Postcards from the Last Girl on Earth

June 19th

New York City, New York

This is it, Drew. We’re finally getting out of this fucking city. It’s only been, what, a decade? We should have left a long time ago, back when we decided it was too much concrete and steel. That first apartment, with the tiny patio and all those sad plants you brought home. You promised me someday we’d have nothing but grass and flowers and space to live. Not that I could ever keep anything alive, but you wanted us to be surrounded by life. There’s not much of that left these days.

You’d be impressed by my REI score. It was on the clearance rack, hidden behind the rubber wader pants. The most glorious pink hiking bag, complete with an assortment of sparkly camp tools. I’m going to rock this apocalypse in style, my friend.

The store was picked clean by the time I got there, but I found a few things. Most of it was stashed under a pile of trash in a corner. Someone’s emergency stash. I should feel guilty about taking it, but at this point…. Well, the emergency is basically here to stay, and if they haven’t grabbed this shit by now, I suspect they aren’t coming back. There isn’t much there, but I’m hoping I can find things on the road. A change of clothes, extra socks, sleeping bag. Enough food to last a few days. Assorted weaponry you’d accumulated over the years.

I’m sorry I gave you shit over the .45. For what it’s worth, you aren’t stupid, paranoid, or contributing to the downfall of American Society by owning a handgun. I was wrong, and I know how much you love hearing that. Thank you for making me learn how to use it. It’s come in handy more than once.

Next time, maybe try to be a little more paranoid and make sure we have an extra, oh, million rounds?

I can hear you laughing at some of the unnecessary things I’m dragging along. I couldn’t leave without the pictures of you and my family, though. Chances are, I’m never coming back here.

The last time I talked to my parents, they were ok. Holed up in a little French village on a nice vineyard. They seemed to be faring pretty well, keeping people safe and taking reasonable measures to stop it. In my mind, they are still out there, drinking wine and laughing with the friends they’ve made. Mom is learning how to make wine, and Dad has fully accepted that he is a natural at growing lovely grapes.

It’s a nice thought, isn’t it?

God damnit. I miss you.

June 23rd

Scranton, Pennsylvania

Made it all the way to Scranton today. Go me! I’m not in a huge rush, but it’s good to put the city behind us. All things considered; it’s been a decent trip. Quiet. All the real action has been over for months.

I’m running low on food, but I’ve been hitting stores and markets when I see them. It’s interesting seeing what people have grabbed. Most of the canned food is long gone, and anything fresh is beyond nasty. I scored today with 3 boxes of Lucky Charms, 8 cans of Spam, and some delightful snack cakes.

Yes, the cakes are all gone already, and I have zero regrets. It would be a shame to die with uneaten Snowballs.

I am happy to report that I’ve seen exactly zero boxes of condoms. While it seems such activities might be the last thing on your mind, one must applaud the responsibility of it. Bringing a kid into this world is just a straight-up terrible idea. Also, how much would it suck to survive all of this just to wind up with some nasty STD?

No one else has been interested in the postcards either. I mean, I guess that’s not really a new thing, but it’s good for me. For both of us, I guess. I used to love coming home from a trip to find a handful of these waiting for me. Little love notes, even when we were traveling together. You always made me feel so loved. Writing to you helps these days. It makes me feel like you’re close. Like we’re doing this together.

I’m starting to feel like maybe I’m the last girl on earth. It’s lonely as hell out here.

July 2nd

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Two weeks on the road. I’ve been trying to avoid the more populated areas when I can, not that there’s many of those left. It’s still too many people, and too much that can go wrong. But I found a little scooter outside of Scranton and I got to drive most of the day before it died on me. My poor feet appreciate the break. I now deeply regret never taking the time to go to the Y with you.

You proposed here on the 4th of July, under the fireworks. We danced in the rain and stayed up until dawn. You had the whole week planned out for me, a perfect little vacation. When we were here, I really believed that someday we’d escape the city. Find ourselves a quiet little farm and live that pastoral life.

It just doesn’t feel right without you here. Who am I kidding, though? Nothing about this world is right anymore.

