Stuff of Nightmares: A Collection of Short Horror Stories

The Last Survivor

In the end, I was the only one left.

The plague swept across the country, transforming thriving, bustling cities into empty shells of their former glory. Nearby houses stood derelict; the dusty, cracked glass windows watched time pass by with empty, dead eyes, humanity forgotten. Stores had long been ransacked, all the edibles and resources polished away. Hints of the place's former occupants still remained: desperate messages scrawled onto walls defaced with peeling paint, abandoned cars with rust devouring the metal bodies, and weathered help signs flapping in the wind, tattered and bleached by nature.

I sat alone in my favourite spot looking over the motorway leading out of the city, my crossbow loaded and my eyes trained for any signs of movement. On the wall behind me, large, white letters spelled out "SANCTUARY". I'd stayed here for over a year now. People came and went – some outwards, others upwards. A lot of them hoped the military would help and, if they held out long enough, there would be a cure. The military did help initially. Every week, resources would drop from the sky in their little red-and-white parachutes, carrying water, food, and medicine. Over time, that dwindled and the radio fell silent. I hadn't seen a helicopter in at least six months. The weakest died first, including my daughter. Without insulin, she became dehydrated and sleepy, and a week later, she died. Food ran low after another two weeks. Some of the braver members of the group ventured out to hunt. Sometimes they returned. Sometimes not.

My stomach rumbled. My food store was running low. The uncertainty of when I would get my next meal used to send waves of panic, but I learnt showing that kind of urgency made others uneasy. Just as I reached that thought, something caught my eye. Two people lumbered from the main city. Judging by way they moved doggedly in my direction, they had seen my sign.

I met them at the town entrance, my weapon slung over my back and my hammer at my waist. It was a couple, haggard and exhausted. Both broke into broad smiles at the sight of me.

"Oh, god!" the man cried. "I almost didn't expect to see another survivor! We've been walking for two weeks straight."

"Please say you have food," the woman said faintly.

"O-of course!" I stammered. "It's been a while since I've had company."

"Thank god!" In their relief, they didn't hear my stomach rumbling when they brushed past. Swallowing my saliva, I drew my crossbow out. Their chatter gave me a headache. Too loud. They were five feet away when my arrow struck the man in the spine. His head snapped back and he gurgled. The woman screamed, but soon she, too, fell silent.

My stomach rumbled again when I advanced upon my kill. This would last me another two weeks. I breathed in, enjoying the silence and my own company.

In the end, I was the only one left.

Word count: 492

Written for Ambassadors's Aim to Engage prompt.