The Last Survivor by Sean Rodgers The fall of mankind and the return of the Great Old Ones comes not with a bang—but a terrifying whimper. New from Sean Rodgers.

Journal Entry- October 17, 2003 A.D.

Not much happened today. In class three of my students were sick. They've been sick for a few days now—must have a bad case of the flu.

The news said that several deaths in Arkham and Kingsport were due to a new strain of flu. Perhaps that's why those students were sick. Anyway, the news said it was nothing to worry about.

October 19, 2003 A.D.

Two more students were sick today. That damn flu. It's everywhere, and it's not even flu season. The news announcer (not the regular one, he was sick) said this new strain of the flu is popping up in New York and Washington, and some cases have been reported in London and Sydney. So far I don't have it. I certainly hope not. It's very boring when you have the flu—just sitting around in bed. Last time I had such a headache I couldn't read or watch TV. How boring. Reminder—pick up more apples at store tomorrow. Getting low.

October 25, 2003 A.D.

Just another strain of the flu! Despite all those announcements made by doctors and the like, twenty-seven people died between yesterday and today in Arkham alone. It's spreading everywhere. There was a riot last night in Los Angeles—fifteen people killed. This is beginning to scare me. I had to cancel one of my classes (Medieval Metaphysics) for a week or so till this blows over because of the flu. Reminder—ask Dr. Thornhill about his progress transcribing old books onto CD-ROM. I believe he just finished De Vermis Mysteriis and is now onto the Necronomicon. What a hellish book. I regret ever reading that moldy old tome. If it were up to me, I'd burn it along with every other one of those accursed books in the library.

October 29, 2003 A.D.

I haven't been up to date with my journal, but there is a perfectly good reason. This damn flu is killing more and more people. I've taken to wearing one of those masks they wear in hospitals, and so far I've been all right.

Things have been perfectly awful in town. I live in the suburbs, so it wasn't all that bad here, but there were riots last night in Arkham. In Arkham! To think that I came here from New York to escape that sort of thing!I could see the Civic Center burn from my apartment.

Dr. Thornhill died last night.A fine man. I will miss him. I still have the partially completed CD-ROM version of the Necronomicon that he gave me. Still unopened next to my computer.I can't bring myself to read that.

I've decided to bring my old pistol out of that box I keep it in. Things are going to pieces everywhere. The Russian Premier died last night when a crazed mob stormed the Kremlin. The Canadian Prime Minister died too, but of the flu in bed. So far as I know, President Johnston has been confined in the White House since the 26th.

November 1, 2003 A.D.

Like every Halloween, I always have a bunch of candy to give to kids who knock on my door, but this year, none came. I guess they are all sick.

I've decided not to go into Arkham anymore. I saw what happened two nights ago.

I was at my office in Miskatonic University when I heard shouts and screams from nearby. Looking out a window, I saw Dr. Hempen, the librarian, race across the grounds, pursued by a small group of students who apparently had lost their minds. Poor Hempen had some old books in his arms (I think the Necronomicon was among them) and the students caught up to him and killed him. Perfectly horrific. I quickly left, and in good time, too, for when I looked back, I saw mobs burning the university. I pitied them, they were probably sick and attacked whatever came near them. They probably figured the professors were to blame for the flu.

Before the Arkham station went off the air tonight, the announcer said that over a billion people had died from the flu and related effects. My God. This is turning into The Stand or Earth Abides or one of those books I liked as a kid.

November 5, 2003 A.D.

Today, I woke to a small flash of light in the southern sky.A few minutes later, I felt the earth tremble a bit.

Puzzling over what it was, I turned on the TV. Only one channel out of Providence was still on the air. The newscaster, in a "Special Newsflash," said a terrorist group had set off a nuclear bomb in the New York subway. I shivered. New York gone. Totally.

The riots are dying down, as people, well, die. There are only a few people left in my apartment building (all sick), but I seem to be unaffected.I hope I don't get infected, but with each day and less people, my chances grow slim. Or maybe I have some sort of immunity against it. How should I know? I'm not a doctor.

Today, against my better judgment, I went into Arkham.

Most of the building were either trashed or burned. Everywhere I went I saw dead bodies.Bodies heaped in piles on the sidewalks, lying in cars, in buildings. I almost vomited at the smell. I saw no one alive.

After about fifteen minutes, I could take no more, and quickly drove back to my apartment, having reached the conclusion that Arkham is dead. Gone. The last television broadcast from Providence said that causalities have reached four billion people the world over and most communications have broken down. The next morning it, too, was off the air and I was cut off from the rest of the world.

I started to read the Necronomicon (it surprises me to think that the electricity still works, and I guess I should take advantage of it). I remember that one passage in it caught my attention particularly, and I hope it was transcribed by Dr. Thornhill before his death.I hope I find it.

November 12, 2003 A.D.

I found that passage in the Necronomicon. It was awful. When I finally fell into a deep sleep, I dreamed of them, of the Great Old Ones. I know what caused the plague.

Here is the passage:

"And let it be said now, as I have repeated before, that the Old Ones seek forever to return to their domain, and take their rightful place from the human usurpers. And they shall not let the humans find them first, nay, they will destroy us utterly. They shall use powerful magic, and send demons into the humans, to kill and rot. They shall dance the Dance of Death upon Mankind's ruined cities. And the Old Ones will return with a vengeance...."

My God! My God! What can be said? The Old Ones are returning. I do not know why I was spared, but I shall not wait to find out what will happen. Flashes of light illuminate the horizon every hour or so, yet it is not lightning.

Perhaps I am mad. Perhaps I do not want to be the last person on earth. But I cannot take that chance, for what if the Necronomicon is right, and the plague was created to kill off mankind for the return of...

I can't take it anymore.

When I finish writing this, I will take my pistol and shoot myself...

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