• A chilled wind rustled through the trees on what was once a beautiful neighborhood. What once stood here now lay in ruin; everything either charred or obliterated, be they houses, street lamps or stores, they stood no more. The cause: human behavior after a malfunction during a nuclear test at a government facility, location unknown.

    There had been three missiles fired; the first two landed in the New Mexico Desert and passed the trials. The third, on the other hand, did not follow coordinates. Once fired, it arched violently and landed 1500 yards from the launch pad.

    Nothing but chaos would follow after detonation. The blast extended some forty miles from the place of landing; the first ten miles were an instant kill zone, all forms of life instantly vaporized by the sheer power of the bomb, the other thirty spread out across the landscape, causing a slower, more agonizing death. Thousands perished from the malfunction, but more were to perish from the later destruction by the human race.

    The bomb alarm sounded, echoing all across the nation. People immediately stopped their present actions, and fell into a deep state of panic. The smart ones headed inside, the smarter ones went into their shelters, while the rest ran around screaming in terror.

    A shattering of glass seemed to come from nowhere among the panic stricken citizens, some stopped and looked for the cause of the noise, and saw a man enter a store, through the hole he had made in the front window, and slowly but surely make his exit with a plasma screen TV. Once the few who heard the crash realized what he had done, they followed his action. Soon, it was as if the whole town had been infected, not by a disease, but greed.

    All the while a man sat in his house, looking out the window and watched the people’s loot slowly become an all out riot. They began setting cars on fire and attempting to flip them over, many succeeded. Others looted more as if it were the last day on Earth; little did they know it would indeed soon come down to that perspective.

    Soon, the whole planet seemed to be in a state of shock. Other countries, thinking they were under attack, fired missiles of their own, destinations unknown. It became a domino effect; one country launched their bombs blindly and struck a neighboring country, causing them to launch their bombs to defend themselves. Eventually, the whole human population seemed to loot as one, riot as one and kill as one.

    Fights broke out everywhere, many coming to deadly conclusions. The neighborhood where the man’s house sat was in a state of utter destruction; fire everywhere, broken glass, and bodies riddled the streets as gunfire sounded from what seemed to be everywhere. The planet’s population began to fall at a slow pace, the fighting becoming less and less loud from all over the world as bodies fell to the ground. It was as if a plague of rage swept the world, many falling victim to its deadly consequences. Nothing could stop the catastrophe; any attempt only fueled the fire of anger.

    The man had moved to his basement, where stray bullets could not strike him. He began to settle himself into a chair, worried eyes plastered to the door frame at the top of the stairs. It was then that his fear was realized; he heard a thump, followed by a loud smash; someone, or some people had broken into his house, and judging by the noises they made and what they said, he knew they were armed. He looked around franticly, looking for a weapon, anything he could use to defend himself. Then he remembered, he kept three safes in his basement, and in each safe, he kept his guns. He was an avid collector, and his collection was nothing to be laughed at. He had it all; fully automatics, semi automatics, burst fire, zoom shot, even a few flamethrowers, some homemade. He ran to the nearest safe, which was a bright red with a golden rimming. A large dial sat in the middle, while a golden latch lay below it. Slowly and carefully, he turned the dial to the left, right, and left once more.

    Thumping noises continued to echo from upstairs, it was only a matter of time before they discovered his whereabouts. He shifted his gaze momentarily to the top of the steps watching the light that leaked underneath the bottom of the door disappear and reappear as more people seemed to flood his house, most likely seeking refuge from the violence outside. They all wanted safety, but were not willing to grant it to those they met. Gunfire sounded from upstairs, and subtle thumps reached the man’s ears. He quickly focused back on the latch. He reached and grabbed it when a loud thump sounded and the door tumbled down the steps, coming to rest with a slam on the concrete flooring beneath. He looked up in horror to see shadows begin their decent deeper into his home. He turned the latch quickly as footsteps slowly got louder and louder. He flung the door open, reached in, and grabbed an Uzi. Quickly he whirled around to meet his unwelcome guests.

    The first person who came into his sight was that of a young man, probably no older than seventeen slowly revealing his figure, and a weapon. His pants dangled from his waist, it seemed the slightest touch would send them to his feet, but they were kept around him. His shirt was white and red, it looked like a basketball jersey, whose the man didn’t care to find out. He carried with him an AK-47, and noticing his grip, he intended on using it. Just before his head came into view, the man opened fire, the gun vibrating violently in his grasp. Most of the bullets found their mark; the intruder’s torso and left thigh became rittled with holes, his blood spattering on the walls like artist thrown paint on a canvas. The body stood motionless momentarily before falling forward, the gun dropping and sliding down the steps, coming to rest on the final step of the staircase, the body did not stop until it landed on the floor, a sickening thud was heard as bone met concrete. Blood slowly began to pool out and around the lifeless body.