This place is a ghost town, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Places like this were hit the hardest. The ones who could afford it escaped the city as soon as things got really bad, but by then, it was too late for most of them. Without having a ridiculous amount of money or outside connections, people were stuck here. Left to die.

I saw a group of people in the park, right by where we had our picnic. They were barbequing, just a group of friends hanging out and socializing on a gorgeous summer day. Just ignore the overabundance of firearms and that one guy that had the slightly crazed look of a man who was just a bit trigger happy.

They invited me to come and eat, but I don’t think I’m ready to be around people yet. How the hell am I ever going to learn to trust people again?

July 8th

Dresden, Ohio

Well, I found my wide-open spaces. I had to get off the interstate, it’s completely bogged down with empty cars. Some of them still have bodies. The silence is deafening. No trucks blaring their horns, no obnoxious Sunday drivers to maneuver around. It’s a horrifying testament to the shit-show of this year. I couldn’t keep doing it.

It’s beautiful out here, though, in its own way. There isn’t much. No skyscrapers, and I’m sure that before this fun and exciting apocalypse of ours, there weren’t many cabs either. I’ve seen a few people out here, but they’re keeping to themselves. One little girl waved at me, and I think she would have come running over if her father hadn’t clamped a hand over her mouth and yanked her back into their boarded-up house.

Good on you, Pa. Keep your kids safe. This isn’t the kind of town that saw many strangers beforehand, and I can imagine that a dirty, smelly city girl with a hot pink hiking pack and faded purple hair would probably put some of them on edge. It felt like they were all watching me, holding their collective breath and waiting for me to cross that invisible town border so they could relax and go back to living what little lives they’ve been able to salvage.

Two hours out of town, and I still feel like there’s a target on my back.

There was a point in my life where I thought this would be nice. The peace and quiet of the end of the world. Get rid of the idiots and assholes, and just kick back and enjoy life.

I was wrong. There is nothing nice about this.

July 14th

Dayton, Ohio

I rolled into town just after dark, as the fireflies came to life. I’ve never seen anything like it before. The whole city was lit up with all these beautiful, tiny little dancing lights. It feels like no human has been here for centuries, like nature is slowly reclaiming her bounty.

You would have loved them.

Some days, it’s easy to write to you. It’s like when we were little and your parents dragged you off on those awful family vacations. We’d write back and forth for weeks and months, sharing our lives day by day. Other days, though, it’s too hard. It hurts too much. I don’t really know how to handle all of this on my own. You’ve always been there for me, and I got used to you being there. What the hell do I do with myself now?

Your gun came in handy today, by the way. Again, you were right. Bertha’s a good gal. They came out of nowhere. I didn’t even hear them. It was sheer luck that I was able to get a shot off and get out of there.

Complacency gets you dead in this new world of ours.

I’m going to stick around in town for a few days. Find an abandoned house and hole up. I need to rest and restock, if I can find anything. I’ve always hated the idea of rummaging through people’s houses for food. I know they’re all dead, but it still feels so rude, to invade their lives. It feels like I’m disrespecting them, stripping them of any final possessions they might have had. I don’t want to be that person, but I’m guessing most of them just won’t care anymore.

It’s hard to worry about someone breaking into your house and stealing your creamed corn when you’re dead. Or worse.

July 16th

Wayne, Indiana

Today’s been rough. Everywhere I turn, I see your face. I keep pulling out the pictures, but it doesn’t help. You’re everywhere. Mostly on the bodies that I pass. Makes it hard to concentrate on driving. Or thinking. Or, you know, breathing.

I thought I was over it. But today, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The day you got sick. You kept trying to tell me that you were ok, that you were going to be fine.

You know how much I hate being lied to. Especially by you.

I didn’t expect it to happen so fast. One minute you were fine, laughing and smiling and joking about next year’s Boston Marathon (canceled indefinitely, btw.) And then you were throwing up and screaming. I know that there’s nothing more I could have done, but it doesn’t matter. I should have done something before you got to that point. Anything. I shouldn’t have made you suffer.

