It was one-hundred and five years in the future, the year 2235. Nearly 300 years had passed since the fall of mankind in 2021. The rubble littered landscape was testament to the time that passed. The silence of a city consumed by time was broken only by the sounds of battle, and Tommy Tony was running through it.
His footsteps were clumsy, and his breath ragged. He was seeking cover from his pursuers, Uzis always at the ready. The man continued to ask himself the important questions, ones that may make the distinction between life and death. How many bullets did he have? How many were there chasing him? How could he clean the grime from underneath his fingernails? He could see it caked in there every time he checked his guns, if he were lucky, he could find something on the ground to help.
There was more than a dozen after him, possibly even eight. As he heard their screams, he performed unnecessary acrobatics, landing behind a dilapidated mailbox he narrowly missed the scattershot that would have popped his face like an udder too full of milk. Continuing the momentum, he flew through an old grey door leading into a store full of old, tourist-themed junk.
Acting solely on battle weary instincts, he ducked to his left, again just missing the spray aimed at his face. Shooting wildly into the shadows, Tommy Tony’s bullets slammed into the knees and shins of a brown and white guard llama. Its gargle-like screams muffled the voices of the other soldiers below. Stumbling backwards, the towering llama fell, leg first, into an open elevator shaft. Flailing wildly, it managed to dig its hooves into a solid part of the ledge, which is no small feat when you don’t have thumbs or fingers. Dangling with fatigue, the llama warrior watched as Tommy Tony approached, silhouetted in light, Uzis aimed for the kill.
“Going down?” exclaimed Tommy Tony as bullets erupted from his guns.
“Three at best, mate.” The llama had chosen his last words well, letting the man know his pun was only sub-par.
The point-blank shots ripped the llama’s arms off at the shoulder, leaving two fuzzy appendages dangling off the ledge. The body fell down the shaft and became wrapped around a cable, severing its head from its lengthy neck. Continuing downward the mangled corpse eventually slammed into the elevator car, separating its feet from its legs and its legs from its torso. Satisfied, Tommy Tony turned away as an explosion plumed fire up the shaft of the elevator. He immediately hurled himself to the ground and covered his face, shocked and confused as to why the creature blew up.
With one llama down and eight left, the chase was on again. He barely had time to catch his breath before he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Three llamas jutted out from behind vine covered rubble, encircling him. The two smaller grey llamas hurled rude comments about the way he ran, and their leader brandished an oxygen tank as a sort of blunt hammer.
Tommy Tony jumped high when he saw the flash of two muzzles. Missing their intended target, the projectiles continued through the air until they splattered into the eyes of the opposing llamas who fired them. Screaming in pain, the llama’s eyes erupted like grapes in a microwave, leaving rivers of gore streaming down their face and into their mouths. The liquid leaked all the way down their necks and the creatures began choking to death.
Tommy Tony used the leader’s sudden horror against him and put several shots into the oxygen tank, causing it to rupture. It began spewing white gas and whistling like an old lady’s tea pot. Four more llama warriors leapt into the fray, their timing could not have been worse. For them, that is. The exploding tank ripped their leader apart, sending various body parts through their various organs, a fractured pelvic bone smashed through one of the soldier’s groins, separating his legs at the hip. The legless llama crawled towards Tommy Tony, a frail last attempt to harm his mortal foe. Tommy Tony strolled up and placed a boot on its head, moments later a crunching skull echoed through the battlefield.
He had finished off ten of the soldiers, leaving him three of the original dozen to deal with. He dropped his arms to the side and began to run, again. He could have gotten farther away had he not stopped to pick up a jagged piece of plastic that looked perfect for getting under his nails.
Finally, having gotten away from the half dozen llamas, Tommy Tony collapsed under a long-forgotten bridge. By the looks alone it hadn’t been used in at least a thousand years, half the time that had passed since mankind’s fall.
Life hadn’t always been this way, the elders told him and his fellow orphans, stories told when he was a little boy twenty-nine years ago. Now, at the age of manhood, twenty-eight, Tommy Tony recalled the stories shared about the fall of man. This wasn’t the best place to reminisce, but the memories came regardless. He also had to focus on something to keep from falling asleep. Not only worrying about being found, but often when he took naps without adequate pillow height, he would awaken grumpy.
It had been so long since anything had been written down, since it’s hard to find paper to write on when your species had run out of toilet tissue, that no one truly knew what caused the great calamity. Yet each story always seemed to begin the same, a middle-aged woman writing an angry letter to the manufacturers of her now second pair of broken knitting needles. It was hard to follow her logic but after a more than poor response from their customer service she had become the owner of a llama farm, using the beasts to make her own yarn.
