Last Man Alive in Canada

A lot of people talk about the good old days before the Plague, as if they were something to be proud of. Me? I'm doing much better now than I ever did back then. Think about it, for just a minute. No cops, no taxes, no speed limits, no government, and if some asshole gets in your way, you can shoot his ass to kingdom come.

No murder charges, no arrests and no trials. Sounds like paradise to me. So what if the entire world is overrun by shambling, flesh-eating mindless drones? I'd take that world over the old one any day. I did alright in the pre-Plague world but I am doing so much better now. I wouldn't want to change things even if I could.

The name is Bertrand James Magloire ( if you call me B.J. I'll shoot you ) and I was born in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. My father Abraham Magloire came from the island of Haiti, and my mother Eleanor James was a small-town French Canadian gal from Thunder Bay, Ontario. I grew up in the Capital, just a fun-loving young guy doing my thing and all that. A lot of people used to say that I've got a problem following the rules.

To me, I'm all for following the rules as long as they're not in the way of something I desperately want. So what if I accidentally set an entire wing of my high school on fire during the last leg of my senior year? I was freaking this college chick named Dominique Amos and fire was her thing, and we got it on in the school basement after hours. Wasn't my fault that the fire got out of control. I was kind of busy, if you catch my drift.

It's hard to think about a fire, or anything else for that matter, when a big-booty French-Canadian chick is going down on you. At this point, the male brain is kind of indisposed. I did plead tearfully before a judge, the honorable Marshall Stephens, and the old buzzard agreed that the whole thing was an accident and blamed it on her. Dominique did the time, and I skated. Not bad, eh?

Life throws unexpected things our way, all of us. If that happens, well, that's when I get creative. You've got to improvise in this world, seriously. At the age of eighteen, I enrolled at Carleton University to study business administration. It's the only thing that's ever made sense to me as far as academics, the cold pursuit of profit. Human interest stuff like sociology, or the humanities? It's all Greek to me. Business I actually liked. I excelled at it, and graduated in three years instead of the standard four. Not bad, eh?

I was to start my new job with CIBC downtown on Friday, February 7, 2020. Unfortunately, on Thursday, the news hit that the dead were coming back to life, and no, it was not a joke. Bummer, huh? Like everyone else, I thought the government and the media were out of their mind. I watched footage of ghoulish creatures swarming over the streets of Heidelberg, Germany, and couldn't believe my eyes.

The dead coming back to life and eating the flesh of the living. They've been making movies like that for more than sixty years. I was never a zombie movie fan. I liked movies with killer robots instead because I always found the idea of artificial intelligence quite interesting. The way I see it, zombies are just like robots. They look like people, or at least they do at the beginning, and they're hostile, and you've got to completely destroy them in order to stop them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the government is trying to exterminate the zombies and forgets that they're our friends and relatives, we should capture them and find a way to help them rather than destroy them," that's what a lady scientist said on CNN, three weeks after the zombie outbreak officially became the number one news item on planet Earth.

"Bitch, if the zombies come my way, I'm shooting you in the leg and letting them get you," I said to the screen, shaking my head at this pretty red-haired white chick's truly amazing lack of common sense. I was watching the news with my girlfriend at the time, Amanda Martinez, a pretty Dominican chick I met in my sociology class at Carleton.

"Stop being mean, Bertrand," Amanda said, playfully slapping my thigh. I smiled coldly and pulled Amanda closer. We were all alone in her room at the Dundas residence on campus, and I fully intended to take advantage of that. Tall, with dark bronze skin, long curly black hair and light brown eyes, Amanda is a sinfully sexy Latin beauty. Like a lot of Latinas, Amanda finds Caribbean guys interesting. Cool by me.

"You like that about me," I whispered into Amanda's ear, then I kissed the back of her neck. When I did that, Amanda purred like a kitten. I know my lady's sweet spots, and I was ready for what was to come. Amanda turned around, and I saw lust in those brown eyes of hers. Good, makes things much easier for yours truly.

I smiled and kissed Amanda quite passionately, then proceeded to kiss a path from my lady's lips to her neck, and finally, those big tits of hers. Amanda moaned softly as I sucked on her tits, flicking my tongue over the areolas. I'm a butt man through and true, but breasts are among my favorite parts of the female anatomy.

"Slow down big man," Amanda whispered, and I nodded, taking my sweet time. When I'm turned on, I do have a tendency to rush. I pulled Amanda closer and laid her on the couch, then I pulled down her shorts while she took off her tank top. Grinning, I flicked my tongue over her belly button and then licked my way down, heading straight for the promised land.

"Let me taste you," I said, and Amanda smiled wickedly, then nodded. Shoot, what was she going to say? I spread Amanda's shapely thighs and gazed hungrily at her hairy cunt. A lot of guys disagree on this but me? I like them hairy. I buried my face between Amanda's legs, and ate her pussy like a hungry man. Soon I had my sexy Latina crying out my name in every language she knew, from English and Spanish to profane!

