The Thwaites Parasite

Day 27.

I used to wonder about what would eradicate humanity. It was an unhealthy fixation that led to years of anxious pondering.

Would it be the ever-ignored threat of climate change?

Nuclear warfare? Aliens?

Perhaps a comet plummeting into the earth.

Would it be sudden, with only a moment's notice? One of those cataclysmic events where your phone buzzes, and there's an emergency notification from your government saying,' This is the end. Prepare yourself.'

I had been sure there would be nothing worse than dying like that — full of anxiety and hopelessness as the apocalypse finally arrives, claiming our species.

Well, I was wrong.

Surviving is worse.

Day 330.

I've decided to write more things down. I want to have a record because…well, I'm starting to forget.

Memory loss. It’s is a side effect of the infection for those fortunate enough to have survived.

I hear ringing in my ears when everything is quiet. There's no buzzing of electricity, no birds chirping, no traffic. Just silence. Except, of course, when the storms come. Then, the silent ringing in my ears gets drowned out by the roar of the wind, thunder, and rain. Mother nature screaming at our mistreatment of her.

I've already forgotten a lot. I don't know where I worked or what my job used to be. I don't remember if I lived alone or with roommates. I don't even remember where I lived.

This is what I know: my name is Lennon Vane, or 'Lucky Lennon' as my family used to call me.

I guess you could say I'm one of the luckiest people alive. Mainly because there's an ever-growing concern that I am the only person left on earth.

I'm a survivor of the Thwaites Parasite — a multiple thousand-year-old organism unleashed from the arctic ice of the Thwaites Glacier near the South Pole. The glacier finished melting almost two years ago due to continued climate change, releasing the long-entombed parasite.

I recall the news speculating in the beginning about various bacteria that could potentially be released from the melting of permafrost soils or hidden within thick ice caps. Scientists warned us to prepare; these bacteria or viruses would be a veritable Pandora's Box, likely to cause a worldwide pandemic.

The Thwaites Parasite wasn't a pandemic. It was an extinction event.

Once released, only a tiny percentage of the parasites were revived. However, those that did, multiplied rapidly before traveling through the world's major waterways, infecting the population. Add to that rising sea levels and a hurricane 'season' that now lasted almost half the year?

It took five months for more than half of the world's population to die off.

I survived because I am a carrier of RH factor negative blood. It turns out, having that blood factor allowed the body to immediately recognize the parasite as an enemy and attack upon invasion. Before the internet went down worldwide, I read that only about fifteen percent of the population carried this natural immunity. Unfortunately, no one else in my family did.

For everyone else? The parasite laid dormant for days, or even weeks until it decided to 'go live.' Once the fatal intruder took over your nervous system, you had a day, tops, until paralysis set in. Death swiftly followed.

Chaos would be too simple a word to describe what came after the initial waves of infection.

Riots. Resource hoarding. People murdering their neighbors for what was left of the bottled water supply. Governments falling.

'Humanity' was long gone before the parasite wiped out the species.

The worst of it, though? The worst was the bodies.

They were everywhere—piled in abandoned buildings and storage containers. I don't even have the words to describe the smell. As time went on, there were fewer and fewer people to bury the dead, so they were left behind.

While everyone else rushed inland to get away from the vicious hurricanes, I headed towards the coast.

Not too far to be at the ocean's door, but away from what was left of the population. I knew I was more likely to die at the hands of another survivor than I was mother nature, even with her fickle temperament.

Since the United States government collapsed, it's been three hundred and twenty-nine days, making today somewhere around October 10th. The last time I saw another human being was forty-two days ago. Forty. Two. Days.

At first, I was running on instinct, trying to survive. But now? I'm struggling to find the point. The loneliness is suffocating. I thought I could do this alone, but people weren’t meant to be alone.

I'm traveling down the Carolina coast on my way to Georgia and my grandparents' farm. If a large storm hasn't hit it, I plan on staying.

It's been slow going since the 'coast' now cuts in anywhere from five to twenty miles further than it used to be, and un-flooded roads are hard to find. Maybe I'll find some other survivors. So far, nothing.

Day 334.

Georgia is gone. The coast stops roughly fifty miles inland from Charleston. Everything south is beneath the sea.

Day 335.

There are two potential conclusions.

One, everyone else is dead.

Two, any survivors have evacuated inland, seeking the higher elevation of the mountains.

I will head in the direction of Appalachia. I've reached the point where I'd rather die at the hands of another human being than spend another day in my rapidly deteriorating mind.

Day 336.

The panic attacks have started again. I've tried 'mindful breathing,' or whatever my sister used to call it since I don't have medicine. It's about as effective as saltwater for dehydration.

I'm struggling with physical and mental fatigue. I go to sleep, and when I wake up, I feel even more exhausted. My body is insanely sore like I've worked my muscles to failure. Sleeping in my car hasn't helped, but I know what I'll find in the abandoned buildings.

