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Monday - September 13

I shake my head and turn to Julie asking, "Julie, do we have your permission to check all files, new and old, to see if there can be any connections to this madness?"

"Absolutely, John," she says, without any hesitation.

Great! This will be the perfect opportunity for me to find my father's old files.

"Okay, that's it then. Ted and Monica, let's get the ball rolling and see what we have here." I conclude. Walking around victim three's table and looking at the once pregnant woman, I think how Claire now has a baby growing inside her womb. Dismissing that thought out of my head, I say, "Let's get cracking, folks. And pray that we can find answers quickly, in order to isolate it, before others become infected."

Madame President walks over to me and whispers, "Dr. Bennett, I know you understand the urgency of this situation. For the sake of all of us, I hope that you, and your team, will discover what happened, and hope to ensure that it can be contained."

When I gaze into the president's eyes, I can see that she, too, is just as afraid as we are. I look at her intently, to let her know that I, too, agree and understand.

"Madame President, it is the only thing that concerns me now. Nothing else matters."

The president forces a smile, and then turns around, speaking to everyone, "Thank you. Please, keep me posted."

Everyone confirms the president's order as she exits to the anteroom.

Looking at the expressions on my co-workers faces, I could see that none of us knew what we were dealing with, or even where to begin to figure out how it even transpired. If this is a terrorist attack of some kind, the terrorists definitely have a well-laid out plan to somehow attempt to eliminate the human population, by enabling the body to die a gruesome death from a flesh-eating virus. Yep, this will be a long week, I remind myself; a damn long week.

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While relaxing on the bay window bench, sipping on a warm cup of tea, Claire stares out the window, watching the snow as it accumulates on the stairs. Dwelling on my reaction to the news of becoming a father, she decides that she needs some fresh air. Leaving her place of serenity, she heads to the hall closet to bundle up for a short excursion to the outdoors. Grabbing the snow shovel, she opens the door to battle winter's blanket of purity. When she's about to step onto the stoop, she notices a small box. Seeing no signs of footprints on the stairway, and with so many people walking along the sidewalks and street, anyone could have placed it there. Apprehensive to pick it up, Claire quickly reaches down and grabs the box. Carefully looking around for someone who might appear suspicious, she sees no one, and turns around and re-enters our apartment.

Clasping the box in her hand, wondering what it could be, Claire hastily heads for the bedroom, slams the door, and then locks it. Leaning against the door, and breathing hard, she scurries to the bed to sit. Holding the box tightly, Claire begins to slowly remove the lid. Worried if someone might be watching her, she goes to the window to see if anyone looks strange. Noticing no one peculiar, she draws the curtains with a wisp, and returns to sit on the bed.

Anxiously, Claire removes the lid, placing it on the bed. When she looks inside the box, she notices a silver key lying on a piece of cotton. She picks up the key, wondering why someone would leave this on our doorstep. Inspecting the box for any other contents, she lifts up the cotton and finds nothing. As she fondles the key, she wonders what it opens. It couldn't be a key to a door, since all doors are voice activated. Wondering what the key is for, she accidentally bumps the lid onto the floor. When she picks it up, she notices some writing inside the lid. The inscription written is the number "twenty-eight". "What could number twenty-eight possibly mean?" she asks herself aloud. Nothing comes to Claire's mind; but yet, this key means something; but what?