"Dammit, Bertrand, you know how to make a chica feel good," Amanda shrieked, and I grinned and finished her off by flicking my tongue over the hood of her clit, then stabbed her cunt with two fingers. Afterwards, I put Amanda on all fours, and had my way with that big bronze booty of hers. I fucked her from behind, sliding my hard dick into her cunt. Gripping Amanda's wide hips, I began fucking her with gusto. We fucked till the wee hours of the morning.

"I'm going to miss you when you go back to the Dominican Republic," I told Amanda as we lay on her bed, basking in the afterglow of a good lay. Time waits for no man, as the saying goes. I had just graduated from Carleton University and Amanda was in her last semester in the civil engineering program. She's an international student and as soon as she's completed her studies at Carleton, Amanda has to return to her country of origin.

"Bert, you're funny and you fuck like a demon but we both know you won't miss me because you've got no conscience," Amanda said smartly, and then she pressed that big butt of hers against my groin. I smiled meekly, and fell silent. Alright, maybe there's some truth to what the lady says but I do like Amanda and enjoy having her around. Her sexiness and no-nonsense attitude are part of the things I like most about her. This feisty Latina enjoys sex, doesn't get clingy and she's usually good company. What man wouldn't enjoy having someone like her around?

I've often wondered what happened to Amanda. Seriously, did she make it to the Caribbean or did she get stuck in Canada when the zombie outbreak reached us? I don't know. I guess I'll never know. A lot of people lost track of family, friends and other loved ones when the Plague hit, and I was no different. I was chilling with some buddies in Kanata when the first report of zombies in downtown Ottawa showed up on the news.

It didn't take the whole world long to go to Hell, seriously. With all the technology and weaponry available to people in the twenty-first century, the world should have dealt with the zombies more efficiently. Instead, they allowed the zombies to multiply and continue to spread. City by city, country by country, continent by continent, the Undead's numbers grew while the living dwindled into insignificance.

Right now, I'm holed up at a certain building in downtown Ottawa. A long time ago, it was the headquarters of several businesses and government offices. Sunlife Financial, is what they called it. Seventeen floors of prime real estate. I snuck in a few weeks ago, dispatched the few zombies I found inside, and gained access to the security office, learning all about access cards and gained control of the building, effectively sealing it. The place had been abandoned at the start of the outbreak, so that made my task easier.

I've got myself set up on the tenth floor, in the former digs of the Israeli Embassy. Why did I choose this one? It's the most secure place in the building. Got to give the Israelis credit, they're a paranoid people who are obsessed with security. If the zombies ever gain access to the building, I'll put all the elevators on service, sending them down to the ground floor, seal the stairwells, and wait it out in this vast floor whose walls and doors are designed to withstand an attack.

The place has enough food to last me close to a year, and I even found some weapons. That's cool because I was low on ammo. I'd been using a rifle I took off a hunter in Stitsville in the early days of the Plague. I was holed up in a farm with Jared the farmer and his daughter Nora, and the place was surrounded by zombies. I almost feel bad about leaving these nice folks behind, but once Bob got bit and Nora lost her mind, all bets were off. I had to look out for number one.

"Only thing I need is a hot chick or, barring that, a hot magazine or two," I said to myself as I sat comfortably in the office that once belonged to the Israeli Ambassador. I looked out the window, and from there, I could see the downtown core of Ottawa, all the way to Parliament Hill and that old mall, the Rideau Shopping Center. Everywhere I looked, I saw zombies. The shambling Undead, untold thousands of them, everywhere.

These things have taken over the City of Ottawa. House by house, street by street, neighborhood by neighborhood, they're systemically wiping out the living. A single bite or scratch from the Undead, and you become one of them. You can't be too careful about these things. I conduct daily sweeps of every floor of the building, especially offices and washrooms. I never find any zombies, but I'm not about to let my guard down.

I need to come up with an escape plan because, sooner or later, the zombies are going to break through the reinforced doors and get into the Sunlife Financial building. The garage is out of the question. I've sealed off the underground access, the backrooms and other areas near the parking lot that only security and cleaners once had access to. There are a few zombies in the lot, not a lot, but more than I've got bullets for. Wish I had some kind of automated rifles or something then I'd go and wipe them out. Can't do that. Oh, well. Got to make do with what I've got.

If the zombies do get through, and they eventually will, my only solution will be to reach the damn roof. I found a ton of rope and might tie it to something and try to scale my way down to the street. I'd have close to a million zombies to deal with once I reached the super-crowded Bank Street below, but whatever. If worse comes to worst, I might blow my brains out. Scratch that, it's not my style. I'm a brother, and suicide isn't something most of us are into.

Nope, I'm not going out like that. I'll try and last as long as I can, and wait it out. I haven't seen another human being in months. I don't think every living human has been turned into one of the Undead. Somewhere out there, there must be survivors. Men and women holed up in a fortified bunker, besieged by the Undead, just like I am.

The governments of the world have fallen. Civilization is a thing of the past. Humanity's days are over. I can feel it in my bones. The Undead own this world, and we living humans have become minorities in it. How about that? With zombies as the dominant majority as far as the eyes can see, all remaining human beings in the country are visible minorities now. Canadian joke, sorry. If you've ever been to the Great White North, you'll get it.