The past twenty years had been hard for the man who forgot his name. First came the zombies. He'd found himself a Webley revolver and used it to defend himself. He and his wife got out of town fast enough that he could escape them and started a farm. He grew vegetables, but had no animals to raise. By necessity, he became a vegetarian. For a while he and his wife were well enough off on this farm, then the zombies ate his wife. That was when the insanity began. Then the zombies, being corpses, decayed and fell apart. They had already eaten everyone, the man who forgot his name was now the only man left alive.

The day began like no other. The man woke up to the sunrise and fixed a breakfast of boiled vegetables. He turned on the solar-powered radio to listen for survivors. As usual, he heard nothing. Undaunted, he talked to his dear wife over his breakfast of boiled vegetables. He talked of the usual things: the work on the farm today, the felicitousness of the weather, et cetera. She didn't say much; she let him do the talking. That was odd. Years ago she'd been the one who talked the most. She didn't eat much of her food anymore, either.

The man who forgot his name was quite content to carry on a one-sided conversation with a woman who wasn't there. Maybe he knew she wasn't there; maybe he realized he was deluded. Or maybe in his mind his dead wife really was sitting across the table from him, listening intently to his every word. In either case, this delusion was the only thing he had to cling to the last remaining vestiges of insanity.

After finishing breakfast, the man set out to work in the field. He grabbed up his bottled water and his gardening tools and he set out into his field, but not before strapping his Webley revolver to his hip. He'd need it if there was one last zombie hanging around.

He brought his wife into the field with him. She didn't do much work, which was also a change. She'd been a hard-working woman before. He didn't mind, though, because he enjoyed working in the field. As he worked he listened to the radio for survivors. Still nothing.

Maybe he knew he was the only survivor. Or maybe he really believed that one day, he would receive a transmission from a small group of survivors in the city. In either case, the man who forgot his name had another strand to hang on to his quickly-receding sanity.

The man was quite content for a while as he worked, chatting inanely with his quiet wife, then for some reason he couldn't see her very clearly. For a moment he started to get the crazy idea she was dead. He tried to force that idea out of his head, and eventually convinced himself that his wife was indeed standing in the field, but that thought left him disturbed for the rest of the day.

Toward late afternoon it started storming. The man brought his wife into the house to take shelter from the storm. As they sat in the basement, the man tried to assure his wife they'd be safe. She didn't seem to need his assurance, though. So he just talked.

After a while, the storm let up. When he went out into the field, the man saw a tower of smoke in the distance. Knowing this meant fire and fire meant people, and people meant he was not alone, the man quickly fired up the helicopter he'd kept ready to fly for just such an occurrence. He flew toward the site of the fire, talking to his wife about how their days of solitude would soon be over the whole way. The start of the flight was a little rough. He'd been a good pilot in the day, but he hadn't flown in years.

At long last he landed at the fire that caused the smoke. It was in the middle of the woods. He landed and saw that it was not a man-made fire, as he had assumed, but a forest fire caused by the lightning in last night's storm.

He turned to reassure his wife that one day they would find other survivors. As he turned to her, he suddenly realized she wasn't there. She hadn't been there a long time. She was dead, he suddenly realized, and the realization hit him like a brick. Furthermore, he suddenly realized he was completely alone in the world. This forest fire was the most interesting thing that had happened since the zombies were here. The zombies got everyone except him, and anyone they missed by chance wasn't lucky enough to find the felicitous conditions he had. The absence of society had killed those who survived the event that destroyed it. He was the only human being left in the world.

The man who forgot his name drew the Webley revolver from its holster. After making sure it was loaded, he cocked the hammer. "Hell," he said. The report of the gun was the last noise ever to be made by a human.