The Last of the Last

This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.

The Last of the Last

By Plot Roach

Bernard shifted from one foot to the other, trying to think of a way he could approach the blonde woman without sounding like an idiot. He was at a friend’s nightclub, the Disaster Zone, on its opening night. It was filled wall to wall with posters, pictures and other items for post apocalyptic survival. Bernard was impressed with the lower level, an actual bomb shelter from the past, that had been refurbished as a lounge of sorts.

He practiced his lines, trying to get the words and the timing right, without sounding rehearsed. But knew without a shadow of a doubt, that she was well out of his league. He stepped forward, ready to make his move when a younger man, physically better built than Bernard himself, stepped forward to charm her for his own. She took a glance at him before shooting him down. The man had not even had a chance, and he was built like a male model. What kind of chance do I have with her? He thought. He lumbered back to the bar, ordering another beer when his friend walked up to him.

“So…How did it go?”

“I never even talked to her.”

“What?”

“Some other guy built like a Greek god got there first and she swatted him like a fly.”

“So? Try anyway.”

“Have you seen what I look like lately?” Bernard whined. If the male she had turned away earlier was the prime example of the male physical form, Bernard looked like a genetic freak, with a high forehead, thick waist and tons of hair everywhere except for the top of his head.

“Dude, what’s the worst that can happen?” his friend asked. “So she says ‘no’, it’s not the end of the world. And you’ll never know until you ask.”

Bernard sighed and nodded, but when he turned around to find her, she was gone. He scanned the different rooms, hoping that she had not already left the club with someone else. But the more frantic his search became, the more he had hoped that she had left the building. Then at least I won’t have made a fool of myself, he thought.

But there she was, in the basement lounge. And she was alone on the fuzzy couch that reminded Bernard of shag carpet. She was looking at the monitor across from her as it showed snippets of various old horror movies from the past. Ant headed men, giant rodents and aliens chasing well endowed, scantily clad women. There were no speakers, so the women screamed silently, even though the music from the floor above would have surely drown out any noise from the television.

Bernard crept forward, wondering how he should introduce himself. “That one was from ‘Pod People of Andromeda Four‘, I think.” he said, pointing to the screen as green suited men with glittered helmets chased after a woman with a torn skirt.

“These actually came from real movies?” she asked.

“Yep, my friend owns the club and he asked for help finding the worst horror and science fiction movies possible.”

“And you would be the expert on such things?”

“Not the expert, but I’ve seen my fair share of loser movies.”

“Hmmm.”

Got to think of something cool to say, he thought to himself. You’re losing her. “So what brings you here?”

“A girl friend wanted to see the opening night, and I have a hard time saying no to her.”

“Well, at least you found a quiet corner for yourself.”

“Yeah…I had.”

“Oh” he said. Maybe I should take that as a clue, he thought. Better to leave now with his dignity intact then wait until it was too late. “I’ll see you later, then.” he said and backed away to the door. His friend smiled at him and closed the door before he could walk through, making a face at him through the clear glass window.

“Very funny, Greg. Now open the door.”

“Not until she gives you a smooch, lover boy.”

“Greg, come on.” Bernard was beginning to panic, if the woman did not like him before, he was definitely on her naughty list now. He slammed his hand against the door and Greg only laughed.

“You should see the look on your face-”

The building shook and Greg turned away from the window in the door. “What the fu-”

The shaking was accompanied by a roar, the electricity was cut from the room and bits of debris piled about them in the bomb shelter. When all was still, a backup generator came on, flooding the little room with enough light to see a freckle on a mouse's butt.

“What do you think happened?” the woman asked.

“Maybe an earthquake? Or could it have been a bomb?”

Bernard tried to open the door, and found a small timer ticking madly above the entrance. He had thought it was part of the décor of the room. But now realized that the shelter was still ‘active’. “Oh crap.”

“What is it?”

“The door is really locked for good now.”

“What do you mean?”

“These old shelters had timers on the locks to prevent them from opening too early. This one is set for two weeks.”

“Why two weeks?”

“Some were set for as long as twenty five years, I’ll take two weeks any day. Besides, someone is sure to know that we’re down here and they’ll cut us out soon.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’m Bernard, by the way.”

“Like the dog?”

He smiled. “I get that a lot. It’s actually a family name.”

“I’m Eve.”

Within minutes they finished their pleasantries. Within hours they knew about each other past, like schools attended, family quirks and other assorted tidbits people in disasters trade with one another when there is little else to talk about. Hours passed and became the first day, which stretched into the first week. By then, they had rationed what food they could find in the cupboards of the shelter. They read books, watched the monitor on the endless ‘disaster movie’ reel, making up their own dialogue, and played checkers when they substituted some of the missing black markers for Oreo cookies. Until Bernard ate the pieces, that is. When two weeks had passed, the door opened with a swish, allowing fresh, if highly dusty air to filter into the shelter. They walked through the wreckage of the nightclub, stepping over bloated corpses and broken Hollywood props.

“For being in a place loaded down with survival gear, it doesn’t look like anyone made it out alive.” Eve said.

Once out into the sunlight, the sight of the city around them was no better. Buildings lay broken like children’s toys, charred skeletons lined the streets and odd looking chunks of metal were cast about like loose change in a wishing pool.

“Are those space ships?” Eve asked. She pointed to the burned skeleton halfway out of its ‘ship’, its skull blackened and elongated like a bird’s.

“They sure as hell don’t look like dinosaurs.” Bernard said.

“Or big ass rats.”

They wandered the city, afraid at first that more of the ‘aliens’ would be on the prowl. But after a few hours of searching, they realized that they were very much alone. “We could be the only humans left on the planet.” Bernard said.

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” asked Eve, searching under the wreckage of a grocery store front for anything usable.

“The whole of the human race is in our hands.” Bernard said. “We’ll have to breed to save the species.”

“What are we, panda bears?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I see where you’re going.” she said, breaking her way through a tangle of broken concrete and rebar to reach into the store’s surviving display.

“I would have only the greatest respect for you, you know.” Bernard said, trying to undo some of the damage.

“Like you could leave me for another woman…”

“But… It’s not like that-”

“Here,” she said, handing him a partially melted plastic glass. “You fill this up and I’ll look for a turkey baster.”

“But that’s not how…”

“No, I see how it is. But there’s something you have to understand, Bernard.” she said with her arms crossed over her chest, tapping her foot on the wreckage of the city. “I might be the last woman on the planet, but I’m also the last lesbian.”