Last Man Standing (Book 2): Cordyceps by Keith Taylor Page B
Authors: Keith Taylor
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Ads: Link
kinda thing. I wasn't great, but I made enough cash that I could live pretty well in Asia and avoid growing up for as long as possible.
"I was in Thailand last year, just a couple of months after the first attack. You remember that guy Paul McQueen? The Aussie guy who survived it? I knew him. Just by chance he and I used to be drinking buddies in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, and when he decided to tell his story he reached out to me. I guess I might have talked up my career a little after a few beers one time, and he thought I was some kind of serious newsman. You know, rather than a guy who wrote articles like 15 Budget Breaks in Sweden for Scandinavian Airlines' in-flight magazine.
"That got me a feature in Time Magazine. My first big story, and it ended with an old friend killing himself." I take a long drag on the Marlboro, and watch the smoke curl away in the dim moonlight. "After that I guess I went a little off the rails for a while. Came home to New York and spent months obsessing about that warning. You remember it, that weird handwritten message from the Sons of the Father? That thing scared me. I got caught up in all kinds of conspiracy theories, trying to prove it was genuine, but I didn't know how. I guess I went a little too far down the rabbit hole. Started to lose track of what was real." I can tell I'm slurring my words a little now.
"Then one day I met a girl. Kate. Just a regular girl, nothing all that special about her. I wasn't in love with her. Didn't really have all that much in common with her, to be honest, but she was safe . I figured if I just acted liked I was in love I might magically end up leading some kind of normal life. You know, move in with her. Get a rescue dog. Argue about which IKEA bookcase best suits our personalities. I managed to fool myself for months." I take another long swig and pass the already half empty bottle up to Warren.
"Don't let me have any more of that." I stub out my cigarette on the carpet and continue. "When New York went to shit we got caught up right in the middle of it. We ended up at a park in Brooklyn, just... just rammed with people. Thousands of them, all terrified and confused. When we heard there were bombs on the way we tried to get out, and... well, the details aren't important, but it all went wrong. Kate died."
I look up at the weaving image of Warren at the window and take a deep breath. "You know the first thought that went through my head when I realized she'd been killed? I was relieved . I was fucking relieved that I didn't have to play at being a regular person any more. Jesus fucking Christ, I'm going to hell."
Warren takes a sip from the bottle and remains diplomatically silent.
"That's what's been rattling around my head for the last month. Stuck in that box, wondering why an asshole like me deserved to live while a sweet girl like Kate deserved to die. Where's the justice in that? She was too good for me. She loved me, and I couldn't even keep her safe." I reach for my pack of smokes, then remember I just put one out. "Anyway... I don't know why I'm here. I don't know why I survived and she didn't, and I don't have the first fucking clue how I can ever redeem myself."
My mind finally clears long enough for me to realize I'm heaping my innermost worries on someone I've only known for a few hours. I look around in the darkness for my jacket and pull over my legs. "Umm... I think I need to rest my eyes a little."
"Yeah, I think that's probably a good idea, Tom. Don't worry, I'll hold the fort. You just get some sleep. You'll feel much better in the morning."
"Yeah. Yeah, it'll all be better in the morning. Thanks, Warren. You're a good guy." I roll to the side, tuck my legs up towards my chest and pull the jacket a little further up. "Better in the morning," I mutter to myself.
The darkness only takes a few moments to close in.
It had been three days since a car last went by, and he was
"I was in Thailand last year, just a couple of months after the first attack. You remember that guy Paul McQueen? The Aussie guy who survived it? I knew him. Just by chance he and I used to be drinking buddies in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia, and when he decided to tell his story he reached out to me. I guess I might have talked up my career a little after a few beers one time, and he thought I was some kind of serious newsman. You know, rather than a guy who wrote articles like 15 Budget Breaks in Sweden for Scandinavian Airlines' in-flight magazine.
"That got me a feature in Time Magazine. My first big story, and it ended with an old friend killing himself." I take a long drag on the Marlboro, and watch the smoke curl away in the dim moonlight. "After that I guess I went a little off the rails for a while. Came home to New York and spent months obsessing about that warning. You remember it, that weird handwritten message from the Sons of the Father? That thing scared me. I got caught up in all kinds of conspiracy theories, trying to prove it was genuine, but I didn't know how. I guess I went a little too far down the rabbit hole. Started to lose track of what was real." I can tell I'm slurring my words a little now.
"Then one day I met a girl. Kate. Just a regular girl, nothing all that special about her. I wasn't in love with her. Didn't really have all that much in common with her, to be honest, but she was safe . I figured if I just acted liked I was in love I might magically end up leading some kind of normal life. You know, move in with her. Get a rescue dog. Argue about which IKEA bookcase best suits our personalities. I managed to fool myself for months." I take another long swig and pass the already half empty bottle up to Warren.
"Don't let me have any more of that." I stub out my cigarette on the carpet and continue. "When New York went to shit we got caught up right in the middle of it. We ended up at a park in Brooklyn, just... just rammed with people. Thousands of them, all terrified and confused. When we heard there were bombs on the way we tried to get out, and... well, the details aren't important, but it all went wrong. Kate died."
I look up at the weaving image of Warren at the window and take a deep breath. "You know the first thought that went through my head when I realized she'd been killed? I was relieved . I was fucking relieved that I didn't have to play at being a regular person any more. Jesus fucking Christ, I'm going to hell."
Warren takes a sip from the bottle and remains diplomatically silent.
"That's what's been rattling around my head for the last month. Stuck in that box, wondering why an asshole like me deserved to live while a sweet girl like Kate deserved to die. Where's the justice in that? She was too good for me. She loved me, and I couldn't even keep her safe." I reach for my pack of smokes, then remember I just put one out. "Anyway... I don't know why I'm here. I don't know why I survived and she didn't, and I don't have the first fucking clue how I can ever redeem myself."
My mind finally clears long enough for me to realize I'm heaping my innermost worries on someone I've only known for a few hours. I look around in the darkness for my jacket and pull over my legs. "Umm... I think I need to rest my eyes a little."
"Yeah, I think that's probably a good idea, Tom. Don't worry, I'll hold the fort. You just get some sleep. You'll feel much better in the morning."
"Yeah. Yeah, it'll all be better in the morning. Thanks, Warren. You're a good guy." I roll to the side, tuck my legs up towards my chest and pull the jacket a little further up. "Better in the morning," I mutter to myself.
The darkness only takes a few moments to close in.
It had been three days since a car last went by, and he was
Similar Books
