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By Eddie Poe

The sarcophagus broke the surface three miles out, the sleek glassteel tube gleaming in the noonday sun. Below the surface, on the underside of the tube, two tiny propellers came on and maneuvered

it toward shore. The ocean was calm, the waves gently lapping the shore.

The sarcophagus beached itself; the propellers automatically stopped turning. Sensors embedded in the skin of the tube took readings. Five minutes after beaching itself, the tube opened. A panel slid down to reveal, behind a transparent shield, the face of the man inside. His eyes blinked open. He was staring up at the sun for the first time in two decades.

Perry walked inland, away from the sea. He wore the dark blue jumpsuit and black boots he had donned twenty years earlier, as well as a fully outfitted backpack and shoulder holster (the .57 Frag was loaded, just in case). He had gone into the hybernaculum at the height of the "zombie" scare. His intention had been to submerge the tube for twenty years and then emerge, hopefully, into a brave new world devoid of the living dead. It had cost him a fortune.

He trudged toward the city twenty miles away.

The jagged skyline was visible by nightfall, though it was still a good ten miles distant. He saw no signs of life: no air traffic, no lights coming on in any of the buildings. No sounds. He pitched his fold-out tent and slipped inside. The walk had tired him. He quickly fell asleep.

Dawn awakened him. He folded and packed the tent, started out at a brisk pace.

It was a dead place. The streets were gray and quiet. Nothing moved.

He stood in the middle of the main thoroughfare, gun in hand, scanning his surroundings. The sidewalks had buckled and weeds sprouted from the fissures. The buildings were dark and empty, the windows glassless sockets that stared sightlessly at him. The gun in his hand felt reassuring.

I'm all alone, he thought: I'm the last man on Earth…

The thought stunned him. He'd expected to find that the human race had risen up to defeat its greatest threat- itself- and had entered, at last, the fabled Utopian stage. Instead, he found himself staring at the skeletal remains of human civilization.

He stood alone in a massive graveyard.

He sat with his back against the wall just inside the doorway of one of the buildings, his backpack on the floor next to him. He chewed a strip of synthetic beef. There was no taste whatsoever, which didn't really surprise him: like himself, the food he carried had been pumped full of fluids to preserve it for the two decades he'd been in suspended animation. He allowed himself a wry smile. The longevity experiments had proven successful- he was living proof of that- but to what end…? He had lain hidden on the ocean's floor for twenty years, only to reemerge into a world of ghosts.

He found himself unable to swallow any more of the meat; he sealed it into its little plastic baggie and put it aside.

He was tired. Closing his eyes, he drifted off.

The sound of gravel crunching underfoot woke him. It was getting dark; he couldn't see anything inside the building. He sat listening, heard the sound again. It was coming from outside. His hand moved slowly to the butt of the .57 nestled in his left armpit. He held his breath.

He heard someone whisper.

Oh, my God, he thought: There're people out there!

He pushed himself up without drawing the gun, stumbled to the doorway, and looked out.

There were three of them, standing less than thirty feet away. Their backs were to him. They wore tattered clothing that hung loosely from their skeletal frames. Their feet were bare. They turned at the sound of his footsteps and he saw that they were all bearded.

And armed.

They carried crude, home-made weapons: a crossbow, a spear, an axe. They stood staring at him in disbelief, their sunken eyes seeming unnaturally large in their dark sockets. Their skin looked gray in the dying light.

My God, he thought: They're zombies!

The man with the spear stepped forward, lifted the spear to his shoulder, and hurled it. Perry recoiled as the tip of the spear thudded into the door jamb next to him, at eye level. He grabbed for the gun under his left arm as the second man went to one knee, lifted the crossbow, and fired.

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