Last Man Standing

When I woke up, the world was dead.

Somewhere in the darkness, a sound rippled - soft at first, like distant rain. Within seconds the gentle whooshes grew louder until a chaotic thrumming enveloped the room.

I lay still, my eyes shut, trying to make sense of it. The unworldly noise had a hypnotic pulse. It grew and shifted, rising and falling like an oncoming blizzard. Wings. Hundreds of them, beating the air in frantic, uneven rhythms. 

I prised open my tender eyelids and squinted at the window. Outside, an avalanche of fleeting silhouettes swept past the vertical blinds.

Starlings. They whirled en masse in a dense cloud, cavorting alongside the guttering and eaves with a movement both chaotic and purposeful. It was as if the world beyond my room was an endless choreographed celebration of the sun’s dwindling embers.

The thrumming of their wings filled the air until bright stars appeared in the heavens, heralding a cessation of the frenzy. Soon silence reigned once more. There was no other noise now - no hum of machines, no distant voices, no footsteps in the hall.

Above me, the dull glow of a green fire exit light flickered below stained ceiling tiles. The rest of the room was dark, its corners engulfed by deep shadow. 

I was alone.

It took an age to sit up. My aching limbs were heavy and unfamiliar. Tubes pulled at my arms, tethering me to the bed. In the dim light, I could make out an IV drip and tangled cables attached to silent monitors.

One by one, I freed myself. The cannula slid from my arm with a sharp sting, and blood welled up briefly before I pressed my thumb against the wound. The IV stand teetered as I pushed it away, the faint metallic rattle echoing in the silence.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and extended my wobbling legs. The thin cotton gown clung to my moist back, and I shivered as my stocking feet touched the cold, hard flooring. I gripped the bedstead as my muscles adjusted to bearing my weight and gazed around the deserted room in the pale light.

What had happened here?

The security door at the end of the ward caught my eye. Normally, it was locked tight, its keypad flashing red, the hum of electricity a constant reminder of its function. Now, though, it hung ajar, the corridor beyond was enigmatic and inviting.

I hesitated, glancing at the fire exit lights above. The emergency power must have kicked in—but it clearly wasn’t enough to keep the security systems running.

It wasn’t just my ward. The entire hospital was lifeless.

I steadied myself and crept toward the door, my lightweight socks whispering against the pitted linoleum floor. A faint smell drifted past me—smoke, sharp and acrid, mixed with something metallic. My stomach twisted, my mind racing with half-formed theories. Fire? An evacuation? Or something worse?

I pushed the door open and stepped into the corridor beyond.

The hospital stretched out before me, a labyrinth of darkness punctuated only by the ghostly green glow of fire exit signs. The silence pressed against my ears, thick and suffocating.

Each room I passed was the same: vacated desks, abandoned computer terminals, empty beds with sheets crumpled as if their occupants had vanished mid-slumber. A wheelchair lay tipped over by the lift, its half open doors frozen in place. The faint smell of antiseptic clung to the air, but it was overpowered by the acrid tang of smoke.

I reached the stairwell and paused, gripping the rail for support. The smoke was stronger here, wafting up from the lower levels. It curled through the air, wrapping around me like an augury, depositing delicate ash on my gown.

As I turned a corner in the dim light, my foot caught on something sharp. A sudden, blinding pain shot through me. I stumbled, my bare foot landing on broken glass that glittered faintly in the glow of the fire exit light.

“Ah!” I hissed, pulling back and hopping on one leg. Blood welled up from a jagged cut on the sole of my foot, spilling onto the floor.

I reached down, trying to examine the wound, but the pain was already spreading, throbbing with each beat of my heart. I had no choice but to limp onward, leaving faint red smears behind me as I moved.

The ground floor was worse. The cafeteria was deserted, tables overturned and trays of half-eaten food scattered across the floor. A vending machine stood smashed in the corner, its contents long gone.

