anymore, nor do I hear them. I want to though. I miss their bright colors. I just miss vibrance I guess. I wonder if the people of the past knew how much vibrance surrounded them. I don’t think most of them did. Everyone always looked at themselves and what they created and never at the surroundings, never at nature. People looked for ways to find money, ways to seem rich, ways to be popular. I hate them. They don’t know what it’s like to sit here day after day as each smidgen of hope held on to throughout the blackness is washed away by the next gray day. They don’t know what they missed, but they’re dead now.

I do get vibrance from fire. I love fire. Sometimes I catch a particularly vivid fish. The yellows in the dolphin fish are especially nice. I don’t catch them often, but I want to. I wish the people of the past looked at fish the same way I do. Every time I hook one my adrenaline pumps, and the line drags, and I work as hard as I can to get that fish and the reward is the succulence of the meat. People stopped doing that. It was all quick in the past. Sure they liked good food, but not like I do. This is life or death for me. Life or death! Back then it was yeah this fish is nice I think I will buy this one and grill it on my electric grill or bake it in my electric oven. People.

I have possessions just like those people though. I recently found a decent place that I can call home. It lets me have possessions. I may be able to survive here for many more months with my possessions barring any naturally occurring disasters like before. Unlikely.

I do enjoy my possessions though. I have my fishing poles and I have knives for hunting and throwing and skinning and surviving. I have forks and I have spoons. But I don’t have electricity and, other than the warmth, I don’t miss it that much. I don’t miss sitting in front of the T.V. watching bullshit. I don’t. I thought I would, but I don’t. I don’t miss the cars and I don’t miss the noise. I have a kayak. I have numerous kayaks and that’s what I do. I kayak around trying to find more things that I need or I kayak to dry land to tend to my decrepit garden or to try and find different meats other than fish. If I can find meat it’s normally rabbit, which surprisingly isn’t as bad as I originally thought it would be. My garden sucks though. It’s hard to grow anything without sunlight.

I lied earlier. I do miss one thing about electricity: I miss music. I miss the bands, the crowds, the blaring instruments, and the love ballads. I collect instruments. I have an oboe, which I suck at, but I also have a harp that I love. It has thirty-three strings and goes from 1st octave G to sixth octave C. I’m not sure why I wanted to learn the harp. Maybe it’s the Irish blood running through me or the hopeless romantic hidden within. Maybe it’s simply because of her? I can play it though. I play it every day and the sounds are mesmerizing. It’s an elegant instrument and I love the history. I love knowing that way back in the middle ages people played it – maybe even before that. I can’t remember when it was invented; I just know that it was invented. I also know that whoever played it through the dark times of the middle ages loved it as much as I and maybe it helped them through tough times as it has helped me. Maybe it helped them remember their loved ones. Maybe it helped them paint a vivid picture of their lovers. It paints for me, and because it does, I can never let it go.

I live in a condominium and, to be honest, it smells like soot, fish, and salt, intermingled with a hint of my body odor; but it mainly just smells like fish. It’s quite overpowering. I live on the top floor of the eight-story building because it’s the closest floor to the roof. The water level stops around the second floor. That’s where I have my kayaks. They hang out in the staircase waiting patiently to be at sea once again. I live on the gulf coast by the way. I figured the waves would be smaller and yet it would still be warm. It’s not as warm as I had hoped.

I go to the roof to cook. That’s where I make the fire, though when it rains sometimes I eat the fish raw. It’s not as bad as you would think. It just takes some getting used to. I wish I had someone to share my meals with though. Then I could have a team, and we could all hunt and gather and live in a society. I think humans are meant to live in a society. We are very social creatures. I don’t think we are meant to live alone. I talk to myself all the time to make sure I can speak if I ever run into anybody worth running into. I hope I do, but I don’t have faith that I will. I gave up on that a while ago.

I think I’m going crazy. Or maybe I have already gone crazy? I don’t mind crazy. I would rather be crazy and full of thought than sane and full of nothing. I suppose if everyone felt that way there would still be an everyone. Maybe if...maybe if we did what we were supposed to do! Maybe if we all didn’t just lust for power or for each other! Maybe if we didn’t just want money! Maybe if we weren’t so fucking lazy we could have survived. Nope, not humans. We always take the easy route no matter if it’s the best route or not. We made our mark on history though. We were the first species to ever ruin the whole damn world. It is funny, isn’t it? We’re here for such a short period compared to the dinosaurs and everyone thought we were so superior and we were so blessed with our abstract thinking and our buildings and our technology. Yet, dinosaurs lived millions of years longer than us. I mean it is funny, isn’t it? I think it is. It proves we are too arrogant for our own good. Good ol' mankind.

I’m going to attempt to tell you the story of our failures, of my failures. I need you to understand why we failed, so I will show you everything. I don’t want you to fail the same way we did. I need you to survive, to live. I need you to know the importance of life, of logic, of emotion, of friendship, of love. I need you to, because without you reading this, this means nothing.

