It has been forty-four days since the processed-meat robots descended from the sky.
Forty-four days, and no sign of another living human.
I've traveled so far. Wandering, fighting, waiting for the constant assault of terribly-parsed chatter about cheap erectile dysfunction pills and Russian porn hotlines to end. Waiting for a sign of hope. For a light to shine in the darkness. For the long nightmare to stop.
They killed her. My beloved Emily, killed by their head-exploding rays, and I was left to clean up bleeding pieces of skull and weep. I buried her beneath an aspen tree just outside of Susanville, California. I cried then, remembering the time we spent in the mountains, how she used to dance barefoot on the green grass, smiling and laughing.
There is no hope.
I've wandered for so long, dreaming of the day that humanity shall come to this world again. And I don't know if it ever will. I live in fear that I am the last man, that I will never see the dawn at the end of this ever-so-long night. The only one left to remember. The only one left to dream.
Wait– I can hear them. Oh god– they're getting closer. I can't fight. There's only one bullet left. Only one thing to do.
Emily, I'm coming for you!
The diary ends here. There is an unidentified stain on the pages. Analysis was incomplete, but it appears to have been Old El Paso Thick 'n' Hearty Southwest-style Salsa. Or so we assume.