The Last Comic

Grady was drawing his webcomic by firelight. Eeny, Meeny, and Big Crunch were arguing, like always.

'Rock is best,' said Big Crunch, predictably.

'Scissors!' cried Meeny.

'Paper is the scariest,' said little Eeny. Grady drew Eeny's eyes very large. 'Paper is sharper than knives, but it fits through the smallest crack. Paper can carry the orders to advance. Or to launch...'

Grady stopped drawing. The fire would burn out by morning. Not that he'd see sunrise through the radioactive dust cloud, of course. He crumpled the comic and threw it into the flames.

He couldn't think of a punchline anyway.

Stonecutting

He checked the pots when he came in from digging. They'd need a good, deep hole for the transplant. Set down some serious roots.

The first pot contained a chip of glass and nothing more. The second, a twist of wire. Both sat stubbornly unchanged in their rich loam. The third pot, however, brought a smile to his sweat-stained face. The chip of concrete had swollen, grown rectangular. He could see the first budding partition of an internal wall.

Outside his crude hut, the trees loomed close, but he ignored them. The city would come back.

He'd plant it himself.

Squatting in the Furnished Rooms

"I am out of creamer and sugar," the coffeemaker told P1ng.

He rolled her eyes. "Just put hot water in the cup."

"Water service non-functional," the sink announced.

"Quiet!" P1ng poured the steaming water into a chipped bowl of scrounged insta-noodles.

The refrigerator piped up. "You are out of milk-eggs-butter-broccoli-asparagus..."

"I said shut it!"

"You should just ignore them," Laura said, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"You'd think they'd figure it out. When do they run down?"

"Well, they're mostly solar, so... never."

"Can't even have a proper friggin' apocalypse."

The popcorn machine beeped. P1ng threw his mug at it.

Running Out

The screen flickered with static, but it distinctly showed vehicles winding their way up the switchback.

"Visitors," said Kel. "Been a while."

The shadows thickened, coalescing around him. "Hungry," said the Dark Thing.

"We need trade," Kel told it. "We can't attack every group that tries the pass."

"Can't not," said the Thing.

"Control yourself."

"Not about... control. Don't want to..." The half-tangible bulk quivered, with fear or remembered pleasure.

"You can be better than this," Kel said.

"Hungry..." the Thing whispered. With another shudder, it was gone.

Kel turned back to the monitors. He bit his lip, watched, and hoped.

Once More

He woke in the middle of the blasted plain. Sand and shards of rock spread out in all directions, a horizon empty of even the slightest break in its monotony. He was clad in rags, scorched and dirty, and the sand was uncomfortably warm. There was a ringing in his ears.

"Hello?" he called. "Anyone out there?"

Some time passed.

"I suppose it's up to me, then," he said. He squatted on his hanches, picked up a rock, and carefully placed it beside another. "We'll try it again," he said, doodling idly in the sand. A pattern began to emerge.

The Third Act

"It's foreshadowing," said Tad. "We saw the gun on the mantelpiece."

"Gun's not on the mantel now," Doug grunted. He displayed it in his hand. The snow-cold light from the cave mouth reflected from the barrel.

"I'm talking metaphors," said Tad. He stared outside. Grey-white flakes sifted down. It wasn't snow. "We should have seen this coming."

In the distance, there was a flash-rumble as another building fell.

"Three," said Doug.

"What?"

"You asked how many bullets. There's three."

"Good. That's good. I wouldn't want to leave her without an option."

The curtain came down.

A shot rang out.