Chapter 2: Goodbye Quaint Home of Mine

I had been lying awake for hours watching the rain patter and tap against the skylight as it illuminated the feelings within me. The thunder cut through the siren’s blazing that had become white noise to my ears. It was old news in dead times. I didn’t even care what the sirens meant anymore. Tornado or air raid; those were my options. Neither option was something I was particularly fond of, but as I had heard these sirens dozens of times over the course of the last four months they mattered not. What mattered was that my parents had been taken, and not by Death himself but by our government, which I am less fond of than Death.

I stared at the picture of them on my nightstand. It hurt to look at. They were smiling and jovial, but my heart still panged. I allowed myself a brief smile as I remembered them outside of the still frame that captured them so well. I remembered them telling me once that when I was born I came out smiling and laughing and unapologetic of the pain I’d caused. I remembered the oddly knowing look that seemed to constantly reside in the gray eyes of my mom Lindsay and the always-genuine smile of my mom Samantha. But they were just memories. I’d never see them again. A week had passed since I’d last had that opportunity, and each night I lay in bed waiting for the crooks that stole them to come for me. They would eventually come, and I, with no choice, would follow in my parents’ molded footsteps to one of the camps strewn throughout our land.

I rolled over and glared at the T.V. not daring to turn it on. No matter what channel my thumb chose I’d read about how a Muslim terrorist did this or China did that. They always seemed to let us know when the extreme version of Islam did something, but never seemed to remember the good things the regular Muslims did or the positive things Chinese people stood for. Nope. They never mentioned the first virus anymore either even though the U.S. claims they created the cure for it. They always seem to conveniently forget about that one; just seem to skip right over it. But I remembered. I remembered China claiming we’d released the first one and I remember my parents looking at me, the gray eyes of my mom Lindsay and the ice blue of my mom Samantha.

Why would we release a virus? I had asked.

They looked at each other then, deciding if I was old enough. This virus harms people, Clay.

So.. they did it to kill people?

They did it to spare the resources of the world while killing people.

I didn’t respond immediately. Do you think we actually did it?

Don’t include yourself in that, Clay, Lindsay had said, sternly. We are not involved.

Do you think our government did it then?

It’s hard to know for sure, Clay. It’s possible.

Which is a testament to how much we think of our own government, Samantha had said, cutting in. Hundreds of millions have died worldwide and we think it’s possible we created it.

Don’t forget other countries are accusing each other as well. Most of the Middle East is accusing Israel because the death tolls were highest in China, India, and Middle Eastern nations.

In a few years you will understand what this means, Samantha told a fourteen year old me. Because in a few years, if China actually believes this, then China will have its revenge.

I remember looking to my mom Lindsay and her bright gray eyes, which were not nearly as apathetic looking as you may think.

These are trying times ahead, Clay. Learn what you can now, because things will get even messier soon. Remember we love you.

I found it odd then, that they were so worried and that they seemed to refer to China as a singular entity. But I knew we were fine. We were the most powerful country in the world and yet, the look in their eyes that night still sends chills down my spine.

You were right, I whispered to myself. The Hemispheric War, I said slowly, letting each syllable fall slowly from my tongue. ...Yeah, you were right.

Listen, Clay this is how the world works, Samantha had said. Each world power tries to exert its influence in order to gain even more power. They can claim peace initiatives, economic endeavors, or even general international relations, but it always comes back to power. And they all play the same game. They play it with the Middle East, they play it with the Koreas, they play it with the ex-USSR nations.

But...

There is no but. Here, look at the U.S. government for example. They constantly attempt to force behavior modification unless it serves them better to not force it through, which is why you see us supporting monarchies like Saudi Arabia, Qatar, and U.A.E. It’s no different from the rest of ‘em. The goal is power and control is the means to that power. That’s why you see China fighting over the Spratly’s, why they monitor their citizens, and why they do things just so that we don’t gain power. It’s the same for all the powers. They all do the same thing for the same reasons.

And that goes for religions too. If you aren’t them then you’re wrong. The more people they convert the more influential and powerful they become.

What about everyone else; the other countries?

Everyone else wants a piece, and that includes companies as well, Samantha had said. If there is something outside of their control they will seek a way to place it under their control. That’s why all of this is happening.

...

The world isn’t the way you see it; the way you, your mom, and I think it should be. It’d be lovely if it were, but that’s just not how it works. I wish it were, Clay. I truly wish it were.

So it’s all power? That’s it. That’s all anyone wants.

Yes, she had said, exasperated.

Sounds miserable.

My cell phone decided to rip me from my reverie then, and began its distinct chorus of chirps and beeps that meant a friend was attempting to contact me. I reached across to the forest brown maple bedside table and saw ‘Autumn’ on the screen. I felt slightly criminal as I watched the phone continue its chorus until its bitter end, but I just did not want to speak to anyone at the moment, no matter how much I may have needed them. It wasn’t the time, though Autumn was my last close friend still here.