The fire exit doors were heavy, but they gave way with a single, desperate shove. They burst open with a hollow clang, and I stumbled out into the open air. The drizzle hit my skin like tiny needles, cold and biting. 

I was unfamiliar with the hospital’s service yard and noticed a vehicle exit on the far side of the surrounding chain-link fence. The area contained a dozen industrial-sized refuse containers, enough space for a collection vehicle to turn around and allocated parking spaces for ten cars. All the skips were due to be emptied and overflowed with broken office furniture, surgical waste and swollen black bags, their contents reeking of decomposing matter.

The foul stench of decay caught the back of my throat as I shuffled toward the garbage. The wretched miasma nipped my eyes, making me grimace as if I’d sliced raw onions. I wiped away the bitter teardrops with trembling fingers and reached into the nearest skip. I was desperate for anything useful and hauled out a discarded sack of heavy angular items wrapped in black plastic. As I rifled through the contents, that’s when I saw it: a length of twisted lead piping, its surface tarnished but solid. I pulled it free and tested its weight in my hands. If there was anyone—or anything—still out there, I wasn’t going to face it unarmed.

As I skulked onward, a sharp movement caught my eye. A tawny owl perched on the edge of a skip, its head jerking and tilting as it foraged with its beak. The bird’s feathers glistened in the dim light, and a tattered scrap of food dangled for a moment before vanishing into the raptor’s throat.

I froze, watching the bird with a mix of fascination and disquiet. Its unblinking obsidian eyes flicked in my direction. For a split second it judged me with contempt, then returned to its carrion, indifferent to my presence.

I remained transfixed by the encounter. The only sound was the faint rustling of its wings and the occasional rasp of its claws against the skip’s metal rim.

“Mister Johnson!”

The high-pitched voice was sharp and unexpected, shattering the quiet. The startled bird let out a harsh, nasal screech as it took flight. Its wings beat the air furiously, scattering rain droplets as it rose in a frantic spiral before vanishing into the darkness.

They found me crouched between the bins, my grip on the pipe white-knuckled.

The woman in the rain spattered scrubs who’d called my name edged forward with her open palms visible. Her beady eyes were embedded in a face like a cracked granite escarpment and peered at me from under a dead-crow mop of hair. A few feet behind her, two men hovered in white uniforms, their postures tense. One held a syringe; the other carried restraints.

“Stay back!” I shouted, jabbing the hollow cudgel in front of me.

“Jamie,” Nurse Bailey said, her voice reduced to a soothing whisper. “We’re here to help. You’re hurt. Look at your foot—you’re bleeding.”

I glanced down at my left foot. The sock was soaked through, the dark stain spreading with every heartbeat.

“It’s nothing!” I barked, though my grip on the pipe faltered.

“Come on,” she cooed, stepping closer. “Let me take care of it. You’ve been through so much already. Let me fix this, and we’ll get you back inside where it’s safe.”

Her words slithered into my ears, and I felt my resolve waver. My head spun with exhaustion, pain, and confusion.

“Not… going back,” I muttered, but the words sounded weak even to me.

Her smile widened like a horizontal fissure. “It’s okay. We’ll patch you up and talk later. Let me help you, Jamie.”

The guards inched closer, their faces inscrutable as they emerged from the shadows. I was too slow to stop them. They wrenched the pipe from my hand, and tackled me to the ground.

Bailey crouched beside me, her jaw clenched as her forefinger flicked the raised syringe. “Shh, Jamie. It’s okay,” she said, forcing the plunging up until the air bubbles escaped. “We’ll get you back upstairs, and everything will make sense again.”

Her voice dripped with condescension, and I felt the sharp prick of the needle in my arm. My struggles slowed, the world sagged at the edges and my eyelids fluttered shut.

As they hauled me back inside, the smell of smoke lingered in the air.

Maybe Bailey was right. Perhaps the fire was just a false alarm. Or was it the beginning of the end and we were the only survivors?

The End