Biohazard

17

Back in high school, as you recall, I read a story in a science fiction anthology and the writer began it by relating the shortest horror story in the world:

The last man on earth sat alone in a room.

There was a knock at the door.

For two weeks now I’ve been thinking about that story as I sit alone in this room dictating the events that you have just heard on a digital voice recorder I swiped from the complex. For two weeks I’ve been here in this little house that sits on the edge of the abyss created by the collision of The Shape and The Medusa, which is the borderland between today and tomorrow and perhaps yesterday.

Everyone is dead.

I can’t know that for sure, of course, but in my heart I feel that it is true. There are still birds in the sky and things that scurry in the woods. Three nights ago I heard a wolf howl on around midnight and it was the most lonesome, haunting sound I have ever heard. So there is life out there, but none of it is human.

Writing this down has been a great joy for me, a greater horror, and the greatest pain I have ever known.

I’ve had to admit things about myself, look at my life from a bird’s eye view and what I saw has not been pleasant. I only relate what happened and now, as they say, my tale is told. Two days ago red spots started popping on my skin. I am weak. My joints ache. This morning my nose began to bleed.

Mickey has her revenge.

Her curse is complete.

It will be done in twenty-four hours, I think, as I can feel it escalating. Speech begins to get difficult. How I contracted Ebola-X two weeks after the last vectors were destroyed in that atomic firestorm of the collision, I do not know. My Geiger Counter told me that the area was saturated with radiation for three days before dropping back to the high end of near-normal. Radiation sickness I could understand…but this, well, it makes me believe in Karma, it makes me believe that I’m paying for the lives I took.

It makes me believe that Mickey’s curse was the real thing.

I’m ending this recording now. I doubt if anyone will ever listen to it because, let’s face it, there’s no one left to listen to it. I will lay down now in my deathbed and wait for it while I dream of my beautiful wife and remember my friends, remember Sean and Carl and Specs and Texas and Mickey. And particularly Janie and the love we shared, the child we made that was never to be born.

The last man on earth sat alone in a room.

There was a knock at the door.

It was Death…