The Story

Honestly, the apocalypse had been dreadful.

Not just dreadful with the multiple mutating viruses and the earthquakes and dead crops and the fire tornados and the crazy bunker people and the evolved rats with the revengeful pigeons and of course the new volcanos. And then the bunker people being driven out of said bunkers by the evolved rats and then the revengeful pigeons taking taking out said vengeance on the emerging populace and what not…

But also because it had become dreadfully boring.

At least for Todd.

Todd didn’t have any women or children to save. He’d been checking the grievous ‘Single’ box on his taxes for nearly three decades now. He wasn’t near any of the fault lines, so the earthquakes hadn’t been too much of a bother, except the losing of thousands of his fellow man, supposedly. Similar with the other terrible ‘natural occurrences’. The pigeons were mostly a New York issue, but the news made it sound like it was world-wide, because it was New York. The screaming was a bummer; he had been awfully sensitive to loud noises ever since his cousin let off a firework next to his ear in their teens.

Todd was a finance lawyer for a large import firm, and the import/export business was actually a pretty good tell for the temperature of the world at large. When things started slowing down this season (between the third Jamaican ice storm and the second great migration of mammals into the sea), the rich CEOs had chosen to quietly fly off to their tertiary vacation houses in the Alps instead of spitting expletives at their secretaries and VPs.

So Todd checked his spreadsheets. Nope, no laundering. He did a swift kitchen-gossip round, nothing shifty there. The protest up North was getting loud again, and Martha-in-Marketing was on her third affair partner, but that’s all the busy bodies were talking about.

Still, something was rumbling deep in his chest, and it wasn’t the extra large gyro he’d scarfed for lunch. He knew this feeling: time to bug out.

He’d gotten this feeling a few times before. When he was a young heart throb, long before the salt started to take over the pepper in his goatee, there was a traditional rootin’ tootin’ bonfire down by the creek back in his home town. His old pack was celebrating before they all took off for college, or trade school, or the Navy- and the hormones were loose that summer night, along with all the cheap alcohol they could find. About halfway through a second Coor’s and midway down a redhead’s sweaty neck, that feeling hit Todd. He tried to ignore it. But it wouldn’t go away. He set the beer down, hopped on his bike, and made sure ol’ man Fuller waved back as he passed the gas station. Todd even made it in time to have dessert with his parents, and get yelled at by his father for smelling like beer. But it was well worth the price of several witnesses saying he was home when the fight by the creek broke out. Two boys had been killed- one with a gun nobody knew about and the other when he slipped into the water, too drunk to crawl back out.

Another instance was the eve of his sister Leia’s wedding. Todd had never been a big fan of fiancé Gus, but had done his best to welcome him in to the family. Still there Todd was, holding one end of a table runner off the ground so his mother could iron the other side at midnight, and the feeling came. He dropped that runner and left the room at a sprint, his mother screeching behind him. Todd found Leia in the master suite of the house, petting her veil as if it was a nervous panther.

I’ll drive. Go anywhere you like, just let’s go.

I can’t. She whispered back. It’s far too late.

Less than a year later, Gus wrapped his little sportscar around an Oak, with Leia in the passenger seat. Todd never told his parents that the coroner noted Leia almost three months pregnant.

So Todd listened to his gut when it spoke.

He slipped his laptop and phone into the backpack stashed behind his office door. After a short thought, he grabbed the coffee canteen off his desk.

Since Leia’s passing, he always had a go-bag on hand. There was one in his office, one in his car, and one tucked in the coat closet of his townhouse. He always drove a car that could off-road well, and kept it up to date in maintenance. He refused to have any type of pet because he didn’t want to worry about the hassle of traveling with one, and he didn’t really know what would go into their go-bag. Although he couldn’t help but dote on the office mascots, two sparkling goldfish named Bela and Victoria. He snuck them extra food each Monday morning and slyly left the room whenever the front desk assistant joked how fat they were.

Todd gave them another treat this day, on his way out, knowing in that same gut-place that he would never be back.

He also stopped by the kitchen, with the illusion of filling up his coffee, to try and drop a few hints to the water-cooler gossip.

“Tensions really rising out there, aren’t they?” He said, a bit awkwardly to the room.

“What’s that, Todd?” Kimmy, the sweet new Numbers Analyst, kept typing on her phone, but angled towards him slightly.

“Just a bit odd. I saw that the Execs have all taken off, but I’ve got nothing on my calendar.”

“Really now?” Nathanial, a bright youth, and one of Todd’s favorites in the Engineering department, was thankfully taking lunch. “I thought you had the pulse of those guys in your little legality black book!” He and the surrounding blurred faces chuckled a bit.

“I normally do!” Todd turned to them, trying to remain calm by putting too much cream in his thermos and too much light in his voice, “But they’ve flown the coop! Just a bit odd with everything going on up North, don’t you think?”

The scattered room gave approving sounds and nods. Nathanial spoke for the group again, “What doya think is happening?”

