by B40_0
He wakes to a cracked ceiling and a stranger's name on a card above his head. Three hundred years. That's the number his body seems to know before his mind agrees to believe it. Oklahoma is gone — not destroyed, just finished, swallowed whole by trees and silence and a quiet no engine has broken in longer than memory. He is, as far as he can tell, the only person left within ten kilometers. Maybe further. Then he finds the sign. Wood, honey, ice that never melts — planted a hundred meters from his chamber, facing him, and only him, with a precision nothing else in this dead world has bothered to have. Someone made this. Someone wanted him to find it. He just doesn't know why.
