[center][h3][b]"The Last Plague"[/b][/h3]

[B]CLOSED[/B][/center]

[b]Eastern Montana, Thanksgiving Day, 2029:[/b] Allison McGee stood in the dining room of her now-deceased grandmother's home staring at an empty table. Last year, there were 12 people sitting around this table, as well as 14 others -- mostly but not exclusively children -- at folding tables or in couches and armchairs in the adjoining room. Next to the annual summer family reunion, [i]Turkey Day[/i] had traditionally been the largest gathering of McGees for all of the 26 year old's life.

The virus that would come to be identified as Influenza H5-N5 -- nicknamed "I-55" by the Press -- changed all of that, obviously. To the best of her knowledge, Allison was the only McGee who'd survived the pandemic. Her family wasn't the only one to suffer in this way, of course. I-55 had an unusually long infection period and high transmission rate, meaning that the infected not only passed the [i]bug[/i] for months before realizing they were infected but also passed it to just about anyone with whom they were in close proximity via touch, exhalation, or fluid transfer. 

In addition, the fatality rate was over 98%. Epidemiologists produced vaccine after vaccine after finally discovering I-55, none of which had an effective rate over 40% [i]or[/i] was a long-term solution.

Within six months of the first announced cases, there were infections in every country across the globe, and within a year of that date, 98% of Earth's population was dead. 

Allison and half a dozen of her family members had begun isolating here on the farm immediately after the first public announcement of I-55. This wasn't their first pandemic rodeo, of course; they'd lived through the COVID-19 pandemic of a decade earlier, so they'd understood the importance of keeping their distance from others.

Gramma McGee had been as close to a [i]prepper[/i] as a [i]normal[/i] person could be, so the country home had been fairly well stocked with just about everything the 7 of them required. No one left the farm for over 4 months, and the four times that someone tried to visit the property -- whether their intentions were honorable or nefarious -- they were met with semi-automatic rifle fire [i]before and after[/i] a verbal warning to get back down the drive to the highway.

And yet, Allison was standing here all alone on this day that was for years a wonderful family affair. One by one, the others had fallen victim to the plague, apparently having been infected prior to the family's isolation. Allison had at one point shown signs of sickness, too, only to suffer through the symptoms and come out on the other side with a chronic cough and occasional night sweats.

She'd buried her younger cousin Gloria the first day of October, the last of the McGees to succumb to the virus. For almost two months, she'd been all alone here in the house that set in the middle of 110 acres of farmland surrounded on all four sides by forest that varied between 50 to 200 yards in depth. 

Each morning before dawn, Allison gathered up Winchester rifle, Browning shotgun, Beretta 9mm, and backpack of ammunition, food, water, and emergency supplies and walked southwest down the quarter mile long driveway toward the woods and the highway beyond it. She always stopped short in the forested area to study the wooded area, the open area beyond it, and -- past a deep ditch that had once included a now-destroyed driveway bridge -- the two-lane road beyond that.

Allison never left the woods, fearful that just as she was looking for others through her rifle scope and binoculars, others who might know of the ranch beyond the woods might be doing the same from their location. She would study the road for indications of automobile travel the night before, then study the horizon for changes that might have occurred in one of the four little towns and one big city that were between 6 and 11 miles from this very point. 

Day after day, she thankfully nothing of concern. She would check that the gate was still locked and alarmed with a hidden [i]screecher[/i] they'd installed months earlier, then would take a long walk down the trail through the woods that would take her around the entire perimeter of the 300+ acre property. Walking slowly and attentively, she looked for signs of life -- [i]human[/i] life -- and, day after day, returned to the ranch house without having seen any at all.

Allison missed people often, of course. But knowing from the sole remaining Governmental radio broadcast on the radio that I-55 was still out there and still killing people, she was in no hurry to have some stranger step up on the home's porch and knock on the door, looking for room or board.

Once her [i]tour[/i] was completed, Allison [i]went to work.[/i] She picked the food that was ripe, processed it via canning, dehydrating, or hanging as was appropriate, and performed whatever other tasks needed completion. Gramma McGee had taught her how to do all these things from the time that Allison was a little girl. Still, working alone to harvest and process 36 different species or varieties of vegetables, melons, berries, tree nuts, and ground fruit, as well as milk the goats, collect the eggs, and on occasion slaughter and jerk one of the stock animals was an all day job.

Allison couldn't remember the last time she'd just sat down in a comfortable chair and relaxed for more time than it took to finish a mug of coffee -- which was about to run out -- or whatever meal was on a plate before her. She did nap each day, though, but that was mostly to enable her to repeat her perimeter tour as soon as the sun dropped.

Tonight would be no different, of course, holiday or no holiday. Allison gathered up her weapons and pack; the latter was in case she ran into trouble and got stuck out in the woods for the night or, God forbid, a day or more. She headed out the back door as usual, using the drainage ditch to access the draw that ran parallel to the main drive all the way to the woods. 