Robyn and Shawn were no longer near. They were drafted and thrown into a war where death was bordering on imminent, but at least they married; that way they could stay close to one another, maybe even feel the warmth of their hands as they intertwined during one last courageous attempt at freedom. That was the slightest sliver of cheer I could muster for them: at least they had each other. Oliver had fought the sickness valiantly, but sadly succumbed to the disease my parents supposedly had, which left Autumn and me as the last of our once tight knit group.

My eyes felt deadened, hollow with apathy for life. My words would be little more than a dull droning sound and I didn’t want Autumn to hear or see me like that. The army would be here in a few days to help bury me in a grave of deadened hopes anyway. They would scan my eyes, tell me I’m infected, and ship me off to a camp of others like me. This was fate I suppose: cruel and heartless and full of no regrets or remorse for pain.

I could run right now and never look back. I could leave this pristine subdivision and I could hope to not be tracked and I could attempt to live, but for what purpose? To live out some fate that I hoped was true, but more often than not seemed to be wishful thinking? Most of my neighbors fled the area because of fear of an attack on the nuclear reactor that resides less than eighty miles away. I could leave like them, but what would I see? Would I see deaths? Would I watch the world shatter beneath me? I didn’t want more pain. I wanted hope, sun, and brightness.

My feet had carried me down the cold, hard, carpeted steps and my hands had begun their routine of making a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats. Routine. It was good to have a constant, but sometimes it’s just sickening. I suppose leaving my home would bring adventure, maybe even prestige. But prestige is worthless when there is no one to watch the events unfold. Then there is no miraculous. There is a may be and a could be, and maybe even a high probability, but eyes need to see to believe the miraculous.

The miraculous is nary a possibility in a camp designed to cater to Death and shun the living. And I wondered whether I would fight for my life or accept Death as an old friend, finally arriving to take me home.

After my afternoon breakfast I sauntered back up the stairs and back into my dreary room. I left the lights off. I didn’t need false hope or fake lighting. Lightning flashed in the distance and for the first time I allowed a smile to roll across my downtrodden face.

I loved storms.

Into my dresser I went. Today could be the day for me; it wouldn’t, but it could be. I could be leaving for a much more derelict place and oh, what to wear. I could go with a nice sharkskin color suit. It could go well with the dying surroundings. I could go with swim trunks and a tank top. It could go well with the flooding all around the gulf. I could wear boxer briefs with an undershirt. It would go well with sleeping, just sleeping. Oh, the choices I had.

RAP RAP RAP RAP!

My face dropped to the floor. Could they be here already? Surely not. I didn’t really believe they were coming. It was a slight joke, a mere gag. They could not be here to take me now.

RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP!

But maybe they were.

Jeans it is.

I immediately threw on some relatively baggy jeans as well as a black 3/4 t-shirt that read ‘Untitled’ in blue bubbled, graffiti-like lettering.

I slowly stepped down the stairs dragging my feet as if I was about to be put to death. It surely felt like I would be.

I finally reached the door and gripped the cold brass handle. I shut my eyes, twisted the knob, and pulled open the door.

Behind the door the rain was cascading onto a man in pixelated camouflage with a helmet fastened tightly to his head. He had a sort of gas mask looking contraption strapped to his face, so whatever look he had on right then I could not see. His partner looked like his twin, except he had a rifle trained on me.

I stood stock-still. My hand was quivering and my mind was racing. Running was no longer an option.

Don’t move, commanded the U.S. soldier on my doorstep as if I was about to flee right then and there.

He must have seen my darting eyes.

Look at me, he said. Straight at my eyes.

Where are your eyes, sir? I cannot see them, I responded mockingly. I allowed myself a brief smile before I realized that I was an absolute moron for saying that.

Alright smart ass, get on the ground. DO IT NOW! yelled the man with the rifle trained on me.

I did as told because getting shot was not something I particularly wanted to do.

Hilarious, are you? Think you’re coy, do you? asked the man on my doorstep as he pulled out a silver instrument that looked as though it belonged on someone’s eyes in a space odyssey of some kind, or perhaps the very distant future.

He grabbed my hair and yanked my head to the level of the instrument. He then held the visor like item up to my eyes and a green scanner like device flew across my eyes, which made me blink and my eyes dilate.

Positive. Take him.

Two more men appeared around the corner of my house with dripping wet metal handcuffs, which I found out were ice cold. They then dragged me to my feet and roughly pushed me down the grassy hill that was my front yard. They led me to their truck for the damned, threw me in the back, and locked me to a metal bar with the twenty-three other members whose lives were currently being cast aside. None of them looked at me, and some of them actually looked deathly ill. If I didn’t have the virus I surely would now.

The truck began to pull away with a jerk and what felt like an abyss formed within me. My soul seemed to have fled me then, deciding to attempt to make it on its own.

I eventually managed to sit up and twist my head awkwardly to take one last look at my fast disappearing home and the weeping willow that I climbed as a child...as well as a seventeen year old.

Trees had a certain magical essence to them. They were a constant of mine, but a constant that I treasured. It was nice to know the willow would always be there, but now I wouldn’t be.

Eventually the