Henry trudged through the forest, looking for mushrooms. He was no survival expert, but it seemed life was set on turning him into one.
He had survived the End of the World, as he called it. And as far as he knew, he was the only one out there, so he could call it whatever he liked. Climate change had hit the earth like a sledgehammer; they had suffered droughts and inundations and then the Gulf Stream had given up on them and the world had turned intensely cold. Those who could afford it had jumped on board of the few rockets headed for Mars, leaving the ordinary folk to fend for themselves. Then the meteor struck – Henry had seen it approach, live on TV – and then nothing. The sky had grown dark, throwing them into perpetual night. He had been lucky to find shelter with his prepper friend Dennis. Dennis had a bunker chuck full of canned and long-lasting food in his back garden, which by then was worth millions. They should have been able to sing it out for five years without having to go outside.
But then Dennis went outside and was swept away by the massive tsunami that followed the meteor strike.
Henry had been lucky, once again, that the bunker was waterproof. One of the cameras in the garden survived and Dennis watched, while steadily munching his way though Dennis’ stock, how the water ever so slowly receded. When finally the water had drained away, Henry had stepped outside.
The world as he knew it had ceased to exist.
He searched and searched, but couldn’t find any humans. Just debris.
And after a while he started to wonder whether he wanted to find any humans. Nothing grew. The landscape was devastated and empty. Any humans he encountered were bound to be hungry. They would want to know how he had been able to survive for as long as he had. There would be questions asked, fists raised. If he encountered other human beings now, he would have to fight to defend his food.
So Henry picked up the weapons he could find scattered among the debris and returned to his bunker. He just sat there, watching the one working camera, until that one gave up the ghost as well. Then he read the few books Dennis had lying around: four on preparing yourself for an emergency, one mediocre novel and a guide on edible mushrooms.
When his stock started to run low, Henry started studying the mushroom guide. He studied until he knew the book by heart.
And then, one day, he was down to the last ten cans. Henry packed up and left the bunker. There was no point in hanging around anymore. Armed with a rifle and several knives, Henry had set out in the perpetual dusk.
His wanderings had been miserable. He would have been better off in the shelter of the bunker, but after ten years, Henry quietly loathed the thing. So he kept roaming, occasionally bumping into feral dogs (very unpleasant), and once, into a terribly skinny bear (extremely unpleasant). But he never bumped into another human being.
He crouched down and examined a bland-looking set of mushrooms. He had soon found that his mushroom guide had not been all-encompassing. Henry’s hunch was that the lack of sunlight had favoured a few types of cave mushrooms, which had not been covered by the guide. As he had nothing to lose, he tried them anyway. Some gave him terrible cramps, but others went down just fine. The mushrooms he was looking at now were of a kind he hadn’t encountered before. He tore off a small piece – he had grown that wise – and brought it to his mouth.
‘I wouldn’t eat that if I were you,’ a gruff voice said behind him.
Henry froze. The sound of another human voice was so alien that his brain stopped functioning. He just sat there in disbelief.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ the voice came again, sounding amused. There were footsteps to his left and then Henry was looking at a pair of bare feet that were missing several toes. Slowly, his gaze travelled up and met that of a weathered-looking, bearded man. The man nodded politely.
‘I’d shake your hand, but I don’t know whether that’s wise, sir,’ the man said. ‘You look mighty skinny to me, and I wouldn’t want to end up as dinner, if you catch my drift. Sir.’
‘I catch it completely,’ Henry managed to croak. ‘Sir.’
The man smiled, making his tanned face ripple. Henry noticed he was slim but muscled, that he had somehow found himself a not too indecent pair of shorts and t-shirt and was wearing a backpack of a very decent quality. Henry knew he looked positively dishevelled in comparison.
‘Please, call me Lefty. Everyone does – well, did.’
‘Henry,’ Henry said, slowly rising up, so as not to startle this block of muscle and confidence.
‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, Henry,’ Lefty smiled. Henry noticed his gaze shoot to all the weapons Henry was visibly wearing. Henry thought it looked a lot like a coveting gaze.
‘Likewise.’
‘Not very talkative, are you Henry?’ Lefty grinned. ‘Can’t blame you, out here on your own since…’ Lefty waved casually to indicate the flow of the years. ‘Since when, Henry, do you know?’
‘I reckon I’ve been out here for about two years now,’ Henry said. ‘A bit hard to tell in this perpetual twilight.’
‘The light’s a bitch, that’s right, pardon my language, sir,’ Lefty nodded grimly. ‘I’m surprised you survived out here for as long as you have. You been in a shelter before that?’
Henry nodded vaguely. ‘Had some food there, but it’s all gone. Don’t think I could find my way back.’
‘Pity,’ Lefty said, with a gleam to his eye. ‘Would have been good to have a decent base.’
Henry shrugged. ‘I had to start foraging. No point in me staying there.’
‘Aye, a man’s got to eat,’ Lefty agreed. ‘I’m guessing you got no food on you if you were looking at trying those little nasties there,’ he said, pointing at the mushrooms Henry had been about to try.
Henry shook his head. ‘Got nothing on me at all,’ he said earnestly. ‘You?’ he asked in vain hope. He knew the guy would never share his food with him. It was every man for himself now.
‘Finished it all, pall,’ Lefty said easily. Henry thought Lefty looked too successful not to have a little stash stowed away somewhere, but he let it pass. He knew he was no match for this burly guy.
‘You are the first fellow human being I’ve encountered in all these years,’ Lefty continued. ‘You ever met anyone?’
‘No, you’re my first as well,’ Henry replied. In fact, it felt totally surreal to be talking to another person. He had been alone for so long that now he encountered someone else, his head was sent spinning and the adrenaline pumped through his body.
‘Too bad,’ Lefty said. ‘Wouldn’t have minded running into some pretty little thing, wouldn’t you?’ Lefty grinned and Henry muttered something noncommittally. He knew that although this was probably the only other person out there, they would never get along.
‘So what do you say to us sticking together, pal?’ Lefty said magnanimously. ‘Together our chances of survival will improve. I was a survival expert before the shit hit the fan, you know.’
Well, he looks like one, too, Henry thought. And has the ego to match.
‘That’s very kind of you, but I think I’ll continue on my own.’ Henry took a few steps back, unwilling to turn his back on Mr Survival Expert.
‘Where you headed then, pal?’ Lefty said, incredulously raising an eyebrow.
Henry shrugged. ‘I reckon we’re the only two people left in North America. Wouldn’t hurt checking the South.’
Lefty looked at him in suspicious puzzlement. ‘You don’t want to go to South America, pal, that place is full of nasty critters. You’d be dead within a week.’
‘Doesn’t matter when there’s nothing to live for anyway,’ Henry retorted. ‘I could still be in that shelter, but I’m out here, living my life. If I want to go and explore South America, then that’s what I’ll do.’ And with that, he turned and walked away.
‘Hey! Hey, pal!’ Lefty shouted after him. Henry merely raised a hand in greeting and kept walking, picking up the pace. He knew Lefty would follow him until he was satisfied that Henry didn’t have a secret stash squirreled away somewhere. But he liked the thought of putting some distance between them all the same.
What a pity the other Last Person on Earth was a dick.