The evening tour was conducted counterclockwise, opposite to the morning one. The southern property line ran much farther along the curving road, meaning she spent more time near it. Tonight, to her shock, that would actually mean something.

Allison had just turned north away from highway and toward the slowly rising property when she heard what she knew was the sound of a fast moving vehicle. Crouching, she snuck through the trees to a point which gave her a clear line of sight to the road. She unslung her long guns and checked them, as well as the pistol, to ensure they were ready for use, then waited as the vehicle neared. 

Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer when a small, older sedan came into view over the small hill to the east. She already had the scoped rifle laid out over a downed tree and now looked through the optics to get an idea of what was coming at her. 

Almost immediately, Allison realized that the car wasn't alone, as a full-sized pickup truck was very close behind it. Her worst fears were playing out in her head, thoughts of a militia of a dozen armed and violent men coming to seize her place, steal her resources, and rape her to death.

When gunfire erupted, first from one weapon, then from one or two more, Allison's fear spiked and she dropped even more behind the log for cover. The gunfire continued as she hid, but after several seconds she realized that as it continued, the cars were passing by her position, as opposed to coming to a stop near her as she was so horrifically fearing.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of a vehicle crash, followed almost immediately by the sound of screeching tires. Allison looked up to find the sedan tail end first in the ditch on her side of the highway about 80 yards to her right. The pickup was stopped in the middle of the road about thirty yards from the crash site, and men with long rifles were leaping out of all four of its doors and bed. 

It didn't take a genius to understand that the truck's occupants had been in pursuit of the occupants of the sedan. As she watched, the former began riddling the latter with gunfire, punching holes through aluminum and blowing out windows. A hole through the radiator send a spray of steam out and up, and first one, then another front tire went instantly flat as bullets ripped through them.

As she watched, Allison couldn't help but wonder who the bad guys in this shootout were. [i]There had to be good guys and bad guys, right?[/i] she wondered as the gunfire continued. [i]Maybe both of them are bad guys?[/i]

Then, as if it wasn't already beating hard, her heart skipped a beat when she she saw a back door of the sedan open and woman slip out into to the ditch, [i]holding a child in her arms![/i] The driver, a male, came spilling out as well, doing his best to hide behind the front door as he popped shots off at his assailants with a small pistol. 

Allison was quickly calculating the whole [i]good guy-bad guy[/i] equation when one of the men at the truck hollered to his [i]accomplices[/i] to cease fire. Once they had, he hollered toward the other vehicle, "[i]All we want is the woman and the child! Give'em up, and we'll let you leave with all the stuff you stole from us.[/i]"

Allison added the [i]stole from us[/i] factor and wondered if maybe she'd made a mistake in her math. The man responded, "[i]They're my family! My wife and child![/i]"

"[i]They're Immunes![/i]" the man standing tall in the bed of the truck hollered back. "[i]They're what we need to start over.[/i]"

"[i]You're not taking my wife and kid![/i]" the man said, popping off another shot. Even from this distance, Allison could tell by the man's body language that he had just used his last bullet. He slid down into the ditch closer to the woman and child, huddling them down lower.

By now, Allison had reached her conclusion as to who was who and what needed to be done about it. She'd shot her rifle at people before but never with the intention of actually hitting someone. Surprisingly, though, she found aiming the Winchester .30-06 carefully at the man leading the [i]bad guys[/i] and gently squeezing the trigger to be very easy. The gun kicked against her shoulder, and as she peeked over the scope, the found the man tipping away and falling out of the truck to thud on the pavement's centerline.

Allison was obviously outnumbered, so she didn't waste time waiting for a response. She simply picked another target, took and released a breath, and fired. Then again. By now, the remaining two men had deduced her general location and had fled to the other side of the pickup truck. Allison knew they had to be killed, too, but she wasn't about to expose herself in an effort to chase after them. 

She simply remained behind the log for a long moment, looking for a solution. The man and woman -- and child, of course -- were of no use to her as they remained crouched down in the ditch. Then, she remembered a favorite scene from the Bruce Willis movie, [i]The Jackal[/i]. 

She relocated to a place much closer to the crash site, one that gave her a better view of the truck's underside. She popped off three shots before she managed to hit the gas tank. As fuel poured out onto the pavement, Allison fired twice more before flames erupted under the truck. 

A moment later, the vehicle's gas tank exploded, sending both men back from it several feet. One appeared to be unconscious, but the second rose unsteadily and tried to run away down the highway. Allison aimed a last time and took her time putting a bullet through his back.

She set the rifle aside and pulled her pistol. (She'd left the shotgun and pack already, so she knew she'd be coming back for them later anyway.) Making her way to the tree line and revealing herself to the couple, Allison aimed the Beretta at them and told them with a stern voice, "[i]Run away or move closer to me, and I'll kill all three of you, including the kid![/i]"