"How are you going to get yourself out of this one, Harry old boy?"
The spectre floated along invisibly passing through the occasional pedestrian or solid object as it made its way down the city street. Every now and then the ghost would forget itself and begin walking, more from habit than anything else. But Harry was very dead and things like going for a stroll were no longer his to enjoy.
"There's gotta be one person left here who has the passion to explore the unknown with me, someone that can free me." Ectoplasmic shackles held him fast.
Handcuffs were no problem, chains a mere formality, tanks and chests all part of the act. With enough preparation any escape could be achieved. The artistry lies in the planning and execution. The beauty of the theatrics all that truly mattered. But this was a matter of survival. Of transcendence. He had to find an assistant.
Vagabond gypsy nomads walked aimlessly as they grazed upon whatever food lay displayed out. At least some group of living citizens had the sense to collect the corpses of the victims, exploring their residences and placing any essential items out into the open market of the sidewalks.
There was no need to fight or stockpile food or supplies, for with the number of people that survived, they had enough to last them decades. Most of the food would go bad before they got to even devour half of it all. Not that many of the survivors ate the junk food that sat out, instead feeding themselves with homegrown, organic vegan diets.
How did they come to inherent the Earth? No one knows for sure, but one afternoon, AT&T's 10kG network overloaded sending a pulse along satellite signals turning every handheld cellular device into a microchip bomb. Men and women argued, chatted, spoke, told stories, confirmed plans, and suddenly their brains became surged with power, erupting out of their skulls.
The hippies, luddites and poor were all that remained. It took them awhile to even notice, but when the landlords stopped banging on the doors for rent, when dealers didn't come by on their usual delivery route, then the ones left behind pieced it together and threw a party that still rages to this day.
Most bodies I come across barely register as conscious beings as with the heavy and continuous ingestion of hallucinogens and alcohol led to a worldly transcendence. They were new gods walking the remains of their former race, guaranteed to do a better job than the POPulation that existed before.
Though this new state made it so a greater number of them could see Harry, his presence appearing to them as a vision, bringing wisdom from beyond. That's what they heard, but what he was saying was he needed help, he really needed to find this trunk.
Eventually he found a bitter, anti-social, communist vegetarian lesbian that refused all manner of conventional trappings, even those of this new utopia. She smoked cigarettes and drank whiskey. She burned red propaganda pamphlets, cooked burgers over it, and cursed humanity with every breath.
She was reluctant to listen at first, but weeks dragged by and she found herself so tediously bored that she faced suicide or she could give in and listen to the mad, old ghost's words. Harry was just another remnant of the past that she didn't want to face.
"Please, my dear, the bonds that hold me must be broken."
They took a car, she figured out how to get it started without a key, and sped off into the landscape. From town to town they sought out a temple. Every city had a freemason cell, but each was empty. Their treasures were all looted, raided by unknown parties, with no trace of the trunk.
She sat on the hood of the car smoking, a question lingering on her lips. "Speak your mind girl, you've certainly earned answers at the very least."
She asked. He replied.
"It is a love letter I seek. One last reply from someone I once loved more than I knew while alive."
She tossed her cigarette to the pavement. "Sometimes it's best to just let things go unsaid."