    The man’s breathing became heavy, he never thought he would have to use his guns, but he thanked God that he kept them loaded. Footsteps upstairs stopped and sped up, getting louder as people rushed to the door. The man saw their shadows; best idea was to stay hidden.

    “What the hell happened here?!” Came a rugged, outraged voice from above the stairs. Just then a slight thump was heard, a moment of silence, then screams. “GRENADE!!!!!” One of the other people yelled, his voice sounding younger than the previous. Seconds later, the grenade exploded, shaking the house to its foundation. A body flew down the staircase, not touching a single step before slamming into the wall with disturbing force.

    The man cringed at the sight; he no longer heard footsteps upstairs, though gunfire still rang throughout the streets outside. If he went out, he was surely to be killed, the only thing he could do without risking his life was attempt to wait out this disaster.

    3 Months Pass

    Time had slowed to a crawl during the last three months. Though all gunfire had ceased outside and an eerie quiet loomed over the streets, the man never left basement, though it became apparent that sooner or later, he would have to leave the safety of his confinement to find food.

    He looked to his feet, studying the many empty shells that littered the floor; Uzi rounds, 9mm’s, AK 47’s, even shotgun shells could be spotted among the now gleaming surface he stood upon. The walls surrounding the steps where no long longer white with a mere spatter of red, what surrounded him was far from its original appearance; it was rittled with holes from his firing, as well as from the ricochet of bullets that struck targets too tough to penetrate. So many had attempted to storm his hiding spot, whether they meant to raid his vast assortment of firearms or to claim his life, the man did not know.

    One thing was sure to him, however, and that was the fact that all who had opposed him had lost, their blood was the paint he applied to the wall, each bullet he unleashed was the brush used to throw a new spatter on a fresh, open section of white. The smell of decay surrounded him; many of the people he had shot lay in their spots, some longer than a few weeks. He had made sure to remove the corpses from the basement so the stench would not draw others to him, but it soon became too dangerous to venture outside. He became more and more appalled by the rotting stench of flesh around him; putting up with such abuse one’s sense of smell for so long was bound to make any individual want to leave, but he chose to stay because he did not want to die. But now he had to get out of the basement, the smell was becoming so potent that with each intake of breath, it was as if he had taken a shard of glass and rammed it through his sinus. The simple task of breathing became monumentous. The man’s stomach rumbled loudly, he had already eaten all of the rations he had stored downstairs with him, there was no food left in his current place of residence.

    He slowly began to crawl up the stairs, his hunger forcing him to move on all fours. Each step creaked under his weight, becoming louder as he pushed further to ensure he got to the step above. He still clutched a gun, one of his personal favorites; a .44 Magnum. He favorited this gun for its simple design, the history behind it, and the sheer power it unleashed with each pull of its trigger.

    He was sure to bring extra ammunition with him, just in case he was confronted and needed more protection. After what seemed like hours, he finally reached the top of the stairs. He then crawled over to what was left of his kitchen table.

    What was once a beautiful, redwood circular table was now nothing more than splinters and broken limbs, one of which was still securely attached to the bottom. He crawled closer and closer until he was able to reach up and grab the edge of what seemed to be left of the wooden circle. Tightening his grip, he hoisted himself to his feet; pain temporarily crawled up his legs before absorbing into his feet. He winced as he felt it flow through, but once it stopped, he cautiously made his way to the doorway, where there used to be a door. It now lay level with his feet. Like his basement door, it too had been kicked in. Bullet holes and knuckle imprints gave the man an idea of what occurred before things took their course.

    He peeked out from one of the sides of the frame, quickly scanning the area, which now lay in ruin. When nothing seemed to jump out, he slowly made his presence known, sneaking into view, gun pointed straight in front of him. He constantly turned from one direction to another. West to South, East to North and so on. Nothing acknowledged his existence, nothing seemed to move accept fragments of tree branches strewn across the street by a faint yet undeniably powerful wind. The man looked around, lowering his weapon. His eyes moved over the hundreds if not thousands of bodies strewn about, the bodies of men, women and children lie motionless in front of him. Age, gender, race, these were not factors that described people now. Now, they didn’t seem to matter at all, the only thing that seemed to matter to all the people who started this madness was simply that these innocent people were there, and the one’s who started all of this had guns and hormone overdoses.

