The Last Living Boy in the Suburbs

The world had ended and Bobby was the only living soul that remained. He peeked out of the little window of his treehouse fortress at the desolation that lay all around him. It was quite a grim sight to see and it proved almost too much for the boy. He had to look away, hiding away from the window behind the blue bean bag chair where he used to sit and read on hot summer days.

The landscape around the little treehouse was practically flattened by the force of the nuclear blast. Nothing of Bobby’s home or any house in his neighborhood survived, save for a few pipes sticking out of the ground, belching forth brown, irradiated water. Off in the distance, bits of walls still stood here and there. Strip malls and elementary schools are sturdy things, after all.

“What am I going to do?” Bobby asked to no one in particular seeing as there was no one left but him as far as he could see. “Where did everyone else go?”

He knew the answer to that question, but he didn’t dare put it to words. They were gone and he was left — that was as specific as he could handle at the moment.

What Bobby didn’t know, however, was what in the world he was going to do now. The only living boy in the suburbs sat in his treehouse and thought. Technically speaking, he could do whatever he wanted. Anything at all. Provided, of course, that it didn’t involve other people or any functional buildings other than his treehouse. There didn’t seem to be any of those around. And judging from the look of the water spraying out of the municipal water mains, he should probably cross anything to do with running water off the list as well. Other than that though, he was free.

Slowly, carefully, Bobby descended from the rope ladder that hung off the balcony of his treehouse. He had seen movies before and so he knew he had to ready for anything. There could be zombies lurking around. Or space aliens. Maybe even a secret society of evil vampires bent on world domination could be just around the corner. He’d just have to keep his wits about him and improvise.

When his feet touched the ground, the first major hurdle was crossed. Yellowish-green fog emanated from where the lawn should’ve been, but it did not seem to be a deadly, fast-acting neurotoxin. Or, if it were (which he suspected to be the case), he was immune to its effects. If he had to guess, the gallon of Sunny D he drank that morning had given him a super-human ability to survive high levels of radiation. How else could he be standing here when everyone else in the world was... gone?

“I should forage for supplies,” he murmured to himself as he scanned the ground where his house had once been. He picked up a jagged, pointy hunk of wood that had been blasted out of a house or a fence somewhere. He wielded it like a sword, ready for the aliens, zombies, vampires, and whatever else might attack him at a moments notice. He proceeded slowly, searching for the remains of his parents’ pantry.

“Lucky me,” he said as he came upon the snack cabinet laying intact near the shattered remains of the kitchen sink. None of the other food was anywhere in sight — no vegetables or leftover casserole surprise. Just the coveted snack cabinet, bursting with Twinkies and Pop Tarts and big tubs of powdered Kool-Aid. There was even a 5-lb bag of gummy bears in there that he hadn’t known about. The sight of it brought a tear to his eye for the first time. “Good old mom, she must’ve gone shopping before she,” he trailed off, gulping back his tears, “before she left.” Bobby stuffed as much food as he could into his backpack and prepared to move on.

The last living boy in the suburbs roamed the desolate streets, weaving his way slowly around bombed-out cars. He was searching for purpose, and answers, in this cruel and empty landscape. He was also searching for supplies to take back to his treehouse. Ever vigilant, he decided that he had no way of knowing what horrible creatures could be biding their time, waiting for him to strike.

He always carried a spear that he fashioned out of a broom, a kitchen knife, and some duct tape. Tied to his belt was a bag of stones that he could throw at something from afar with deadly accuracy. He awoke before dawn every day to train for hours: hitting targets with his rocks or practicing his spear skills. Bobby had trained with every martial weapon he could find or fashion in the wasteland. If there was still a government agency to issue the license, he would have a Class A License to Kill. In a way, it was a good thing the world had ended. With his new skills, he would have to have his hands classified as deadly weapons — and there would be no way he’d be allowed near his elementary school with them.

