The End - Visions of Apocalypse

“You’re going to die from a morphine overdose,” I say. He giggles.

I pull the suit’s mask over my head and control my breathing. In a minute, I’m sober enough to continue. I go up to someone still standing, a chemist I know called Rob. I grab the drink from his hand and throw it away.

“Who made this? It’s too strong. Come help me with the printer so I can make some naloxone, or—”

He shakes me away. “Dammit! Angela said you were crazy. Get away from me, murderer.”

He reaches out to a tray of beakers. I dash the platter on the floor, spilling drink everywhere. He turns to me, blinks.

“Crazy,” he says, swaying side to side. “Crazy.” He falls over, a smile on his face.

Angela. I scan the room, but she’s not there. I run down the stairs and head to the machine.

I’m no expert with the device, so I hit the stop button and take it from there. There’s a long and complicated menu with lists of ingredients and templates. I find a search bar and start typing ‘Nalox—’

Behind me, Angela speaks.

“It’s concentrated pentobarbitol and ketamine. You can’t save them.”

I turn around with great care. She’s leaning on the counter. The rifle is there, not far from her hands.

“They’ll all go out in perfect bliss, not like Vanessa with her brains blown out.”

“Is that what they wanted?”

“They wanted to be happy,” she says.

I keep my voice level. “Did you take any?”

Her eyes close, almost long enough for me to consider moving, then she snaps back to alertness. “I wanted to. I really did.” She leans back, brushes the barrel of the rifle with the tips of her fingers. “I knew you’d come.”

I nod. “So where do we go from here?”

“We’re not going anywhere,” she says. She reaches behind, still looking at me, and takes hold of the rifle. She lets it hang down and away from her, looking like a little girl with a rag doll.

I hold my breath. She raises the weapon across her chest, then points it at me. Stock first.

“Do it,” she whispers. “I can’t.”

I take a step toward her, just a small one. I’m a little surprised to be alive.

She licks her lips. The rifle trembles in her hands. I take another step, and another, then reach out and put my hands on the grip.

For an instant, she holds tight. Then it’s mine.

Her voice goes up in pitch. “Do it. Don’t make me wait, you heartless bitch!”

She grabs the muzzle and holds it to her chest, dead centre.

No one will judge me. In a few weeks, not even God will remember us. It’s what she wants.

But she is not a Thing, one of the desperate survivors I have trained myself to see as less than human. She is a woman and I know her name. And though I hate her right now as much as I have ever hated anyone, I cannot pull the trigger and shoot her in the heart.

And for what she has done, she deserves to suffer.

I pull the gun away and step back. She drops to her knees, fingers pulling at her hair, a wordless moan escaping her open mouth.

I fill a flask from the printer’s reservoir of euthanasia and make my way to the exit. The party is coming to an end: Men and women lie sprawled everywhere; their lips blue.

They are happy, at least. Perhaps it won’t be so bad.

The car is gone, so I walk. The pain in my shins is bearable, but the injured calf muscle is really starting to hurt. Halfway there, I’m limping. When the park comes into view, I’m hallucinating again.

“Not far now,” he says, walking silently behind me.

Damn, my leg hurts.

“I’ve been having a think,” he says. “Maybe it’s not a plan by all bacteria. Maybe they’re fighting a war amongst themselves.”

“Then they’re as stupid as we are,” I say.

“Not if they’re ruthless and logical enough to destroy pretty much all life on Earth, including most of their own kind, as long as a seed colony survives somewhere. Then the survivors can take over the planet with no competition.”

“Pretty advanced tactics for microbes, don’t you think?”

“Well, they have had a couple billion years to work it out.”

I arrive at the park. The bodies are where I left them. I had thought Matthew might be here, or he’d have buried Diana, but she’s still lying there staring at the sky. Evaporation and wind will break up these cadavers, not the rot we used to enjoy.

Something smells putrid, though. I sniff the air, but can’t locate the source.

I head for the trees. Below the knee, my leg is a solid block of agony.

“It’s peaceful here,” he says when we reach a clearing. I sense him sit down. “Why don’t you rest?”

I’m feeling light-headed from the pain. I take out the flask and feel the weight in my hands. As I sit, the smell of decay gets stronger and I realise it’s coming from me.

I pull up the cloth and take off the dressing. Below the knee, my leg is swollen and dark, the skin crackly to the touch.

“Gas gangrene,” he says. “Clostridium perfringens, or something similar. Anaerobic, so it doesn’t need oxygen. Looks like they think it’s safe to come out.”

The cap twists off in my hand.

“I hope they give dinosaurs another try,” I say.

He moves next to me. “So you believe me now?”

“I have to. Otherwise it’s our fault.”