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think.
    Well, lived through initial shock, continued foray. Was not systematic exploration; just wandered streets, let feet carry us at random. Didn't seem to matter; same conditions everywhere. Peeked into houses, stores, cars; knocked on doors, hollered a lot.
    Wasn't until noticed twin digging in claws, flapping wings, protesting audibly, that realized was running blindly, screaming for somebody— anybody!
    Stopped then, streaming tears, trembling, panting (must have run some distance); made desperate attempt to regain semblance of control. Dropped where stood, landed in Lotus. Channeled thoughts into relaxation of body, achievement of physical serenity; hoped psyche would heed good example.
    Did—sort of. Worked well enough, at least, to permit deliberate progress back to shelter, deliberate closing door, deliberate descent of stairs, deliberate placing of Terry on stand—all before threw screaming fit.
    Discharged lots of tension in process, amused Terry hugely. By end of performance fink sibling was emulating noises. Ended hysteria in laughter. Backward, true, but effective.
    Recovered enough to make previous journal entry. Granted, present (therapeutic) entries beyond capacity at that point; but after spent balance of day licking wounds, night's rest, was fit enough to make present update, discharge residual pain onto paper.
    Amazing stuff, therapy: Still not exactly looking forward to going outside again; but seem to have absorbed trauma of dead-body/deserted-city shock, adjusted to prospect of facing again. Forewarned, should be able to go about affairs, function effectively in spite of surroundings.
    Which brings up entirely relevant question: Exactly what are my affairs, functions . . . ? Now that am out, what to do? Where to go? What to do when get there? Why bother go at all?
    Okay, fair questions. Obviously prime objective is find Somebody Else. Preferably somebody knowing awful lot about Civilizations, Founding & Maintenance Of—to say nothing of where to find next meal when supplies run out.
    Certainly other survivors. Somewhere. So must put together reasonable plan of action based on logical extension of available data. Sounds good—uh, except, what is available data?
    Available data: Everybody exposed to flash, to air at time of flash, to anybody else exposed to flash or air exposed to flash or to anybody exposed to anybody, etc., either at time of flash or during subsequent month, anywhere on planet, is dead. Period.
    Shucks. Had me worried; thought for moment I had problem. Ought be plenty survivors; modern civilization replete with airtight refuges: nuclear submarines, hyperbaric chambers, spacelabs, jet transports, "clean assembly" facilities, many others (not to forget early-model VW beetles, so long as windows closed). Ought be many survivors of flash, initial contagion phase.
    But—loaded question—how many knew enough; stayed tight throughout required month? Or got lucky; couldn't get out too soon despite best efforts? Or, with best of intentions, had supplies, air for duration? Or survived emotional ravages; resisted impulse to open window, take big, deliberate breath?
    Could employ magnet to find needle in haystack; easy by comparison. Real problem is: Is needle in there at all?
    Well, never mind; leave for subconscious to mull. Good track record heretofore; probably come up with solution, given time.
    Other, more immediate problems confronting: For one, must think about homestead. Can't spend balance of years living underground. Unhealthy; leads to pallor. Besides, doubt is good for psyche; too many ghosts.
    Where—no problem for short term; can live just about anywhere warm, dry. Adequate food supplies available in shelter, stores, home pantries, etc.; same with clothing, sundry necessities. Can scavenge for years if so inclined.
    However, assuming residential exclusivity continues (and must take pessimistic view when planning), must eventually produce own food, necessities; become