Remember when that sparrow few into the sliding glass door? I cried for days over the poor thing. I wanted to take it to the vet, and you told me it wouldn’t matter. Nothing could help it. You helped me put it out of its misery.

You hated seeing anything in pain.

Damn you, Drew. You should be here with me. Why did you always have to try to be such a big goddamn hero? You had no business going out there, but you never could stay put when someone was in trouble. You saved her, and you knew the risk. And even though I’m angry, that’s why I love you. Always running into burning fires.

I saw the kid and her mom again, a week before I left. They were both fine. Grateful for what you’d done. I didn’t have the heart to tell them what happened to you. I told them we were leaving the city together, and the mom blessed us both. She kissed my lips and wept and told us to be safe and go with God.

Tell me, where the hell is God in all of this?

July 22nd

East St. Louis, Illinois

There’s a storm rolling in, and it’s magnificent. I found another car this morning, and that always makes the days a bit easier. I was able to get pretty far before I ran out of gas. It’s slow going, but I’ll make it there eventually. I guess I’m not really in any huge rush. California will still be there.

I keep thinking about why I’m here. Why I’m doing this. I could have stayed in the city, and I probably would have been fine. Or I could have holed up somewhere in the country and just waited until it all passed. But I promised you we’d go someday, and there’s not any time left. It’s not going to get any better.

I’m camping in the car tonight. I got caught in a deluge last week, and I’m not about to deal with wet clothes again. It’s cramped, but it could be worse. At least I’m going to stay dry.

I’ve got the windows rolled down and the clouds are rolling in. It’s quiet out there, except for the thunder in the distance. The world is holding its breath, waiting for the explosion. Every time the lightning strikes, everything lights up for miles. I wonder if this is what the world was like before people fucked it all up.

The ozone is my favorite part. It reminds me of sitting on the old porch swing at your aunt’s house. Do you remember? Watching the storms and laughing? Leaning close to each other while the storm raged? Our first kiss. Rain was just starting to splatter the sidewalk, and that old porch swing creaked and swayed beneath us. It was sweet and soft and beautiful and everything I had ever hoped for.

Nights like this make me wonder if we can ever go back to the way we were. Sure, humans are resilient, but I don’t know if we’ll even survive this. Maybe we had a chance in the beginning, before humanity turned on each other. Do you think we’re beyond saving?

I really hope not. I just don’t know if we deserve it.

July 30th

Cameron, Missouri

I wish I could forget yesterday. How many times have I said that since all this bullshit started? I couldn’t write about it last night, but you deserve to know what happened. All the ugly of this glamourous vacation of ours. But last night, I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I found me the box of wine in a McMansion, a sleeve of crackers, and quite possibly the last can of nasty aerosol cheese in the great state of Missouri.

There was this family. I was driving by when I heard the shot. Surprisingly, they’re pretty rare. Attracts a lot of attention, you know, and that’s the last thing anyone needs these days. I find them out in the middle of nowhere. Mom, dad, four kids. They were lucky. Not a single one got sick. They escaped all of it. They were safe, holed up in some random cave bunker this guy found as a kid. They were safe.

There was so much blood. They ran into a herd of deer. He was trying to hunt up some actual food for his family and he fucked up. When I pulled up on them, he was screaming, cradling this poor woman and rocking back and forth. His kids were all there just sobbing, and their father was losing his fucking shit on the side of a dusty highway in Shit-Ass America.

I couldn’t do anything for them. I wanted to. I tried to help. He freaked out on me, of course. Don’t blame him, really. Eventually he let me get close, but there was nothing I could do. She was gone before her body hit the ground.

Before this all started, I’d never seen a body. Never been to a funeral. Not even when Aunt Cora died. No matter how much you tried, I wouldn’t go. I knew that death happened, but it never touched me.

Now I’m covered in it.

We buried her. Me and the kids, that is, because dad refused to. He was sitting on the side of the road crying, letting some stranger bury his wife and take care of his kids. He couldn’t even pull his shit together long enough to give her the dignity of a burial. The oldest kid must be about 14. I think he’ll be able to handle the little ones, for a little while. I hope. This guy needs to get his shit together, or they’re all gonna be joining Momma before too long.