    Tears began to develop in the man’s eyes; such carnage was in fact too much for just about any one person. It was best for him to simply move along; grieving was to do nothing for these poor people. He let out a mournful sob as he wiped his eyes and began his exploration of the mangled city he once called home.

    1 Week Later

    Since the man had left the safety of his home, he had been confronted with nothing but sorrowful sights during his treks outside. He had fed himself well and was lucky enough to find a working car, the keys of which were located in the glove compartment. He had filled the car with all sorts of food; fruits, vegetables, meats and pastries, he had taken everything he could because something about the now barren city began to send shivers throughout his body, so he decided that the longer he stay inside, the better off he would be.

    2 Weeks Later

    The man was living comfortably in his basement, food aplenty. Though he was comfortable with his current style of living, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there may be others like him, stranded, fending for themselves. He decided he would attempt to look for others, save anyone if it was in his power. Though it was a gruesome sight to behold in the outside world, he knew he had to at least attempt to search among the wreckage and mangled. After some final preparations, he grabbed the keys to his car and started off, hoping to find some trace of human life in the destruction he set out into.

    3 Weeks Later

    The man continued his search around the countryside, refueling on gas every so often, even resorting to siphoning the motor fuel from time to time. He had found no one, everywhere he went, he only found destruction and death, more sorrow for his already heavy heart. Now at his home, the man had stocked up all the guns he could possibly find, including those he already owned, along with as much food and beverages, most of which was water, he could find. He sat in a chair, looking out a shattered window. He thought about life before the horrible incident that caused so much destruction and claimed so many lives. His wife and children, who were off in a different part of town at the time, his parents, who lived a few blocks away, his friends, some of whom he’d seen shot right in front of him, all dead.

    A tear slowly freed itself from his eye and trickled down his cheek, falling into the stitching of the chair he sat on, disappearing within a matter of seconds. He wiped at his eyes and sobbed a bit, he couldn’t believe he was the only one left. He stretched out, freeing some of the tension held inside him. He decided to sleep things off.

    Placing his head on the arch of the chair and folding his arms over his chest, he began to close his eyes. Just before he was able to drift off to sleep, he was startled by a violent pounding from behind the door.

    He shot up from his seat, astonished at what was making the sound. He took aim with his weapon, and slowly advanced towards the door. He took light steps, still unsure of what awaited him behind the wooden structure.

    Once he reached the door, he put his back against it; gun pointed straight upward, breathing heavily from his startling earlier. He turned and looked through the peep hole, and what he saw sent shivers down his spine: a figure, which didn’t even look human, hunched forward, hair wild and tangled, what clothes were left were tattered and torn, exposing grey flesh that revealed many gashes, bruises, and oozing sores.

    The man took a deep breath, slowly retracing his steps back to the seat in which he had sat in only moments earlier, but he was unable to get the full distance.

    Before he took his third step, a clawed and partially mutilated hand burst through the door, flailing wildly with screams and screeches echoing from outside. The man lurched backward, nearly scared to death by the sudden burst of sound. He took aim and opened fire, a loud boom muffling the cries of the creature, which were soon halted by the devastating blasts.

    The man stood up, gun still pointed at the door, which now had three holes placed right above where the hand now hung lifelessly. Still breathing heavily, he advanced once again, this time at a quicker pace.

    He kicked open the door, which swung to the left, nearly falling off the hinges and glared down at what now lay before him; a twisted and mangled form, eyes that were cold and the lightest shade of yellow the man had ever seen. Its jaw hung open, revealing rotted teeth. Lacerations could be seen all over the body, as well as two bullet holes in the chest, the third of which had missed and pierced the wall behind it.

    The man kicked the corpse, making sure it was dead. A pool of blood began to form and quickly spread from the body. Disgusted, he aimed his gun once more and fired, the single round penetrating the skull, proving that it was alive no longer.

    He looked around, now anxious, if one of these things had found him, there were bound to be more. He thought back to how he had been forced to reside in his basement for so long. Wave upon wave of citizens gone mad were his threat then, now he didn’t even know what he was up against.

    A sudden shriek sent adrenaline pumping through his veins; outside, he saw a horde of the monsters rushing towards his home, he knew they were after him, and by the looks of it, he didn’t have enough firepower to bring them all down. He hands began to quiver as the horde got closer.

    He couldn’t help but think; what if he was able to somehow kill all the creatures? Suppose he lived through this ordeal, what then? Travel and keep looking for survivors who may not even exist? Continue fighting for survival against a possible infinite number of mutated beings? As the questions flew through his head, one answer emerged; No, he WAS the last person on earth.

    He took a deep breath, and raised his gun for one final time. He placed the barrel against his head, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth. Without further hesitation, he pulled the trigger.