OCTOBER 12, 2094 – Found a can of Hormel Chili in the burned out hull of an elementary school cafeteria. Used to love this stuff as a kid. Couldn’t find a can opener—lost mine the other day, which is insane because I almost ALWAYS keep it on a chain around my neck—but I got it open with a sharp hunk of cement from what used to be the kitchen. Damn, that stuff is good.
Hee hee. I took it! Dude sleeps like a goddamn rock. Slipped it right off his neck, snipped the ring, and put the chain back on. I’m looking at the can opener right now. That was hilarious.
October 14, 2094 – Am I going insane? I don’t know much about psychology. Just what I’ve read since it happened, and that’s not much. Never did like to read. But anyway, I know being alone can do weird things to the mind. No psychologist ever thought about the sanity of the last man living on the planet, I bet. But anyway, I don’t feel insane. Every day’s pretty much the same, and I just do my thing: looking for food, reading sometimes, finding firewood, etc. I’m not hearing voices or seeing things. But.
So, this morning, when I was taking my first piss, I almost sent it right down my leg because there on the ground in front of me was a footprint. I swear to God: a bootprint. Little smaller than mine, and it looked fresh. There’s no freaking way! I can’t have seen it, and yet… I’m going back to confirm.
What the heck. It’s gone. Jesus, what’s going on with my head?
Oof. Got sloppy there. But it actually worked out! Dude was trippin. Ha ha!
October 17, 2094 – Can’t believe my luck! After two days of almost nothing to eat, I stumbled on a functioning termite mound! Feels like my stomach might bust! And Christ, the queen tasted like a freaking marshmallow Peep! How the hell do I still remember those things?
Heading to bed early tonight. What a great day.
Yeah, that was gross. I remember watching from the roof of an apartment building half a mile away. My binoculars don’t self-focus anymore, and the night vision doesn’t work. But they’re fine during the day. Wish I hadn’t watched then, though. Jesus.
October 18, 2094 – OK, this isn’t just weird anymore. This time, I found a cigarette butt on the ground. STILL WARM!!
It’s been almost three years since the Purge started, and far as I’ve been able to tell, no one else survived. Back when I first crawled out of the rubble, I just assumed it was a stray bomb or whatever. Things had been blowing up for days at that point. No one knew who was firing the missles after a while. Our own government, China, India… hell, even Georgia had a couple nukes at their disposal once Governor Barris seceded and commandeered Williams Air Force Base…
So, Omaha was nothing but smoke and dust and charred corpses and… well, anyway, I haven’t seen anyone since. I’ve hiked out as far as about fifteen miles in all eight key directions on the compass, and haven’t seen another soul.
But that damn cigarette butt! What the hell is going on? I spent half an hour yelling at the top of my lungs for whoever it was to show themselves. Now my throat is sore.
Nothing.
OK, I’ll be honest: I left the butt on purpose, hee hee. After the situation with the bootprint, I started getting cocky. Dude yelled and yelled… I was only a block away, watching him from a third floor window. So funny.
Well, maybe not funny… kinda sad, honestly.
But shit. You gotta do what you gotta do for a dollar, right?
October 20, 2094 – I’ve started calling my companion “Bob”. Not sure why, but it puts a smile on my face. Yesterday, I woke up to find a pile of rubble piled perfectly in a balanced tower four feet high. No possible way that happened naturally, and I’m 99% sure it wasn’t even there the day before.
Bob did it.
I don’t know who he is. Maybe he’s a she? That would DEFINITELY be interesting. But either way, there’s someone here with me. And at this point, I’m done yelling. Now, I’m just waiting. Eventually, he’ll show himself.
Won’t he?
Ok, this is the point where I started to feel bad. I mean, messing with his head is one thing. Messing with his heart is another. When Control said I should start asserting my position a little more, I tried pushing back, for all the good it did. Who wouldn’t? The dude thinks he’s the last man on Earth. I mean, what’s that have to feel like? I can’t even imagine. But Jesus Christ, I’m sure glad it’s not me.
October 23, 2094 – Bob hasn’t come by in a few days. Was it all a mirage? My mind finally succumbing to the monotony? I don’t feel a change. Nothing seems different. But maybe that’s how insanity feels. Like any other day, except eating your own shit seems just fine.
I resorted to yelling for Bob again this evening. I’m not proud of it, but shit. What does pride mean at this point? If he’s really here—if I’m not just going completely mad—what harm would it do to scream and yell and weep to get him to show himself?
It’s cold tonight. I haven’t needed the parka since April. But I’m wearing it now as I write this. Another winter’s on its way.
Bob, are you there? Are you cold tonight, like me? Do you wish there was someone else next to your fire? Like me?
Goodnight Bob.
I’ll be honest. This makes me feel like shit. He camped inside a house on the outskirts of the Northside. Most of the walls were intact. I smelled the smoke and let the crackle of the new fire mask my footsteps. I got a little choked up when I heard him singing “Lean on Me”, saying“Bob” at the beginning of each refrain.
Man. The decision makers at Control must take anti-conscience pills. Wish they’d share them with me, for Christ’s sake.
October 25, 2094 – When I woke up this morning, I found words scrawled on a brick wall just outside the shelter I’d put up inside a roofless dining room in the nameless suburbs of Omaha:
“Lean on me. When you’re not strong. And I’ll be your friend. I’ll help you carry on. For it won’t be long till I’m gonna need somebody to lean on.”
Bob.
Control was pissed about this. But oh my God. The dude was falling apart. I mean, he was doing FINE before they had me start screwing with him. And now? He sat cross-legged on the ground in front of that brick wall for like twelve hours before finally getting up to shit and then curling up to sleep. I don’t think he ate all day.
They told me to steal his journal. I couldn’t do it yet.
October 26, 2094 – I don’t know why I keep scribbling in this stupid old notebook. There’s like four pages left. I’m forty-four. I’ll probably live another thirty years at least. Thirty years of absolute shit. Who needs to write all that down?
Who the hell needs to read it?
I took the journal while the dude slept. Just as I swiped it off his pack, he whimpered in his sleep. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I teared up. This just isn’t fair.
Reading the thing up till this point, I was laughing for a little while. It’s amazing what laughter can do to hide guilt. Sure, yeah, messing with someone’s head is funny as hell.
Till it’s not.
And now, it’s not. I feel like the world’s biggest tool.
But what can I do? It’s not like Control won’t kill me if I decide to go off-script.
What a mess this is. Jesus.
October 27, 2094 – Turns out his name is Daryl.
When I popped up from behind the wall and waved, he almost fell over. “Bob!” he said, then fell to his knees. He was crying and laughing, and then so was I. I don’t know what that means.
I heard the drones fire up almost immediately. The static flared in my earpiece and I yanked it out and stepped on it. Ran to Daryl and pulled him up off his knees, and we ran together.
I’m scared. I don’t know where the next meal is coming from. Or if there’s going to be one. I know where a lot of the cameras and mics and drone nests are, but not all of them. And I know nothing about what Control has outside Omaha.
But we’re ok for the moment. Somewhere in the midst of the running and screaming, I told him my name was Trish. He smiled.
I love when he smiles.
Screw Control.
This was a really fun read! Thanks a lot!