The kid wanted me to stay. The oldest one. He begged me to stay and help them.

I couldn’t do it. I’m a terrible, shitty person, but I couldn’t stay with them. I’m the last person in the world qualified to act as a surrogate mom. I hated to leave them, but I did everything I could.

I did everything that I could. You understand that, don’t you? I did everything I could.

August 5th

Cawker City, Kansas

I have just five words for you. World’s Largest Ball of Twine. Oh yeah. I’m finally here. After we saw the Netflix special, I knew we’d see it someday. And yes, it is precisely as magnificent as we imagined.

Everywhere I’ve been, there are these little pockets of Americana. Remnants of who we used to be. There is a shocking amount of oversized household items scattered across the middle of the country, and nearly all these weird travel attractions are still in one piece. In fact, most of these little towns are still intact. Some looting, random destruction, but most of them feel like everyone just up and walked away one day.

Cawker City is bizarrely small. I can’t believe anyone used to live in places like this, though I can understand why it might be appealing now. You know all your neighbors, and all their business, and you have an actual community to help get you through the shit. On the other hand, you can see from one end of the town to the other, and the whole place takes maybe 10 minutes to wander through. Unlike some of the other settlements and towns I’ve seen, these people are friendly. Like, incredibly friendly. They had guards out, of course, but it was a welcoming committee rather than a firing squad.

I haven’t decided yet if it’s reassuring or bizarre.

Weirder still, this place is basically escaped unscathed. Sounds like they had four or five people get infected, but that’s it. Out of a town of 872 (according to the painfully cheerful ‘Welcome to Cawker City sign that appears to be carefully repainted whenever someone joins or exists) that seems to be pretty fucking amazing. I’ve seen towns bigger than this completely wiped off the map.

I asked how they avoided it, and all anyone would say is, ‘God Provides.’

They were in the middle of church services when I wandered into town, the whole damn town turned out in the park, listening to some charismatic preacher man. End of the goddamn world, and they’re still getting their Hallelujahs on.

So, yes. Clearly some kind of crazy religious post-apocalyptic hellscape where I will absolutely get sacrificed. And we both promised we wouldn’t join any cults.

But I have to admit, there’s a part of me that desperately wants to stay. At least long enough to rest and maybe relax a little. I’ve had my first hot shower in months, and an honest-to-God Sunday dinner with fresh bread. Bread, Drew. AND BUTTER. They have electricity on, and running water, and there’s no overwhelming scent of death.

This should be paradise, but everything here feels wrong. Or maybe I just don’t know how to accept a gift?

August 19th

Denver, Colorado

Yeap, it was a big giant crazy religious cult. There was some serious Shirley Jackson meets Stepford Wives crap. Everyone was nice, but it was forced. It didn’t take them long to start with the conversion talk. They offered to let me stay, provided I join the Church.

Of course, this was after sitting me down and telling me how every person who died was a horrible sinner, and this was God’s way of purging the Earth of the wicked, so clearly I was one of the blessed.

You’d be proud of me. I didn’t scream at anyone. I was very polite. They tried to push it, but I think they just genuinely wanted me to be safe. I guess if this is what they had to do to survive, then so be it, as long as they aren’t hurting anyone.

There aren’t enough of us left to keep being miserable to one another.

The last thing we heard before the blackout, they were officially estimating 50 million dead. Internet rumors put that number much higher. Humanity is a rapidly dying breed. At least Cawker City has their community. Who knows, maybe they really will be the last of the living?

I can’t get behind their beliefs though. How can anyone look at all of this and say it was God’s Plan? How could a person believe they all had it coming? If there is a God, either he had a hand in creating this or he didn’t care enough to stop it.

I made it to DIA today and yes, I said hello to Blucifer.

There’s a group out here that’s working on turning it into a community. There aren’t many of them yet — Denver was hit pretty hard, and there aren’t many survivors on the Front Range — but they’re seeing more survivors every day.

