The earth had gotten quieter, the nights colder and the empty streets were creepy as hell. Small towns still mostly stood intact, but the bigger towns and all the cities were either pillars of smoke, or burned out ruins. Firestorms had swept over every airport and urban area as gas lines burst into flames, and the buildings full of dead burned, flames jumping from block to block with no one to fight the fires.
The surviving rats, dogs and other small animals scrambled to the edges, moving in to fill the empty streets of the suburbs. The howling dog packs in the distance made her realize she needed a gun and a way out of the city.
She had been alone now for 4 months, living off canned goods, driving her motorcycle along backroads and sidewalks to get away from the dead and the memory of those last few weeks.
For all she knew, she was the last living human. She was starting to wish she had never left the isolation lab, and had just laid down with the rest of the crew and taken that lethal dose. Her faith may have been shaken and beaten out by the big death, but the stigma against suicide still lingered.
She was about ready to give up on God too, given how lonely and miserable it felt being the last woman on earth. The whole Catholic faith and the message to have as many children seemed like a joke now that there were no men left.
She wanted more than anything to not be alone, to be in the arms of a man, feel his strength and smell that scent. To have a protector, and to make as many babies as she could to fill this terrible empty land, to fill her senses and heart with the sound of children.
It was a warm sunny afternoon, her dirt bike sputtering out of gas somewhere a few miles north of the burning gas storage tanks of Bismarck, North Dakota when she saw him sitting on the hood of an old Buick Roadmaster wagon, eating smoked oysters out of a tin and drinking some warm beer. Just the sight of him hit her like a closed fist to the lungs.
He was wiry, had a curly dark mop of hair, and stood about 5'9" in the coolest pair of cowboy boots she'd ever seen. A few days worth of light beard was on his cheeks, and he was a boyish looking twenty something. As she looked him over from head to foot a few times, wondering if this was another freak out from being alone, or if he was really standing there. Could this be happening? She thought of the babies somebody this man could make, and an end to the solitude she'd come to hate so much. Just looking at him was making her squirm with pleasure and lust like a golden retriever in heat craving to be taken.
They made camp, and talked non-stop almost all night. He'd been out camping when the virus came through, and had seen no one. He'd come all the way from Norfolk, across a dozen states and she wondered if he was as freaked out as her. He sure seemed physically distant. It didn't matter, she thought. He'd come around. She'd have him in the sack in no time, and the nonstop train of thought driving her to have babies would keep rolling. How could he turn down the last woman on earth?
She found out later that night he was gay. No matter, she thought. She just needed his sperm.
She found out the next night when she jumped into his bed he was a female to male transsexual.
He found her the next day. Her nearly headless body anyway, the Army .45 made a pretty big mess, that big slow moving slug did a pretty amazing job of skull ventilation.
He finally made it to Portland a month later. He found a nice boy a few weeks after that in the ruins of a Starbucks. One that loved him enough to stick around another 40 years.