The Last Laugh

Zake shuffled his big size twelve feet down the cracked sidewalk of what used to be West Street, dragging his one foot behind the other. He looked down and noticed his mismatched shoes, one scuffed brown leather loafer and the other a bright pink croc. As they both scrapped along against the asphalt he noticed that was the only sound in the empty world. He sighed, or at least tried to. The sigh came out sounding more like a low groan. 

“Day 419 of the apocalypse.” Zake muttered, his voice gravelly. “Still no sign of anyone else and I can’t believe that there is no more ketchup. What’s beans without ketchup? This is truly the end of the world.” 

He paused and looked at his reflection in the glass of a broken storefront window. A small chunk of his cheek was missing, his right ear was hanging on by a thread, literally a thin piece of skin and his eye looked like he had gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson in the boxing ring in his early days. His shirt which said “Straight outta 1988” was full of holes. 

“Looking good, Zake,” he said, giving himself two thumbs up. “Maybe that’s why everyone left. They couldn't handle all this handsomeness.” 

The truth was, Zake was very lonely. For over a year he had wandered through empty streets, cities and towns searching for anyone else who had survived. He used to think that he would find someone eventually if he looked hard enough. He used to fantasize about finding some frail human hiding out in a bunker somewhere or even another zombie to groan at.  But, no it was just him, alone. Alone, just him and his thoughts which were steadily worsening. His diet consisted of cans of baked beans and old expired cans of tuna and the occasional cracker and questionable edible roadkill. 

“Maybe I am it.” He said, sitting down on a bench  in front of what used to be a coffee shop. The once vibrant sign in front of the coffee shop “Bean There Drink Up Coffee Shop” was now crooked and hanging low. The air smelled faintly of burnt coffee beans and regret. 

He pulled a can of barbecue baked beans from his satchel, fiddling with the pull to open tab labels on the top of the can. “The last..um whatever I am now? The last zombie? The last hum-bee? The last zom-human? Whatever?” Zake shrugged his broad shoulders and took a bite of his beans straight out of the can using his fingers as a spoon.

“If I’m the last of the last, I should give myself a title, a fancy title. Emperor Zake, King of the Undead Zombies. No, that’s not right, too dramatic. How about Zake, too legit to quit? No, that is too 80-ish and dumb. Making me sound like a rapper. Although it is kind of true. Maybe I can do my little 80’s dance when I announce myself.” 

He let out a wheezing laugh at his own jokes. The sound of his own laughter echoed down the empty streets. As he sat there, Zake saw something from the corner of his eye. A faint flicker of movement near the dumpster a few feet from the coffee shop near the hardware store. His heart, or what was left of his heart, skipped two or three beats. He scrambled to his feet steadying himself against what was left of a street light pole. He put his half empty can of beans on the sidewalk, the dinner of champions, as he called it, and walked over  towards the movement. 

“Hello?’ He croaked. “I won’t bite you…unless you’re into that type of thing!” 

The movement stopped and Zake realized that what he had seen was a very thin black rat scurrying across the sidewalk. He sighed. “Just my luck the only other living thing running around is a rat, a rodent and they said that only roaches would survive the end of the world. Guess they were wrong. And here I am getting all excited  over a rodent. Next thing I know I will be naming a volleyball calling it Hank or something equally dumb.” 

But then, a sound stopped him in mid mope. It sounded like a soft giggle. Zake froze. “Umm, hello? Anything or anyone there?” 

The giggle started engaging, this time it seemed to be coming from behind the dumpster. He slowly turned, his rotting joints creaking in protest, and he saw a bright pair of green eyes peeking from behind the dumpster. A little girl, maybe seven or eight years old stepped out cautiously, holding a makeshift spear made out of duct tape and an old broomstick. Her face was smeared with dirt, her light blue dress was covered with dust and faded. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. 

“Who are you talking to, Mister Zombie?” She asked.

“You. I mean nobody! Wait, you are real right? I mean you are not a hallucination right? Because last week I talked to a mailbox for over an hour and the funny thing was I was waiting for it to talk back. That didn’t go very well.” 

The girl giggled again. She lowered her weapon slowly and slightly. “I’m real. My name is Jules and you are funny…for a zombie.” 

“Funny?” Zake grinned, or as close as he could come to a grin with a decaying face. 

“Kid, I have enough material for years. You should see my stand-up routine. I’m pretty funny.” 

Jules tilted her head to one side and looked at Zake curiously. 

“What’s a stand-up?” She asked.

“Oh you sweet little child of the apocalypse.” Zake said dramatically, putting his right hand over his chest like he was clutching a pair of invisible pearls. “Stick with me kid and I will show you the fine art of comedy. The first rule of comedy is that timing is everything.” 

Jules giggled again and Zake felt something he had not felt in a very long time, hope. 

“Hey kid. Have you seen anyone else around here lately? Any other zombies? People? Rats?” 

Jules laughed again. “Nope only you, Mister Zombie Man.” 

“Hey good one kid. And my name is Zake by the way. 

Maybe he wasn’t the last person after all. Maybe, just maybe, things were getting better and looking up. 

As they walked off together, Zake started telling more jokes, dad jokes, which Jules laughed at uncontrollably. And for the first time in over a year, the sound of laughter echoed up and down West Street , bringing life back into a world that had been long forgotten.