Chapter 1: Death in 2020

Now:

The body of what had once been a man, although now it was hard to tell just what he was, so covered with blood, so battered and torn. Around the body lay other bodies equally battered. They were just things now, no longer human, as they waited to decay to the dust from which they were born.

Among the remains scurried nature's cleanup team, rats and roaches, spiders and centipedes, digging out their due with fangs and pincers. The smaller scavengers crawled in and out of the nasal passages, eyeless sockets, and open mouths of the dead; greedily carrying loads larger than themselves. The rats, the mice, the lizards feasted on the outer flesh. Lines of ants marched carrying their cargo of flesh and then came swiftly back for more.

Yet these vermin left one corpse alone. From time to time a rat would approach and sniff the body, its black nose twitching rapidly, seeking the scent of decay. But it would leave, seeing that this one was no quiet ready.

One rat, perhaps hungrier or more adventurous, crawled atop the motionless body. It stopped by the bloodied head and looked at it for a moment unsure where to start. Then it reached out with sharp teeth snapped shut on the prone body's lower lip.

"Fuck!" the recipient of the kiss croaked through dry and cracked lips. He lifted his right hand, slammed it down on his lip.

The rat voiced an indignant squeal and jumped away. It landed five away and quickly made its way to the other bodies, where the food did not fight back.

The nearly dead man opened his eyes just a slit and nearly screamed as the sunlight hit eyes that had been closed for days.

"Shit. Shit." the body groaned over and over. Memory flooded in like with a wave of debris. He didn't want to know. Didn't want to think back to those last few months, last few days when all was lost. He didn't want to remember that everyone he knew was dead. He didn't want to remember that he was dying.

He tried to sit up and collapsed back. His arms and legs felt rubbery. He could only jerk around without any real strength. He was used to being strong. Now like this, easy prey for anything that came along, he knew the end was near. Please, let it be near.

"Shit!" He screamed out the word with all the energy his dry throat could muster, but only a whisper emerged. "Oh, God."

Whether God was interested in this particular brand on human misery, who could say. But nothing happened. Only the sounds of the scavengers feeding and the stench of death answered him. He could feel them crawling on him.

He kicked his legs and heard a scurrying.

He remembered the dead and tried to shut off his emotions. He waited to fall back down into the black pit from which he had been rudely awakened. But the pain of his body kept him awake, torturing him into full consciousness. With each passing second the memories, the faces of those he had known and loved loomed larger and clearer.

"Jules," another whisper.

"Jules," a plea for love untimely lost.

Why wasn't he dead? He wanted it. Yearned for it.

He breathed a sigh of infinite weariness and let himself fall back, giving up his feeble attempts to rise. He would just lie there and wait for the creatures to finish with the others. Then it would be his turn. He would be gone soon. Please, God, let it be soon. The sooner, the better.

His memory was suddenly filled with images. Snapshots of his past shooting through him like a movie. They say that your entire life flashes before you as your soul leaves your body behind. He went with his memories as he waited for death's embrace.

Memories:

He remembered the first time with her.

Her name was Jualisa Wanner. Jules. You called her 'Jualisa' at your own peril. They had been dating for about two months, when she said she would cook dinner for them.

They first met at the hospital. She was a newly arrived Pediatric resident fresh from med school. He was just finishing up an Infectious Disease Fellowship and had accepted a position as assistant department chairman.

From the first meeting each knew that something important had happened. Something had clicked. Each kept it to themselves for several weeks, afraid that if they voiced their feelings the promise of their heart would vanish.

Finally she asked him out. Dinner and a movie. The rest, as they say, was 'happily after'. Or it should have been.

By their third date she was doing the cooking. Having decided that he was not going to put 'the move' on her, she decided they had waited long enough.

Her apartment was a small addition on the rear of an old house. It had its own private entrance and parking area. A small living room, a combo kitchenette/dining area, bath and bedroom. She had only lived there since moving into town a few weeks before. The furniture was used but still in good shape. Clean. Neat. Without being overly so.

The meal had been a simple one. Spaghetti, salad, bread. When he arrived the smell of the spaghetti had immediately kicked his appetite in high-gear. Now, afterwards, he knew that it had been no store bought sauce. The taste alone screamed 'made from scratch'.

He had helped with the cleanup. Drying and putting away the plates and such as she washed. Conversation had been easy and casual.

Finally the moment was there as she folded the towel and put it on the rack. Glancing around the kitchenette, she flipped the light switch. Only the soft glow from a single lamp in the living room lit the apartment.

"Well, I guess I'll be getting along," he said. "Thanks for the meal and the wonderful evening. Next time, I'll do the cooking."

She laughed and shook her head. "James, I'm afraid I can't let you leave just yet." She walked to the door to slide the lock into place. She turned, suddenly serious. "I know how I feel about you and I've tried to show you."