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Tuesday - September 21

The sunrise over Atlanta awakens the city by a blinding light reflecting from the shimmering snow, untouched by humans; virgin, white snow remains the same as the day it fell two days ago. So quiet is the morn, that if one listens intently, one could hear how the Sun works diligently as it elevates to greater heights. Not one cloud suffocates the beauty of the Sun's brilliancy. The Sun alone hangs from the endless sky, the orb that has existed for millions of years, glowing yellow, providing warmth, as it reminds Earth that the Sun will not stop revolving due to man's problems; nor will it likely be stopped by man's hand. The brightest star in our galaxy has never failed Earth's population intentionally; but yet, the Sun will always be the dictator of the Earth, ruling without prejudices, without injustices, but always with unfailing repetition that Earth has become accustomed to.

As the Sun continues to rise, the survivors begin to emerge from whatever shelter they bunker in for the last forty-eight hours. Men, women, and children of all walks of life, venture out into the cold blanket which covers the city, hoping that something edible can be discovered. Before the blizzard arrived, there wasn't much left to discover. Whatever the survivors do find to slake their hunger, will no doubt be some type of rodent or bird. Either way, the people are hungry, thirsty, cold, and tired. Many have given up and lay down where ever they can, allowing their lives to submit to death's door.

Over twelve hours ago, Julie, Dr. Parks, Stevens, and Gerald have gone to death's realm, leaving only a handful of scientists left at the CDC; except for me.

I place my hand on my forehead and feel a small lump. What the hell? Suddenly, I realize I'm home, in my apartment, in our apartment; Claire's and mine.

"How'd the hell did I get here?" I mumble to myself.

I cautiously get out of bed and start circling my bedroom. Everything appears to be the way it was the day I left for work over a week ago; the day I last saw Claire when she told me we were having a child; the day I said it would be a long week.

I go to the bed, bend down, and grab Claire's pillow. Inhaling the pillow deeply, her smell still lingers on the wrinkled case. Claire, baby, I miss you so much. I start to yawn when I smell a strong, flavored aroma. Coffee! Who the hell's making coffee? I quietly walk to the door, slowly open it, just enough to peek into the kitchen. Cautiously, I open the door some more to peer down the hallway; I see no one. Unsure, I decide to exit the bedroom and see if I'm alone, or not.

Tiptoeing down the hallway, and avoiding creaking boards, I stretch my neck to see into the living room, and notice someone sitting in Claire's rocking chair. Not sure who it is, I pick up a statue sitting on the hallway table, ready to do whatever I have to do in order to protect myself. Sneaking towards the intruder, I hear a familiar voice. "There's no need for that, Jonathan. I've been waiting for you to awake. Would you like some coffee and breakfast, dear?"

"Aunt Ruth," I say, as I lower my hand to place the statue back on the table. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, dear, I waited for you to return to Julie's office, but unfortunately, other events have taken precedence. Let me make you something to eat. You must be starving," she says, as she gets up from the rocker and goes to the kitchen.

I grab her arm saying, "No, Aunt Ruth. Please, sit. We need to talk. I need to ask you some questions about Dad's journal. I mean Uncle Gerald's journal. Please, sit."

"You know?"

"Yes. Julie... Julie told me. And I also figured it out after I read the journal. Do you have the journal, Aunt Ruth?"

"No, dear, I thought you had it."

"I did, but... someone killed Julie and she was the last to have the journal."