Over the long months since the incident, Bobby had built up his treehouse into a veritable fortress using the debris he found, with an intricate maze of sharpened stakes in the ground. He also built a second story so he could have a separate living room. His super human intelligence had even allowed him to harness the radiation from the dirt and convert it into bountiful electricity. He could play his PlayStation as much as he wanted despite it be the apocalypse.

But it wasn’t all fun and games. He’d lie awake at night hearing the beasts in the distance. This was why he trained. He might be the last living boy, but Bobby knew there were other... things out there. He had not yet seen one of the beasts — they were clearly too intelligent to get caught in his intricate traps. As far as he could tell they only came out at night. He was thankful that he still kept strictly to his seven pm bedtime. And that he had the foresight to always pull up his rope ladder at night.

The beasts were out there though. The sound of their calls would forever be burned into his mind: a cross between a wolf’s howl and a person’s scream. As he walked, collecting useful bits of detritus in his backpack, he checked the sun. It was starting to get late. How had he let time get away from that?

Bobby knew he had to make it back to his treehouse before the sun set, so he set off at a brisk trot down the street. Something about the nuclear blasts of the incident had made the sun work differently before. It set much faster than normal. That was a hard thing for him to get accustomed to, perhaps even harder than the crippling solitude of this post-apocalyptic world. In spite of his superior intellect, he still had not been able to theorize what caused this time-dilation effect.

He picked up the pace as the shadows grew longer and longer along the scorched earth. He was close to home now; he could see his treehouse towering above the flattened landscape. He was almost there. He was almost safe.

And then he heard the hideous howl. He thought he would be ready. He thought all his constant training and vigilance would prepare him to confront a beast. It did not.

Without even seeing the thing, Bobby took a stone from his pouch and hurled it in the direction of the beast. WHIIIIIZZ THUNK! It hit its mark, but it wasn’t enough. The beast hissed. The beast growled. Worst of all, the beast lumbered forward into a sliver of the dying light.

It was at least ten feet tall and six feet wide. Hideous yellow fangs hung down out of its muzzle, dripping in burning, acidic saliva. The beast stood on four tree trunks of legs, capped with vicious claws that could easily tear Bobby limb from limb. The beast wouldn’t break a sweat, assuming sweating was a thing such an infernal monster was even capable of.

Bobby could tell from the look of the thing that running away wasn’t going to do anything for him. And there was no place to hide. The only thing left to do was fight. He tightened his grip on his spear and readied himself.

The beast growled, low and menacing. Its front claws dug into the dirt, bracing itself to leap forward.

Bobby wasn’t going to give it the chance. “Hiyah!” He screamed at the top of his lungs and sprang to action, the deadly tip of his makeshift spear glinting in the waning light. He pointed the spear right at where he assumed the beast’s wicked heart was, hoping to kill it in one blow.

The beast was too smart, too strong, too quick. With a great swipe of its paw, it ripped the spear from Bobby’s hands and tossed it aside where it clattered to the ground. And then it leapt forward, knocking Bobby down, holding its barred teeth mere inches from his throat. It was ready to kill him, to send him along to the same place as everyone else on Earth.

Bobby struggled against the weight of the massive monster, desperate for some way to save himself. He reached out for his spear. It was so close, but just out of his grasp. The monster bore down on him, opening its huge, hideous jaws ready to gobble him up. Bobby’s only hope was to stretch out just a little bit further. He might survive if he could... just... reach.... his spear.

The beast reared back, seconds away from sinking its fangs into Bobby’s flesh. This was it — the final death of humanity.

“Bobby,” his mom called, “come on inside it’s time for dinner!” She popped out of the back door into the yard to see Bobby rolling around in the dirt underneath his treehouse, acting like he was gurgling out his dying breath. “Bobby, you’re getting all dirty. Go wash up and then it’s dinner time!”

“Ok, mom,” he replied dutifully, getting up and trotting over to the house. “I wasn’t done playing yet. Can I come back out after dinner?”

His mom looked at him a little crossly. “It’ll be too dark after dinner, the monsters might get you!” She laughed while tickling him mercilessly (exactly like a monster would). “You can play more tomorrow.”