The sun rose, casting amber and gold across Maple Street's overgrown lawns. John squinted in the light as he shuffled onto his porch. The weathered wood creaked beneath his feet. He eased into a rusted lawn chair that protested with each movement.

Martha emerged from her home across the street, a faded floral housecoat wrapped around her thin frame. She waved, her hand trembling. "Morning, John. Did you sleep well?"

"As well as can be expected," he said, running a hand through his wispy white hair. "You?"

Martha shrugged, a sad smile playing at her mouth. "Oh, you know. The usual dreams."

John nodded, understanding without need for elaboration. They all had those dreams—children's laughter, busy streets, a world teeming with life and possibility. Dreams of what used to be, before The Snip.

Tom emerged from the tangle of wildflowers and vegetables that had once been a manicured lawn. He wiped his brow, leaving a smear of earth across his forehead.

"Garden's coming along nicely," Tom called out, his voice rough with disuse. "Tomatoes should be ready in a week or so."

John grunted. "Any sign of those rabbits?"

Tom shook his head. "Not lately. Guess even they're getting scarce these days."

John leaned back in his chair, scanning the overgrown yards. "It's not just rabbits. Haven't seen a deer in years. Or a raccoon. Even the damn squirrels are gone."

Martha nodded. "The Snip didn't discriminate, did it? Humans, mammals... seems like nothing escaped its reach."

"Nature finds a way," Tom muttered, more to himself than the others. "Birds are still around. Insects too. But for the rest of us..." He trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

John's jaw clenched at Tom's words. His eyes wandered to the playground down the street, where rusted swings creaked in the breeze. Weeds choked the once-tidy grounds. The slow extinction of entire species—that was the legacy of The Snip. Not with a bang, but a whimper.

A heavy silence fell over the group, broken only by the distant call of a mockingbird. John found himself envying the bird's ability to reproduce, to carry on its lineage. Martha finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever wonder if we're the last ones left?"

John's hand drifted to his abdomen, a gesture common among survivors of The Snip. "Every day, Martha," he said gruffly. "But it's not just us. Seems like every mammal eventually got hit. No new births, no next generation. Just us, getting older every day."

"Anna might find a fix," Tom offered, though his tone held little conviction. "She's still working on her cloning research."

The door to the house at the end of the street creaked open. Anna emerged, her white hair wild and unkempt, dark circles under her eyes. She shuffled towards them, clutching a steaming mug of what passes for coffee these days.

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"Any breakthroughs?" Martha asked, her voice carrying a flicker of hope despite the countless times this scene had played out before.

Anna shook her head, her gaze fixed on some distant point. "Not yet. But I'm close. The latest batch of stem cells looks promising."

John snorted, drawing a sharp look from Martha. "You've been saying that for decades, Anna. Maybe it's time to face facts."

Anna's eyes snapped to John, a familiar fire burning in them. "What would you have me do? Give up? Accept that we're the end of the line?"

"We are the end of the line," John shot back, his voice rising. "The Snip saw to that. No amount of tinkering with clones in your lab is going to change it."

Tom stepped between them, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Easy, now. We're all we've got left. No sense fighting amongst ourselves."

The tension drained from John's body as he watched Anna's shoulders slump, the fire in her eyes dimming. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I just... I can't accept it. Not yet."

Martha reached out, patting Anna's arm gently. "We know, dear. We know."

The group fell silent. John’s thoughts drifted as he gazed down the street, observing the crumbling houses and overgrown yards. Nature reclaiming what humanity had built, erasing evidence of their existence bit by bit.

"Remember when this place was full of life?" Tom mused, his eyes distant. "Kids playing in the streets, neighbors chatting over fences..."

Martha nodded and smiled. "The block parties every Fourth of July. Oh, how I miss those."

"The traffic," John added with a chuckle, surprising himself. "Never thought I'd miss the sound of cars honking at all hours."

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, they fell into their familiar routine. John watched Tom return to his garden and Martha busy herself with mending clothes. He tinkered with an old radio, more out of habit than the hope of picking up a broadcast.

Anna retreated to her lab. The hum of machines and clinking glassware drifted through her open window. John tuned it out.

As evening approached, they gathered on John's porch, sharing a meal of garden vegetables and canned goods. The conversation flowed more freely now, memories and stories pouring out as they reminisced about the past.

"Do you remember," Martha began, her eyes twinkling, "the day The Snip hit? How we all thought it was just another flu?"

Tom chuckled, shaking his head. "I was more worried about missing work than the end of humanity."

"Humanity's always thinking the world's about to end," John said. "Who'd have thought we'd be right this time?"

He noticed Anna remained quiet, pushing food around her plate. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but clear. "I was in the lab when the news broke. We thought we could find a cure, reverse the effects. We failed."

John felt a pang of sympathy for Anna. He reached out, covering her hand with his own. "Nobody failed," he said softly. "We survived. We're still here, still human, still caring for each other. That's not nothing."

Tom raised his glass of water, a hint of a smile on his face. "To humanity. May we go out with dignity."

They clinked their glasses together, the sound echoing in the quiet street. As night fell, they sat on the porch, watching stars appear in the darkening sky. No one mentioned tomorrow or the looming end that inched closer each day.

In the distance, a lone mockingbird sang, its mournful cry carrying on the night air. John closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him. It was a reminder that life would go on, even if humanity didn't.

As the others drifted off to their homes, John remained on the porch, his gaze fixed on the starry sky. He thought of all the lives that had come before, of the countless generations that had looked up at these same stars and dreamed of the future.

A future that would never come.

Comforted by the quiet strength of his makeshift family, John felt a sense of peace settle over him. They were the last chapter in humanity's story, but it was a chapter filled with resilience, compassion, and an enduring spirit that even The Snip couldn't extinguish.

In the end, perhaps that was enough. John's hand drifted to his abdomen again. The Snip had taken their ability to create new life, but it couldn't erase the life they'd already lived. As he watched the stars twinkle above, he realized that maybe, just maybe, leaving behind a legacy of kindness and perseverance in the face of extinction was the most human thing they could do.