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be brought there. What if Fiona caught the illness? He
didn’t know what he’d do if something bad happened to her, and
right before their planned wedding day. But that was just the way
his sweetie was: a caring, nurturing type.
    “Festus?”
    Man, she must really be out of it.
    “It’s me, Ma. Jubal.”
    Silence.
    “Ma?”
    His mother began snoring again. Jubal decided
to leave her there. She looked comfortable enough, if a little more
thin and pale...
    Gray?
    It was difficult to see in the dim light
leaking through the curtains from the porch lamp outside. And so he
couldn’t be absolutely certain of his mother’s
complexion.
    He had wanted to check on his mother, then go
back to Fiona’s. But seeing her like this, he just couldn’t leave
her alone. What if she called out in the night and he wasn’t there
to answer?
    Jubal went to the kitchen and microwaved some
chicken soup for himself.
    It took him no time at all to slurp the hot
soup and noodles from the mug; he was starving.
    When he had finished, he set the mug and spoon
in the sink, grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and walked to
his bedroom.
    He turned on the light, sat down at the small
desk near his bed and punched up his computer’s TV link, but all he
got was a blue screen. He messed with it some more, but he wasn’t
the world’s top computer genius, and no matter what he tried, he
could not get a picture.
    “Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.”
    He covered his face with his hands, resting
his elbows on the desk. The day’s events began to run across the
screen of his mind’s eye. But it was too much; he just couldn’t
take anymore right now. He closed out his computer, stretched and
yawned.
    “Maybe things will be better tomorrow.”
    Fat chance, bud. And you’re talking to
yourself again.
    His comfortable form-fit bed beckoned with
soft pillows.
    Taking a pull from the beer bottle, Jubal
rose from the desk and went to his bed. He set the beer on his
nightstand, pulled off his boots and sank back against the
pillows.
    He had intended to turn on his bedside
sat-radio and listen to some news or music because he felt too
upset to sleep. But as it turned out, he wasn’t. The stress of the
day had been too much for him. He managed to clap his lights out
before falling into a heavy slumber.
    Jubal Slate fell asleep atop his bedcovers,
fully clothed.
     

September 2, 2048
    They weren’t human. Some of the silhouettes
were too tall and oddly shaped, and by the way they stumbled
forward, he knew they were dead. Dead and hungry...
    The chirp of the cell phone woke him from the
dream. At first, he couldn’t find it. When he finally realized it was
still in his pocket, the call had ended. He checked the display and
saw Fiona’s number. Fully awake now thanks to a nice dose of
adrenaline, he hit the redial button.
    “Jubal?” She didn’t sound sleepy and he
suspected she’d been up with the woman. He glanced at the
clock.
    2:30 a.m.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “How fast can you get over here?”
    He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. He
could use another few hours of sleep.
    “Do I have time for a shower?”
    “No.”
    He sighed. “On my way.”
    He used the bathroom and washed his face.
Next, he checked on his mother. He wasn’t surprised to find her
still sleeping. As much as he wanted to wake her up, turn on the
lights, maybe fix her some toast and turn on another Gunsmoke episode, he didn’t disturb her. He tried to tell himself that it
was simply because she needed her rest. But he knew that wasn’t
true.
    He was afraid he would see blisters on her
face, and he didn’t think he could handle that right now. He closed
his eyes. He had never been particularly religious, but now he
said a silent prayer, asking for his life to return to its boring
normalcy.
    Jubal slipped out of the house as quietly as
possible.
    The stench of the sick woman still lingered
in the cruiser, so he had to drive with the windows down again, but
it