It's the end of the world as I know it

Double-tagged, and by two people whose writing I really enjoy:

First by J.D. Carlucci and immediately after that by Cormac Brown.

It's called

"The End of the World" meme.

You wake up tomorrow and every person on the planet has vanished. What do you do?

I'm going to go with Mr. Carlucci's slightly less corpse and rat-ridden vision of the end. He said "every person on the planet has vanished", not "every person on the planet has dropped dead and is now rotting away in place" thank God.

Day One: Spend an hour or so making phone calls that won't go through, checking TV channels that have gone off the air, stuff like that. Spend most of the morning in stunned disbelief. Get in my car and drive around for a little while checking things out, convincing myself everyone is really gone. Drive to the police station where I work to see if there are any clues in the form of teletypes or official notices that might give me some clue as to what happened.



Load up a department SUV with ammunition and an extra couple of rifles. I wouldn't need much more in terms of guns (got plenty) just ammo and spare parts. With all of humanity vanished I'm not sure why I'd need more guns and ammo, but I'm a paranoid bastard and I've always figured it's better to have a gun and not need it than the other way around. Stop at church and pray, and light some candles, and then steal some liquor on the way home. Cry. Let the dogs sleep in bed with me for the first time.

Week One: Set about looking for a living woman to mate with in order to continue the human race. Then I'd remember I had a vasectomy, and that whole continuing the human race thing was just a lame excuse to try and get laid to take the edge off. I'd feel like a fraud, and feel extra guilty because I survived and my family didn't. I'd probably go get more guns and booze at that point. I'd go through and pack up family photos and favorite books, including all my bride's books on small farming and gardening. Pause to regret not printing out all those family pictures saved on the computer that I'll never get to see again. Cry.

Stop and loot Walgreens to load up on antibiotics, dental care supplies and medicine. PAINKILLERS. Steal a good bicycle and lots of extra tires and inner tubes. I'd also hit the local REI and grab a few sets of good technical clothing, boots, water purifiers and backpacking food. I'd hitch up a trailer full of water, non-perishable food, gasoline, stove fuel, a generator, and start driving south to a more temperate climate zone. I don't want to be stuck in the midwest when winter rolls in. Last thing I'd do was leave a note and a map with my planned route.

Month One: Convince myself that, yes, everyone really IS gone as I drive south. Get far enough south that hard freezes won't be too much of a problem, probably somewhere in south/central Kentucky or Tennessee. Find a good house somewhere near or on a river. Continue looking around and hoarding.

Year One: Work on gardening and raising animals. Write in a journal every week. Shoot guns off at random and scream at God. Hug my dogs. Take road trips, a week at a time (wouldn't want to spend more time than that away from the homestead--the orchard needs to be tended, food harvested and canned, animals fed and tended to), just in hope of running into another human being. Wonder why I was left alive.

Christ this was depressing. But fun!