The Last Cop In America

A man sits in the driver seat of what may be the only working squad car left. His name is Sheriff James Bronson, a stoic man who's seen more than his fair share of evil. He stares out the windshield, the warrant shaking in his hand as he mustered the courage to open the door. It's a mistake. It has to be. He checks the name for the thousandth time, and his heart sinks.   He shakes his head and steps out into the muggy, moonlit night. The building in front of him looked pristine with It's red brick and carefully tended grounds. The world ended, sure, but it's as if this place didn't quite get the memo: The Wyatt Funeral Home.   The sheriff's mouth is dry as he approaches the revolving door. With all he's seen, it's fitting that what truly rattles him would come from someone like Toby. He looks up and sees a man exiting the building. His clothes are new and his expression was that of mirth and wonder.   The Sheriff steps to the side and waits for the man to leave, then rushes to hide the warrant. He notices Toby's short and curvy frame following close behind, and that innocent look in her green eyes only makes him feel worse.   He catches the end of their conversation, Toby's voice bright and full of genuine care, "...Allright Mr. Lawrence, you have a wonderful night" The man nods and stumbles his way into the parking lot. She blinks at the sight of him, then smiles her signature smile. Her teeth were perfectly white and her lips curled into the most prominent cupid's bow he'd ever seen. "It's a little late for you, no?"   "Oh trust me miss Toby." James flashes a half hearted smile. "I'd much rather be at home asleep."

She ushers him to follow her through the revolving doors. "What can I do for you?"   He follows her into the parlor and further into the mortuary. "'Fraid it's not a social call, miss Toby." He stutters, "I-uh. What do you know about a man named Shelby Kent?"   Toby froze on the spot. "Kent? Mr. Kent?" She turns and retrieves a large leather-bound book from a desk along the wall. She opens it and scans a list of names. "He died three years ago, just before the end. Why?"   "Well…" He musters all the strength he can. "Toby I'm here to take ya in."   She shakes her head, "Take me in? For questioning?"   "In a manner of speaking." This hurt more than he thought it would.   Her voice shakes as she speaks "James, What's going on?"

Somewhere in what used to be Iowa sits the small settlement of Boring, population 300 and counting. It's the "and counting" that matters here. When the world ended, people banded together, but rarely stayed long. Most shantytowns fade away within a year, but not Boring.   Boring maintains steady growth, with new faces emerging all the time. Some belive this to be because of its location. Perhaps it resides on some form of crossroad, a place frequented by those moving from one place to another. Most just choose not to leave.   It makes sense that such a place would need some semblance of the old world to function. People like normalcy. It's comfortable, helps keep the memories away. That is why it's Sheriff is so important.  

The Sheriff of Boring is a bridge of sorts. He or she is a symbol of the world that was, and is expected to adapt and protect the world that is. Consider how the Sheriff never carries a gun. Guns are useless now. With the existence of magic, owning a gun is a liability.   The sheriff enforces law through a combination of stern looks and peer pressure, though he's more than capable of being… more direct. He can speak to more people in an hour than you'll see the entire day, and this gossip will get around quicker than you can stop it. It's harder to break the rules when everyone is watching, and few are as understanding as the sheriff can be.     Then you have the courthouse. It's a perfect match: Last Sheriff, last courthouse. He helps the appointed judge oversee the particularly crucial trials, though they are few and far between. The task is always done with pride. It's a thankless job, and doesn't pay, but that doesn't stop the ones who hold the title from doing it.

He sighs, "There's this young fella who claims to speak for Kent. The things he's been saying, Toby… it doesn't look good.."   "What?" She doesn't look shocked. She looks like she's in pain.   "Now, listen." The sheriff holds out a hand. "The world is a lot stranger than it was. Since you came around things have changed too. Whole town's been happier, more lively." He steps forward and reaches for his handcuffs. "We'll sort this out. Okay?"   "I can't," she steps back, shaking her head. "My work."   "It can wait a few days." He shows her the cuffs. "I really don't want to use these. I don't have to, you know."   She shakes her head, her expression somewhere between dark purpose and sheer panic. "No."     A loud bang echoes throughout the mortuary. He flinches but Toby is still and silent.  

"What was that?" He asks.   Another bang rings put. It came from the far wall behind Toby, the one with rows of doors, each with a cavity containing a corpse.   The doors start shaking with fury. Toby steps back and starts frantically opening the freezer doors. Each flies open and the corpses begin their desperate scramble out with the sounds of skin sliding on smooth metal.   The Sheriff watches in horror as arms and hands reach out from the darkness, the cold air pouring forth and spreading the faint smell of decay.   At such a sight, he does what any sane man would do. He runs…