It arrived in a box.

The packaging wasn't a regular taped cardboard box and didn't spill peanuts or bubble wrap when opened. This was black and wooden, wrapped with a red ribbon and a tied-on congratulations tag. No name, no address, or any indication of who this gift was from. Someone placed it on the gift table, and the pure sight of it made it that much more enticing to open.

Bright orange and pink colors expanded over the horizon, and the moon looked elongated as it drowned into the Pacific. The wind blew a cool breeze over the water, a perfect temperature for a Friday night out.

Anybody who was anybody, or instead wanted to be known, was boarding their new yacht with a private invitation from nineteen-year-old Kaitlyn Leah Wellington. Her blonde hair was pulled up with a diamond clip curved around her bun, and the three tear crystals hung on a small chain dangling from each ear sparkled with the slightest head movements - just a few accessories to debut her new dress.

The night was a formal party for the wealthy family and their friends to celebrate the engagement of the Wellingtons' oldest daughter and Adam Langley, her boyfriend of the year. Although the time it took for her to fall in love with the twenty-two-year-old seemed short, the idea of their courtship was always preemptively in mind when introduced.

Kaitlyn's arm crooked around Adams, holding onto a small, lacey white handbag. The media covered the story from the moment he bent the knee. Every word written on popular blogs had the couple's names brewing nationwide. Sailing was the best idea to avoid the flash of cameras and journalists.

Only a handful of over twenty people were invited to the get-together, and almost everyone wouldn't let themselves miss the networking opportunity. The gifts covered a large table on the deck were wrapped and bowed precisely. Easy to say that the larger gifts weren't just from close friends but picked to be competition for business opportunities, connections, and, most importantly, trustworthy alliances.

Kaitlyn said goodbyes to the group speaking to her and walked into the ship's hull. Just minutes later, a bell rang to notify everyone to join the dining room. Shining empty plates lay at every seat at each table with small paper notifications of who is to sit at them. Each person filled the room and sat respectfully at their designated seats. At the table in front of the main stage sat the small group of people who did not come for networking but were dragged to the occasion.

“Where’s Connor?” Scarlette Wellington, the seventeen-year-old sister, looked over at the empty seat next to her.

“It would be nice to know where he always disappears at these times.” A tall, slender brunette with a slight upturned nose smiled and looked around at her closest friends. “Could it be that he’s helping Kate with her pre-wedding regrets? Seeing that she hasn’t returned yet.”

A few chuckles came from the table, but Scarlette glared at her friend. The look seemed to have said, ‘If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be here.’ Even a joke could be overheard and taken wrongly with the crowd that had their ears pointed to every piece of gossip they could grasp onto.

It was already a rumor that Connor and Kaitlin had affairs. The thought left a bad taste in Scarlette’s mouth, noting her ill feelings towards Connor and the idea that her sister would be caught up in a scandal that hurt their family’s reputation. She couldn’t even bear to read every headline that read their names. Scarlette wanted nothing more than to protect her image, which included her family doing the same for themselves.

“Welcome everyone…” A middle-aged woman stood, microphone in hand, at the front of a long table where the immediate family was to sit with the couple of honor – only Scarlette opted out of sitting in front to be with her group of friends. Behind the table was a large projector screen playing a slideshow of photographs with Kaitlyn and Adam.

A door opened quietly from the back of the room during the mother’s speech to her son. A black-haired boy appeared and walked over to the front table. Everyone observed how he straightened his tie and jacket while walking to the table. Eighteen-year-old Connor Blackby ran his hand through his fringe and leaned back in his chair. None of the teens around him asked about his whereabouts; they knew his vague answers when he disappeared and returned.

The silence that filled the room after the speech was hard to bear. Kaitlyn had yet to return to her place beside Adam, and the room had gotten tense. Whispers started to surface at each table, and nobody wanted to talk loud enough to be heard by the wandering ears.

“You didn’t happen to see Kate from wherever you came from, did you?” Ashley Sterling, who was on the other side of Connor, asked as a smile spread across his face.

When Connor ignored the boy beside him, the table realized something was wrong. He looked down at his phone, hidden away from everyone with a pale face.

Gasps and screams could be heard around the entire area. Scarlette, Ashley, Connor, and Sarah, a quiet blonde friend of Ashley's who sat beside him, all looked up at the projector screen and put everyone into a panic. Instead of the happy images that once showed, there was a live stream of the bedroom. Kaitlyn was lying across the bed, her white dress almost completely stained red from blood and dead eyes staring up into the camera.

It’s a brown pleather notebook he grabs for, sitting among all other objects around it, shining in their twenty-fifth-century appeal as if the world hasn’t ended. Then, thumbing expeditiously through, he finds an empty page, the last page.

“I guess this is where we end then,” he says aloud to the journal, then picks up his pen.

Day 513

I’m the only one left now. There was another, but he decided to go yesterday, stepping out into the toxic air and letting the virus take hold of him. The entire decay of the organs with this virus takes approximately five minutes. So I doubt his body is far from the bunker.

The vents here are still holding on, far more than I am. There’s no food. Not really, at least. What’s left is rotten, growing mold, and turning odd colors. After some time, I’ve become accustomed to the smell. I tried to eat from an old can. The label had been ripped off, but I believe it to be lima beans. Who knew canned foods eventually go bad? Isn’t that what people hoard in times like this?

All communication with other bunkers has ceased. I keep the radio on just in case, but there’s been no other broadcast in months. Sometimes, if I can sleep, I hear other voices, but it’s never from the radio. I can still hear my spouse yelling at me to do chores or softly saying, “I love you more.” It’s all in my head.

If only this hadn’t happened. I had so many opportunities to be better. Not working so hard, taking extra time away for the money, and having been a better spouse. I’m sorry I didn’t cherish my family as I should have while they were alive. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stop the virus from taking them moments after it ravished Earth, they were thousands of miles away, and I was here in this lab. If I had that second chance, I would have died with them.

Regret is all I’m filled with now.

It’s time, old book. Five hundred and thirteen pages of nonsense that maybe someone will eventually find after all this is over. Who knows, perhaps the human race will never exist again? Maybe . . . just maybe, I am the last one.

I told you on day one that when this book is complete, I will walk outside too. I’m going now.