This is the kind of place that’s more our speed. There’s not much yet, but one of them gave me the grand tour.

I ran up and down the concourse, like we did on those long layovers. Stood and gazed out at the ledges and wild insanity of the big top. On those nights, there wasn’t much life. But now…even though there aren’t many, they are building something here. It’s not based on fear or faith, just a place to survive.

It’s getting harder to leave places like this. And, I know, I’m not being as careful as I should be. I hear the nagging. But the people here are not just surviving, they are well on their way to thriving. I guess, as well as anyone can thrive in the end days. If they can get their shit together and keep it safe, it could be a good place.

Someone asked me today what I was looking for. Obviously, I’m looking for something, since I’ve walked to Mordor already.

I told her, and she told me she understood.

And then she asked me what I was going to do after. She was worried when I didn’t have an answer.

“You need to find a reason to keep going, after you get there.”

I promised her I’d come back to Denver after I was done. She didn’t believe me, but let’s be honest, it’s probably a lie anyway.

If you were here, it would be different. We could be more cautious. Or, if we wanted, we could stop at one of these places. We could make a life together on one of these stupid communes full of nice people who just want to help us make a home.

We should be making a home together.

People on the road are getting few and far between. There’s a lot of terrified people, a lot of mean people, and a lot of people who have failed to cling to the shreds of their sanity. But we’re all roasting in the same handbasket. We might have survived the first wave, but no one out here is unscathed.

Humans are social creatures. It makes us a little crazy being alone all the time. We need our community — our tribe — or we can’t survive for very long. We’re not built like that, no matter what some of the bunkerbros claim.

FYI, BunkerBros are those balls to the wall preppers who swear they saw this coming miles away. The ones with insane amounts of rations, ammo, bear traps, 50lb drums of flour, and nasty canned meat. Most of them you see out here are the cocky young bucks who like to try to woo a lady by bragging about the size of his sump pump. Be still my beating heart!

Has not worked thus far, but if anyone comes at me with a hot tub and movie theater, I might be sold.

We’re getting closer to the end now, but I’m running on fumes. Every day, I wake up to this horror show, and nothing I do makes a damn bit of difference.

No matter how far I go, it’s not going to bring you back. Nothing I do can change the past. But we promised to meet in San Francisco, and I can’t break that one, not after everything.

I’m trying, Drew. I really am. I just hope I’m strong enough to make it.

August 20th

Idaho Springs, Colorado

Don’t laugh at me. We all knew it would happen eventually. Honestly, I’m surprised I’ve avoided it this far. But here we are, damn near to the coast, and I pick up a hitchhiker.

She’s 16. Adorable little punk kid with pink hair and this weird leather holster she made for her baseball bat. Told me her name is Annabelle, but I think she decided to rename herself. That’s ok. Whatever we gotta do to survive, right?

Well, it finally happened. I picked up a straggler. I’ve been avoiding it across the entire damn country, and here I’m practically there, and I find a hitchhiker. She’s 16. Cute kid, too. Says her name is Annabelle, but I have a feeling that she decided to rename herself. That’s ok. It’s not like anyone is going to check her driver’s license any time soon.

It’s been weeks since she’s seen anyone. She’s been holed up in the basement of her house since things went bad, and she was smart enough to keep her head down. I ran into her while she was on a food run, and she damn near knocked my brains out. Apparently, she’d found a huge cache at the Phoenix Gold Mine, and as you can see…

Very solid swing. You’d be an impressed ApocalypseDad.

We’re camping out tonight, and you’d think she’d never seen the stars before. She stared up at the sky and she just sobbed. I hugged her and just let her get it all out. She doesn’t want to talk about it yet, but I could tell things were bad for her. It seemed to help her though, just being out here and in the middle of nature. I can almost forget about all the horror, and just get lost in the vastness of the universe.

I know, I swore I wasn’t going to pick anyone up. I was going to travel alone and do this by myself or die trying. I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else, since I wasn’t sure I’d even make it out of the city. I never really expected to make it.

This was supposed to be my punishment. My penance for failing to keep you safe.

