The Last Supper
If Worlds of Science Fiction,
September 1952
Before reading this story, prepare yourself for a jolt and a chill in
capsule form. O. Henry could have been proud of it. It could well become a
minor classic.
Hampered as she was by the child
in her arms, the woman was running less fleetly now. A wave of exultation swept
over Guldran, drowning out the uneasy feeling of guilt at disobeying orders.
The instructions were mandatory
and concise: “No capture must be attempted
individually. In the event of sighting any form of human life, the ship MUST be
notified immediately. All small craft must be back at the landing space not
later than one hour before take-off. Anyone not so reporting will be presumed
lost.”
Guldran thought uneasily of the
great seas of snow and ice sweeping inexorably toward each other since the
Earth had reversed on its axis in the great catastrophe a millennium ago. Now,
summer and winter alike brought paralyzing gales and blizzards, heralded by the
sleety snow in which the woman’s skin-clad feet had left the tracks which led
to discovery.
His trained anthropologist’s mind
speculated avidly over the little they had gotten from the younger of the two men
found nearly a week before, nearly frozen and half-starved. The older man had
succumbed almost at once; the other, in the most primitive sign language, had
indicated that, of several humans living in caves to the west, only he and the other
had survived to flee some mysterious terror. Guldran felt a throb of pity for
the woman and her child, left behind by the men, no doubt, as a hindrance.
But what a stroke of fortune that
there should be left a male and female of the race to carry the seed of Terra
to another planet. And what a triumph if he, Guldran, should be the one to
return at the eleventh hour with the prize.
No need of calling for help. This
was no armed war-party, but the most defenseless being in the Universe—a mother
burdened with a child.
Guldran put on another burst of
speed. His previous shouts had served only to spur the woman to greater
efforts. Surely there was some magic word
that had survived even the centuries of illiteracy. Something equivalent to the
‘bread and salt’ of all illiterate peoples. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he
shouted, “Food! food!”
Ahead of him the woman turned her
head, leaped lightly in mid-stride, and went on; slowing a little but still
running doggedly.
Guldran’s pulse leaped. He yelled
again, “Food!”
The instant that his foot touched
the yielding surface of the trap, he knew that he had met defeat. As his body
crashed down on the fire-sharpened stakes, he knew too the terror from which
the last men of the human race had fled.
Above him the woman looked down,
her teeth gleaming wolfishly. She pointed down into the pit; spoke exultantly
to the child.
“Food!” said the last woman on
earth.
End
It’s unfortunate, but we really couldn’t find much out
about this author, who may have been a woman.
The image is a free download, available
here. Not a bad-looking lady, either.
Louis Shalako books and stories are available from Chapters/Indigo
and other fine retailers.
Many are free.
Ah. Here’s an interesting article on how
Isaac Asimov dealt with writer’s block, boredom, and what I call burnout.
Thank you for reading.
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