The Last Book

by Jeff Haas

The old man was on his deathbed when his daughter brought his grandson into the hospital to see him for the last time.

“Take off your headset,” the woman told the boy as they entered the cramped private room. The disheveled ten-year-old was on the verge of reaching the next level in his zombie virtual reality game.

“Mom,” he whined.

“Now!”

The boy reluctantly removed his headset and looked down at his grandfather. The ashen old man was connected to an intricate series of life-prolonging tubes and looked like he had melted into the bed. His eyes were closed.

“Is he dead yet?”

“Robert!” she said, shaking him by the arm.

She leaned over the bed. “Dad?”

The old man opened his eyes and smiled faintly in a drug-induced haze. “Barbara,” he whispered through paper-thin lips.

“I brought Robert here to see you,” she said, pushing the boy forward like he was a legal exhibit. She was following through on a promise she’d made to her father to make sure nothing stood between her and her prodigious inheritance.

“Hi, grandpa,” Robert said, edging back from the metal railing like he was going to catch something.

“Robert,” his grandfather said. “Closer.”

Robert looked up at his mother.

“Go ahead, honey. It’s okay.”

Robert leaned over the bed and the old man whispered in his ear. “I have something for you.” His grandfather raised a withered hand and pointed to the nightstand.

Barbara picked up a tattered old hardcover book. “This?” she asked. The old man nodded, and she handed the book to Robert.

“What is it?” Robert said, flipping through the musty old pages.

“Why, it’s a book, honey,” Barbara said. “Don’t you remember, we saw a picture of one on TV.”

“Oh,” he said, clearly not remembering.

“It’s... it’s the last remaining book,” the old man said, gathering all the strength he could muster. “I want you to have it. It contains all you need to know to lead a meaningful life.”

“Thanks,” Robert said, faking a smile as he handed the book back to his mom.

Just then a matronly nurse entered the room clattering a rickety piece of equipment on wheels. “Time for your blood work,” she sang out to no one in particular.

“Well, we better go now,” Barbara said, looking for any excuse to leave. “It’s been so good to see you again, Dad. And I brought Robert this time, just like you asked.”

She turned to her son. “Come on, honey, we don’t want to get in the way of the nice nurse.”

The old man tried to raise himself up to say goodbye, but by the time he did they were already gone.

Out in the hallway Robert adjusted the settings on his headset.

“Do you want this?” his mother asked, holding the dirty old book at arm’s length.

“Mom,” Robert said. “You know I can’t read.”

She dumped the book into a nearby waste bin.

Robert put his headset back on and started playing his game again. The living dead were attacking him from all sides.