That's Life

In the ending, the word was death and in the world it was everywhere. In the heavens and in the Earth and in the seas was a grey void. It was terrible. It was marvelsome. David West was there. If we could have voted before the Last Blast, it's hard to imagine that Americans or any other sane and semi-civilized people would have selected a middle-age sports writer with a receding hairline and paunch-in-progress to carry the flag for their severely endangered species. But that's the way it worked out. A carpenter, a doctor, an engineer, an astronomer, a plumber, or maybe best of all a wilderness guide, would have been more useful. Instead you got a scribe. So much for "survival of the fittest" and its corollary "natural selection."Survival of the fittest was a popular if controversial theory in the Old World, and one in which David sort of believed. But when The End came, it was so terrible and so thorough, fitness had nothing to do with it. It had everything to do with luck. Luck, a bit of pluck, and hope. Not to mention that sasquatch babe. He loved her.The major piece of luck was being camped beside a small, glacial lake in the Blue Mountains of Oregon when the Last Blast came. David had gone there from San Jose to get away from it all. Little did he know.But as he begins an epic journey, David discovers that all signs of civilization have been wiped clear of the planet, and concludes that he is the last man on Earth. Finding life and creating life become his quest. He must not die the last man. Or half man.