They were fools. All those movies of easy, guilt-free gore… They had dove in the slaughter with gleeful abandon, reveling in the realization of the dream built by Hollywood.
By then it was too late. The flies lay eggs in the aimless rotten living dead. The mosquitos who struggled to draw the coagulation from beneath cold, rubbery flesh went in search for richer sources. The carrion creatures fell upon the decapitated bodies that littered the ruined cities. The diseased blood seeped into the earth to be drawn up by the flora. The rainwater inexorably swept the corruption towards the gulf.
For the last surviving bastions of humanity, death was a rude trick all around them. The water was undrinkable. The food they hunted turned on them. What little, strange smelling game they caught infected, as did the innocent looking berries and wild vegetables. The pests, mosquitos at dusk and the flies at all hours, left behind a sad, slow wasting away.
The fantasy fell apart like decaying flesh sloughing from bone. There was nothing left to do on a dying world but to walk the roads in the throes of terminal starvation.
Then they were none.
Around the star where a blue green jewel once orbited flew a malignant tumor, a grey graveyard filled with bleached bones.