I couldn’t just leave her there by herself. Oh, she reminds me so much of myself when I was a kid. Full of piss and vinegar and snarky comments. She’s scared out of her mind, but she’s so strong, even if she doesn’t know it yet. When I told her I was headed to California, it was non-negotiable. She was going to come with me one way or another.

I don’t know if I’m capable of taking care of another human being. I know how much that broke your heart. I know how much you wanted kids of our own, to fill up our pastoral life. I guess instead we’re adopting a broken teenager with anger management issues.

September 3rd

Cove Fort, Utah

This place is beautiful, especially compared to the desolation of Denver. Everything is pristine, with all of these perfectly manicured lawns that really make me wonder if it’s not just a nightmare.

Who mows the lawn during the end of the world? Apparently, the Mormons.

I love old places like this. I love the history and the buildings, and all the secrets locked away in them. They’ve got a pretty nice place set up here. Six families are camping here in the fort. They all came over from Salt Lake City when things got really bad there. They told us that if people weren’t getting sick, they were getting killed off by the looters and the gangs that took over the city. Sounds like they were lucky to get out when they did.

They reclaimed the Fort, and they’re working the land. They’re going to have a decent crop this year, and they have somehow located cows and chickens.

Seeing people doing this gives me hope. There are still people out there willing to work together to survive. How many of these places are out there? This is what we should have done from the start, instead of leaving every person to themselves.

That’s how Cawker City survived. They cared.

I thought about leaving Anna here. She’s just a kid; she doesn’t belong out on the road. At least she’d have a better chance of surviving. They offered to let her stay, too. They have a few girls her age, and seeing her with them, acting like a relatively normal teenage girl…

I know I’m not her mom, but I’m responsible for her. And if something happens to her, it’s my fault.

Of course, she’s just as stubborn as you, and she refused to even consider it. She told me we needed each other. That she wasn’t going to abandon me.

She’s right. I was starting to lose hope, Drew. Starting to lose faith in myself. Because my friend at DIA was right. I didn’t have any plans for after we get there.

I never told you this, but you’re the only reason I kept going. For so long, having you there was the only reason I stayed alive. I know that’s not fair to you, but I tried so hard not to put that baggage on your shoulders.

Baby, you saved my life so many times. More times than I can count. My whole life, it was you, the shining star guiding my way.

I never thought about living without you, not really.

Maybe you knew that. You made me promise to come here, and you knew I’d do it. For you. Just like you had to know I’d find something along the way. Another lost soul.

We found her.

After we get to the bridge, we’ll find a place. Maybe Denver, maybe a little cabin in the mountains by ourselves.

I guess I’ll have to keep going a little while longer. At least until she’s 18 and can leave the nest.

September 11th

Las Vegas, Nevada

You wouldn’t freaking believe it. The world ends, and people are still blowing their wad in Vegas. I don’t know why, it’s not like money matters any more. Maybe it’s just the familiar action and sheer hedonism of it.

Here they are, having the time of their lives. Gambling and drinking like the last six months never happened. Sure, there are fewer people, and more of them are armed, but the lights are on and the place is still obnoxiously glitzy. Casinos are running, Celine is singing, and the buffet at the Grand was the best meal I have ever had. I have no idea where they are getting all that food, and I don’t even care.

We wanted to see the lions, but someone set them free a few months ago. Rumor has it they’re in Excalibur. Someone offered to take us on a hunting trip, but that seems like a terrible idea.

On the bright side, the new Cirque show just opened, and you would not believe it. They’ve got the costumes, the acrobats, fire breathing…

You should have seen all the people lined up to get hitched! Half a dozen Elvis impersonators running through crowds of people looking to pick up another Apocalypse Spouse. There’s even a notary out there to make everything legal.

Yes, it is ridiculous, but this is Vegas, man. What did you expect?

September 18th

Los Angeles, California

March 23rd. We talked about it tonight for the first time. We’ve talked about damn near everything else under the sun, but it took us awhile to get here. Opening up the scars is never easy, but it had to happen eventually.