“I don’t know, kid, but I tell ya- I’m going to work from my place for a few days. Catch some fresh air and be out of office, ya know?” He gave Nathanial an overly obvious conspiratorial wink.

Nathanial laughed, “Not a bad idea! Whatever the big boys are up to, might not wanna be here when they get back. I may do the same!”

Todd felt like he did what he could do. At least, without sounding like a crazy person.

He punched his Jeep down the carport, reaching again for his computer bag in the passenger seat, and the go-bag in the back seat for reassurance. As he turned onto the highway out of town, he thanked Whoever Was Up There that his parents had passed from age rather than having to deal with the way the world was now. And for the inheritance they’d left that had allowed him to buy a nice little cabin out in mountains, where he took his vacations and now, would wait out whatever was happening.

He would get there, recount the stashes he’d secured in the storage over the past several years for just such occurrences. Settle in, settle down. It would be just like all the other insane things going on right now, just another one, and it would be dealt with and done with.

Over the next several months, Todd did well. Relatively.

67% of Earths population, beginning with major cities and spreading outwards, succumbed to the virus within a matter of 74 days. This was due to mostly close proximity, disbelief, and unpreparedness. Saliva and blood are very difficult to avoid when the virus causes the host to sneeze, cough, and lust after the flesh of the living.

By day 108, it was 84%, partially because the survivors were tired and outnumbered.

Todd made it to day 216. One of his last completely living thoughts was that he was quite proud of himself. The second to last thought was if he did return as a zombie instead of just dying, he hoped he still liked coffee. And the very last living thought he had was how very awkward the feeling of being eaten was and that perhaps he should apologize to affair-having, vegan-preaching Martha-in-Marketing, for thinking her lunches so strange.

… … …

He opened his eyes. The world was very black. He must have died. So much for into the big light.

Death was black, uncomfortably stabby, and sounded very much like the squawking of birds. Which afterlife-philosopher did that prove right? he wondered. Probably some Greek.

Or, Todd re-concluded, he had a committee of vultures on his face.

His first impulse was to flail wildly- get these flesh eaters to scatter far away from him. But his bones ached in a strange way and fatigue riddled his every molecule. So he flailed the only part of him he could, which was a couple toes. This did not have much effect on the gathered fowl.

Rasping barks seemed to be emerging from the black fog around him. Great, the vultures are fighting over my dead flesh.

Pressure deepened on his chest and on instinct he tried to suck in air to relieve himself, but it didn’t help. You’re dead now, you idiot. He thought, your lungs don’t hurt, it’s your literal ribs.

He opened his hesitant squint a little wider to fully adjust to the world around him, and saw the pressure was a very large vulture attempting to assert dominance over his corpse.

Well, it was nice to be appreciated.

The creature hissed and grunted and squorked until the smaller vultures awkwardly hopped off to a safer distance of several feet. Then it turned to take a pick at the soft flesh of Todd’s collar.

“Well that’s a smart boy, the softest meat on a biped is often the pectoral.”

The bird stiffened at its feast making sound. It fluffed a bit, flapped its wings, hovered up, landed beside Todd. It bobbed its head back and forth, inspecting. When the flock dared to do the same, it hissed them back again into the distance.

“Ope- spooked ya, sorry. Good boy- girl? Good vulture,” Todd coughed.

The bird cocked its head and peered a deep brown eye at him. It seemed a long moment, to Todd. And he took it to admire the leathery face, like a pilot’s helmet. Rather novel, he thought, the way some creatures seemed to be built for the end of the world where others, such as his fleshy self and his fellow fragile humans, were absolutely freaking not.

“It’s okay, fella, I’ve got no use for it,” With a little bit of recovered energy, Todd lifted his left hand up towards the vulture. He noted it was awfully dehydrated, looked a bit too much like jerky. How long exactly had he been lying out in the sun?

The vulture took a cautious hop closer, pecked at his pinky skin. Then quickly pulled off a sliver a muscle and hopped backwards to swallow it.

Todd grimaced a bit, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it would. More like a paper cut than the knife wound it should have been. And no bleeding!

“That whole arm was really always there more for balance anyway,” he decided to give sitting up a try, and wondered if he actually had enough living faculties to be dizzy or if he just imagined himself so.

Now at 90 degrees, he saw the large bite marks on his knee.

Looking the several yards to the door of his cabin, there were three skeletons, already picked shiny clean. He imagined done by his new feathery visitors. He wondered why they’d gone after those first- did they like the aged flavor then, like a good red wine?

He tried to put the events together, though the memory itself was hazy: Three figures on his cabin’s monitoring camera. They didn’t look infected on the grainy screen but had walked through the electric fence without hesitation. They were swaying, shouting, and he shouted back through a speaker to go away. They dodged each of his yard-traps with ease or luck, and made it to the door. He’d finally shot two of them through a window, but the third he’d hesitated- was it Nathanial? Young Nathanial that he’d tried to warn? He opened the door to see better but no, just a young man with red around his eyes and now they’re going white and now he’s on top of Todd and he’s thrashing and biting and Todd feels the teeth sink into his knee before he gets a good shot off. He knows he’s done for, has watched people turn. Tries to crawl to a good view of his mountains to end himself before the turn happens and just barely gets into the sunshine before he passes out.

