 What was the only thing that mattered to Charles near the end?
There should be an epitaph for every man, big or little, but a really grand and special one for Loner Charlie. A year ago she had been unattainable, a face to conjure with in erotic dreams, far beyond his ken. And he had been a nobody, full of a nobody's idle hopes and schemes. He touched buttons by the edge of the bed and the illumination quieted to a soft glow, wrapping her in a radiant halo. New York lay quietly below him. It was the hour of indecision when day has not quite made up its mind to leave and night has not yet attacked in force. She had given of herself freely, warmly, and Charles had accepted. She would have given herself to any man— His thoughts beat a rapid crescendo, activating emotions, stimulating sensations of angry rage. To any man, WHO HAPPENED TO BE THE LAST MAN ON EARTH! I just don't know—" A paroxysm of sobbing shook his body. Buildings were taller, men were healthier, most of the problems of humanity seemed licked, or nearly so. Life was fun, just a bowl of cherries, until...." A month later the meat animals, the birds and the household pets began dropping as rapidly as the flies which had dropped earlier. Within a year it was obvious to everyone that man was the only animal left on earth. The panic which had begun with the death of the animals was quieted somewhat by the fact that humans seemed immune to the pandemic. But the lakes full of dead fish caused a great stink and residents along the coasts began to move inland. Within six months, half of the world's population was gone. Less than a month ago no more than a few thousand people remained in New York. And now.... "I've got to find out," Charles told himself. Before the plague the Bureau of Vital Statistics had been one of man's crowning achievements. Housed as it was in a huge metallic globe of a building, it contained computers which kept exact account of every human on earth. Once a year the Bureau issued The Index, an exact accounting of Earth's four billion inhabitants. Only once, before the plague, had he seen the interior of this room. And again at the age of 10 each child returned to the Bureau for a recheck. It was for this latter recording that Charles had come to the Bureau some twenty-two years before and a friendly guard had let him peep briefly into the computer room.
 Making it to his cave
 Leaving one last note  Making it to his cave  Fighting the disease  Getting a final meal