That was the night of the first news brief; the night the world went bat shit crazy. Everyone knew something horrible was happening. We saw people getting sick, disappearing, dying suddenly. Something awful was happening, and the internet was going nuts, but there wasn’t any panic until that news brief.

Even after the world knew the truth, people denied what was in front of them.

If people had pulled their heads out of their collective asses, we could have fought back sooner. But instead of being organized, we just shattered. Our first real threat, and all those bunkerbros were pissing their pants. Most of the gun nuts ended up shooting friends and family or themselves.

Sometimes I can forget about it. I can pretend that we’re just out here because we want to be, not because most of civilization is suddenly out to get us.

Then I think about that look in your eyes, and it all comes crashing back.

I told her all about you. How we sat in front of the TV and held each other and cried. You knew from the beginning that it was bad. I never really believed it was that bad. Life was still going on, and we hadn’t seen it ourselves. Plus, they told us it was handled, they told us they had the outbreak under control. Just a particularly nasty strain of the flu, nothing to worry about. We’ll have a vaccine soon, and everything will be ok. There’s a cure in the works, whatever you do, don’t panic.

They lied about everything. They never had it under control, just like they were never willing to take responsibility. But they still had to keep the populace under control, no matter how much we suffered.

Someone told me The Bunker was infected. You know the one. The big one, full of all the most important people in the country. Someone slipped through their infection controls, and well, when they said it wouldn’t open again until the virus was under control, they weren’t lying.

Poetic justice, indeed.

I’m so fucking angry about it. Anna sat there and watched her parents got sick. They went out for a nice anniversary dinner and then came home to die. And she got to sit back and watch it happen.

She knew what was going on, and she was ready for it. Her parents didn’t suffer.

She’s a stronger person than I will ever be. We cried together when we talked about it. She cried because she pulled the trigger. My tears were because I couldn’t.

Neither of us deserved to go through that. Even though this world was beyond fucked up, no one deserved to go through this. Senseless death and destruction, with no real end in sight.

Anna asked me tonight why I keep writing to you. I showed her your postcards, all the ones I saved over the years, and the ones you’ll never get to read. I think she gets it, though.

She asked me for some of my extra cards, and she’s sitting by the fire now. I think she’s writing to her parents. She keeps wiping away her tears.

How do you say goodbye to the love of your life? Most people would probably think a cross-country hitchhiking trip is a little extra, but we all know how dramatic I can be.

We’re near the end now, Drew. I never thought I would say this, but I think I’m ready to say goodbye.

September 30th

San Francisco, California

We made it. I’ve been saving this postcard for a lot of miles. Too many miles. The bridge looks just like the card. Fog rolling in off the bay during sunrise.

It’s beautiful here. We knew it would be. This was going to be our honeymoon, the one we never got to take.

End of the road. End of the world. I’m so tired.

We got caught last night on the edge of town. We haven’t seen them for months, and we were sloppy. We were loud, and excited, and relaxed, and it seemed like it was all going to be ok. We were going to have a happy ending; we deserved a happy ending Drew…

She’s dead. I can still hear her screaming. I couldn’t get to her, there were too many of them, and I wasn’t fast enough. But it was quick for her. She ended it before they did it for her.

See, I told you she was stronger than me. She was definitely your daughter.

There’s not much time left.

I would have made a life with Anna, but I guess our luck ran out.

I don’t want to die with regrets. I’m sorry for so many things. I know I don’t need to apologize, and I know you forgive me. I know you loved me for everything I am, and everything I’m not.

I fucked up so many things, but I always did the best I could. I made it, though. We promised, and here we are.

It’s peaceful here. I’m ok with dying here, with you. It’s a good last tourist stop for us, isn’t it?

They’re not far away now. They know where I am. One bite, and that’s it. They get the smell, and all you can do is wait for them to catch up.

You know exactly how much it bleeds when one of them gets you.

I’m tired, and I think it’s time to rest now.

I love you.

I’ll see you soon

Postcards From the Last Girl on Earth first appeared in the anthology Zombified: Hazardous Material (2015).