Day 337.

The coastline pushes so far in from the south it's hard to get the hell away from it. Everything’s a dead-end, the washed-out roads forcing me to turn back.

Day 338.

After a day of infuriating navigating, I found a highway without waterlogged, abandoned cars making it impossible to drive. The signs say Columbia is nearby. Still no people.

I think I'm starting to go crazy. I caught myself talking to no one earlier while I ate yet another delicious MRE from my father's bug-out bag. I started laughing hysterically at the irony that my prepper father, who was always ready for disaster, was in the first wave of infected to die.

It wasn't even twenty-four hours from testing positive that he was found dead by my sister, who also was infected and subsequently died. Then lucky Lennon found them both.

I still see their frozen, bloated faces in my nightmares.

In other news, I found a liquor store whose top shelves were untouched by storm surge.

I took a bottle of whiskey. Blaton's Original Single Barrel Bourbon Whiskey.

I know, I know. I shouldn't have.

But also, why shouldn't I enjoy my complete and utter solitude? It's the end of the world! I mean, sure, it's eight years of sobriety down the drain, but why not? Who cares!? There's no one left to care.

Screw it.

Day 340.

I assessed what's left of my food supply, and there's more gone than I thought. I can make it stretch another thirty days, max. That should be sufficient to get me far enough inland to scavenge for food in areas whose stores weren't wiped out by hurricanes. But, along with the food, I'm down to ten water-purification straws. Not good.

When I counted the rations, I found a locket at the bottom of my dad's bag. A heart-shaped, gold filigree that I would recognize anywhere.

It was my mother's. She never took it off.

Inside, the two tiny heart-cut pictures were still there—my grandmother on the left and my sister and me on the right.

She died five years ago in...I can't remember how. I guess my father kept it in the one bag he was guaranteed to save, no matter what.

I find myself glad that she didn't live to see this.

I held the locket in my hands for a long time, feeling the cool metal against my palms, then decided to wear it.

I miss my sister's boisterous laugh that always seemed too big to be produced by such a small frame. My mother's soft humming as she dug in the gardens. My father's ridiculously corny dad jokes.

Memories are all I have left, and they're slipping from me more each day. I'm losing myself in this endless isolation.

My parents were Silva and Reynard Vane. My sister was Abbigail Vane.

I say their names aloud over and over because I'm terrified I will forget them too.

Day 347.

It's been a week since my last entry. There was a hurricane and my vehicle was flooded. I barely made it into a building that looked tall and strong enough to take the beating. It used to be a hotel. Now it's a tomb.

Luckily for me, the top four floors were untouched. Crawling up the stairwell, however, was something I wish I could forget, like everything else.

I don't even remember what real food tastes like. However, if right now I could summon a perfectly cooked pizza with the crispy, stone-cooked crust, I'm not sure I could eat it. The stench is nauseating.

I plug my nose with tissues and try to sleep, waiting for the storm to pass. At least the beds are still comfortable.

Day 348.

I found a security room and the keys to the roof. I sit out here for fresh air whenever it's not raining, which isn't often. It's a mix of peaceful and terrifying to look out and see nothing but water and the tops of buildings cresting out of the sea. There must be at least twelve feet of flooding.

Hopefully, the storm passes soon. Supplies are running low, and I am sleeping way too much. I hold my mother's locket and repeat their names over and over. Silva Vane. Reynard Vane. Abbigail Vane.

I will not forget.

352.

The tide isn't receding.

I'm going to die here.

364.

I have gathered all the mini liquor bottles from each room I could safely reach. There are two pillowcases full. Time to celebrate the year anniversary of the apocalypse! Woooooo! DRINK UP!

364-2.

Isn't it crazy that even after science achieved the unthinkable after decades of technological advancement, exploring the worlds beyond our own, we were bested by a microscopic lifeform?

I've been thinking about it, and I've decided humans, despite their 'intelligence,' are quite stupid, myself included.

Why is it such a prevalent trait for humans to ignore things that make them uncomfortable, hoping they will magically disappear?

THEY DON'T GO AWAY.

Okay, yes, I may have had a couple of drinks. But really, am I wrong?

Passing off responsibility was always so easy. First, it was up to the government. Then, another country's burden. It was always someone else's job, someone else's fault.

Detachment from personal responsibility was inevitably the singular mindset that sealed our collective fate.

Now, none of it matters.

There's no one left but me. How lucky.

Lucky...

Day 365.

My muscles are cramping from dehydration. I don't remember the last time I drank water. Two days? I don't know.

?

The storm finally stopped. The water is beginning to recede. It looks like only the first floor of the building is still flooded. I'm going to try to sleep now to conserve energy until it's safe to go.

Oh, I found a pretty locket today on the floor of my room. It's gold with engraved filigree. There were two pictures inside. I don't know who they were, but it was nice to see other people. I think I'll keep it.