Tommy Tony was certain some other events must have occurred in-between, but it mattered little when he knew the outcome, famine, war, genocide. All the markers of a horrifying apocalypse. He had never known a world without strife, he had never experienced a life that wasn’t littered with the death of the people he loved at the hands of a well-armed llama army.
Humans were reduced to nothing more than a few pockets of resistance, a species desperately trying to carve out a life despite constant attacks by the xenophobic llamas, led by their radical leader SpitFire. An Albino llama who stood three meters in height; nearly eight feet or 345 inches. His reign was ruthless, brutal, and carnage driven, his plan to end humanity seemed moments away from succeeding.
Close to half an hour later the six remaining llama soldiers found Tommy Tony, he was surrounded. Tommy glanced down at his Uzis, luckily, he still had seven shots remaining in each. More than enough to take out the spit throwing bastards.
“You’ll pay for the death of my eleven comrades, Tommy Tony! You may have killed two dozen of us, but now you’re surrounded! Give up and I will promise you a quick and easy death!” The llama stepped forward. He had auburn hair, a face full of scars, and massive biceps, the kind that showed he only cared about the glory muscles. He was not the leader but had taken the role when the last general blew up, probably because he yelled the loudest.
In an act of defiance and sheer bravery Tommy Tony stood and rushed into the circle of soldiers.
“Time to kick some llamass!” Tommy Tony screamed as he began to fire erratically.
“That was pretty good, at least a five,” a llama screamed before a spray of lead death put enough holes in his neck to make a decent flute.
Hundreds more bullets sprang from the Uzis. Perhaps it was from shock, or their over confidence, but the soldiers began to drop like dominoes before any could react. Around the circle they fell, screaming in agony as bullets pierced organs, bones, and assorted genitalia.
“Tommy!” Came a shout from a familiar voice.
He stopped his spread of bullets just short of the Auburn llama. The llama held a flailing woman, again impressive without fingers, smiling deviously at his intent to use a hostage.
“What kind of coward uses a body shield to win a fight!” Tommy Tony yelled, guns at the ready.
“Me?! Why the hell did you even bring her here? I mean you didn’t even give her a gun or a friggen knife or anything!” The llama threw up his free arm in accusation. “You can be mad at this outcome, but I don’t think you should be entirely surprised by it.”
“Hey, I tried to tell her I had to do this solo and that it was too dangerous. She said that she wouldn’t let me go alone.” Tommy Tony threw his arms out defensively.
“You know you could have still said no after that. That also doesn’t explain why you left her unarmed!”
“Tommy, it’s okay! I got captured, it wasn’t your fault!” The woman screamed through her tears.
“I hate to break it to you, lady, but even if it wasn’t directly his fault, the dude is bare minimum pretty irresponsible.” The llama was struggling to keep the frantic woman still. “Now drop the guns, monkey baby!”
“Whatever you want, just don’t hurt the girl.” Tommy Tony dropped his weapons.
“Tommy don’t do it! You must live! I…I…I love you!” The woman spoke through clenched teeth. She punched the llama as hard as she could in the stomach and reached into the satchel at his waist. The llama heard the click of the grenade pin before he could even see it.
He tried to pry himself free, but she threw her arms around him, hugging as forcefully as she could.
Tommy Tony’s eyes met hers, he was about to sprint forward but her desperate look stopped him dead in his tracks. He knew there was nothing either could do now. He would remember that feeling for the rest of his life. The knowing, the acceptance, the desire to die as well so he wouldn’t spend a lifetime without her.
“Wow, your fur is like, really, really, soft!” the woman whispered as her cheeks rubbed against the llama’s chest. It was like brushing into cotton candy.
“Thank you very much,” the general replied, far too calmly for being moments from death. “The real trick is not to wash it every day. You have to let your natural oils-”
Whatever words were meant to come next became splatters of organ colored pulp across Tommy Tony’s face. The blast was so aggressive that remnants of the two living creatures became intimately intermingled. Tommy Tony could not distinguish between the various parts; the hoof was easy enough to place, but everything else just looked like hamburger meat that happened to collide with a screen door.
“No. Nooooooooooo!” His scream was anguished. His body had become a punching bag for the painful fury that spilled out. His hands dug at the earth beneath him, pain being the only thing that could distract him from the sorrow in his heart. As his hands were thrashing around, he happened to graze his knuckles atop a small patch of fur. The blast shaping it into a square not unlike a cloth sample you’d see at a fabric store.
“Jesus that is really soft!” the man exclaimed as he continued to rub his hand across it.