A/N: Wow, I haven't uploaded anything in a while. I guess I should upload my other PRC and LC chapters, but I never get feedback, so I feel little motivation. Still...maybe it'll get noticed someday. XP Yeah right. XD

Anyway, I made up this short story because I wanted to write a quick story about zombies because I've been rereading The Zombie Survival Guide recently. The concept of zombie survival is cool. 8D I didn't actually mention zombies; I was going to, but then I felt it would be better vague.

I started and finished this tonight. It might have a few grammatical or spelling errors, but I'm bad at self-proofreading anyway, so I'm not going to check. Feel free to correct me if you see any mistakes.

In fact, I'd appreciate any reviews, no matter what the purpose.

Not the Last One

A sigh escaped Christian’s mouth as he reloaded his berretta. The clip slid in smoothly and quietly. The only noise it made was when it was completely inside the weapon. Christian pulled back and released the slide, chambering the first round. It was not as if Christian expected to needed to fight again soon, but as he learned in his new environment, his armament had to be ready at all times.

To fulfill that notion, he walked over to his M1 Carbine, picked it up, and reloaded it. Afterwards, he held his head up high and stood still for a moment. There was no noise. That was good. Silence meant loneliness. Considering his circumstances, Christian wanted to be purely alone for a time, only speaking to and listening to God.

That was a luxury he never treasured before, but now he understood what the scriptures meant when they told of great men who found solace only in prayer. After the siege and during the trek, Christian understood why pathetic Americans flocked to churches at the sign of disaster. Humans needed God, regardless of technology, regardless of philosophy, and regardless of logic.

Even if humans created God, they made Him because they need Him.

In another minute, Christian had gathered together his equipment. There was not much left; the rope had worn through, the iodine had run out, and the radio had been destroyed by the time he had gotten as far as he was. There was more that was still usable, but that was all abandoned long ago, when the rest of Christian’s party had died.

June was the first to go. Despite protest, June went off to pursue her personal interest of looting a nearby jewelry store. The rest gave up convincing her that it was too dangerous, but June learned that soon enough. When the others heard the screams, they knew it was too late.

Next was Wyatt. He nearly went insane halfway through the journey and decided to take it upon himself to kill as many of the enemy as he could. He stole the party’s assault rifle and ran off on his own. He was not seen again.

The last was Raphael. This time, the incident was from over-benevolence, not greed or zealousness. Christian and Raphael saw what looked like an injured person lying on the ground. He seemed to be breathing, but in a gasping, wheezing manner. Without a second thought, Raphael ran over to check. When he realized the body was not a human, it was too late.

For the last week, Christian had not seen a single human. He did not mind the lack of human contact, though. What bothered him was the incessant moaning of the enemy, the need to hide every half-hour as he trekked through the countryside, and the fact that he needed to sleep with one eye open, almost literally. If it were not for God, Christian was certain he would either be dead or inhuman.

Christian rolled his neck, stretched his legs, and continued on. More of the enemy would be descending soon, and he needed to leave. He hopped onto the bike he found earlier that week and started pedaling into the distance. Somewhere, over that horizon, was a place the enemy did not infest, where you did not need to booby trap your sleeping quarters to be certain you would endure the night, and where paranoia was not something that increased chances of survival.

Christian suddenly stopped when he remembered something important. He surely was not the last human; God would not do that to humanity. This was not the flame he promised. To ensure that others knew, he took a piece of scrap paper from his pack, took a piece of charcoal, and wrote the great mantra by which Christian now lived his life. Others needed to learn it too.

He tossed the paper into the wind as he did after every battle, in the hope that others might find it as often as he neared death.

Gloria Patri

End