That Time Just Before Sunrise

It's my favourite part of the day. It's summer, and these are the precious few hours before which it will become unbearably hot and muggy. When I'm walking about, basking in the dim rays of early morning, I feel like I own this town. At this hour the streets are empty. Usually I walk in a circuit, but some mornings I'll take a random path down side streets whose sidewalks are interrupted by sundry spurts of grass and weeds. My only companions are the soft echo of my sneakers on the pavement and the warm, gentle breeze.

It's been a while since I've slept soundly, so it's no surprise that I'm up at this hour. My stomach is growling, so I stop off at one of those twenty-four hour convenience stores to pick up some chips and jerky. I guess I'm not much for healthy eating, but it's tough to argue with my stomach. Just before leaving, I remember to grab some antihistamine. Allergies. Like you wouldn't believe. If I go a day without sneezing, I thank my lucky stars. Still, it's nothing worth complaining over. The way I see it, I'm a pretty lucky guy.

If I can find a spot where a building won't obscure the horizon, I can see the sun now firmly peeking out to say hello. I've got forty minutes before I start breaking a sweat. As harsh as winter can be, summer really gets me. Hard to enjoy the great outdoors when you're sweating buckets, sneezing like the dickens and being fed on by a swarm of mosquitoes. I tend to sleep during the day and work at night, when the temperature is more bearable. Not pleasant, just bearable. I really wish I had air conditioning.

But I don't mean to complain. As I said, I'm a pretty lucky guy. Roof over my head, belly full of junk food, and healthy as a horse. Even when I was a kid, I rarely got sick. Sure, stuffy nose all the time from the allergies, but almost never actually ill. Colds were a rarity, and I don't think I've ever had the flu. I read somewhere once that allergies are an over-reaction on the part of the immune system to outside entities like pollen or cat hair. So apparently my immune system is hyper-vigilant. I think my friends used to pity me over being an allergic mess, but I've never minded. It's all I've ever known, and I've never been stuck in bed for a week with a fever.

I return to my apartment and bid adieu to the early morning. I sleep best, if I sleep at all, on a full stomach, so I chow down on my chips and jerky. I slump down into my bed, and realize the sheets don't exactly smell fresh. Meh, it might stink a little, but it's my stink. And besides, it's been a while since I've had an opportunity to share my bed with a lady... Still, I ought to take better care of the place.

While drifting off, I like to think of my childhood. I like to think of my friend and I - what was his name? - clambering up the dogwood tree in my front lawn, pretending it was our secret base. I like to think of that cute girl who was my first kiss. I like to think of the faces of my parents, who I haven't seen in years, smiling approvingly as I walked across the stage at high school graduation. Ah, better times.

My pre-sleep calm is interrupted by my itchy nose, and so I quickly honk into a handkerchief to stave off a sneezing fit. Damn allergies. Still, while I'm no scientist, I guess I'm glad for my paranoid immune system. If I remember correctly, I was sitting in my cubicle when the attack on Plum Island happened. Plum Island? Nobody even knew what that was. Turns out the feds had an animal disease research facility there. Makes sense: it's a ways off the mainland in New York, it's isolated, and nobody lived there. Nobody to snoop around. Nobody to find out about the biological weapons testing.

Unsurprisingly, the outbreak started in New York. Oh, just another flu transmitted from animals to humans, said the government and the media. No big deal, wash your hands, avoid contact with the infected. Then they closed the schools. Then they closed the subway. Then they closed the businesses. Then they implemented martial law.

While we were still laughing off the little bout of innocent flu, it had spread to Beijing, Paris, Buenos Ares and Tel Aviv. And while we went about our merry lives, sending get well soon cards to those that had come down with the 'bird sniffles,' those microbes were worming their way around the globe.

Yeah, you probably know how the story goes. Turns out it's fatal, turns out it's incurable. And lucky me, I got to watch the world burn all around me. I'm lucky I live in the city. I've made it this far, scavenging canned food from grocery stores, slowly working my way through every book in the library to keep myself sane. I spend most of my nights siphoning gas and looking for a suitable vehicle. At this point, I've scouted the entire city on a bicycle, and it's safe to say I'm the only human left. I've finally found a truck in good working order, and I've loaded it with food, water and gas. Oh, and antihistamines.

I plan on driving to the next metropolis. It's been three years and fifty-five days since I've heard another human voice, and I just can't take it anymore. There has to be someone else with a stuffy nose but a beating heart, and I've got to find them. Tomorrow, I'll wake up and leave, at that time just before sunrise.