And now he’s here, with no blood flow, sitting up, staring at a very intrigued vulture.

“Well, what now, big guy?”

The vulture squorked.

“You would know better than me.” He returned to assessing the damage. He still had his good hiking boots on, though he noted the vultures had made a mess of his laces.

Todd stood shakily, noting that although his muscles continued to act strained, he didn’t feel much pain for it. Handy dandy.

He got up as straight as he could, which was a bit hunched since he was quite depleted of liquids and the flock or something else had taken a bite of his shoulder, the trapeze muscle? He tried to remember the picture from the medical books he kept in the cabin for first aid, just to see if his brain still worked. He supposed wondering about it proved it did, a bit.

“I think, therefore I am, I suppose.” He took a tentative step to see if he could be more than a thinking monument to dehydration.

His steps were a little sturdier than he expected, as he made his way back to the cabin door. His gait a bit like when he was a pre-teen and his parents had decided to do a ranch week for Spring Break. The whole family had walked bowlegged for several days following, and his father had vowed they’d go the traditional beach variety vacation from then on. Todd walked the same way now, and he decided to be resolute about this cowboy swagger rather than drag himself around like those poor creatures he’d seen in movies and through his cabin’s monitors.

Once inside, he shifted the items around on his desk. He saw the mug sitting next to his keyboard- the coffee he’d been sipping in his last human hour. It was undoubtedly cold, but he didn’t mind cold coffee. Not with the fancy beans he’d procured and rationed like it was insulin and he a diabetic. He lifted the mug and sipped. The liquid poured over his dry tongue with no effect. It tasted like nothing. Less-than-water-nothing. Damn disappointing. He’d really liked coffee.

Then he set to work: One last go-bag.

He did pick up his favorite pen and a fresh pad of paper. An empty water bottle as well as a full one, because who knew. His favorite camping knife that had fallen out of his pocket in the tussle. A couple other things he deemed possibly practical. He packed all this into the already-half-full backpack that had been hooked above the back door. Giving himself grace, he took the picture of his family at his college graduation off the bulletin board, and stuffed it in a pocket too, the only useless thing he’d allow. He unpacked most of the food, then after a moment, opened several of the tuna cans and set it out in the shade beneath the tree the vultures had settled in to watch his progress, no doubt disappointed he hadn’t just fallen back over.

And with that, he began to head down his mountain.

But not before he heard a large rustle behind him. He turned quickly, reaching for the rifle on his shoulder out of habit. And there was the big ol’ vulture that had scared the others off of him earlier, a small chunk of canned tuna stuck to its beak.

“Oh, just you,” Todd sighed and tucked the gun back on his shoulder.

The bird cocked its head to the side again, as if asking a question.

“Well my friend, I figure since I’m the danger now, there’s no point in hiding out any longer.”

It hopped closer, as if to say, Go on.

“So… I think I’ll see the world, right? See what’s left. I figure at least some of the world wonders must have made it. And if I’m already… might as well catch some fresh air rather than just sit around for someone to turn the lights out, right?”

The bird answered by rustling its feathers a bit, cleaning its beak, and starring at Todd without blinking.

Todd nodded back at it, and continued to walk. But with another rustling of feathers, there was a sudden added weight to his backpack. He looked up to a familiar shady sight of feathers and leathered face.

“Are you… you coming with me there, bud?”

The vulture’s only answer was to settle into the space between the top of the backpack and Todd’s shoulders and begin to preen itself like a royal dove.

“Well, alrighty then.” Todd clicked the backpack’s chest strap so his new companion was more secure, and started once more down to the valley.

Something loosened, deep in Todd’s chest.

The Word

Hectic (adjective): 1. Full of incessant or frantic activity. 2. Relating to, affected by, or denoting a regularly recurrent fever typically accompanying tuberculosis, with flushed cheeks and hot, dry skin.

(noun) A hectic fever or flush.

I’ve been thinking a lot about different versions to the end of our world as we know it because…

-gestures broadly to the world around us-

…and I’ll admit, I’m such a proud cat lady that my spoiled calico has her own go-bag. No way am I doing the apocalypse, be it zombie or alien or vengeful gnomes, without my right-hand feline. But it got me thinking if signing her up for that is fair, and those thoughts became Todd. And really, I’d love for Todd to have his own full story, and I think one day he will.

Also, I would be remiss if I did not mention the momma vulture that continues to raise her babies in the old barn of a family property, and that although no baby bird has ever been cute in the history of ever, especially not a baby vulture, my family is very protective of them. So good luck Todd and his new oddly loyal companion.

Thanks for reading, lovely readers 🙂 and if I see you out there in the end-of-days, I hope we don’t have to fight each other for the last canned tuna.

*The VERY deep Easter egg: The very first zombie movie was Victor Halperin’s 1932 White Zombie, starring Bela Lugosi. That’s why the office goldfish are Victor and Bela 🙂