It takes only a few moments of glancing around the sunlit bedroom to remember where I am—Falk Eckhart’s apartment and doomsday preparation center. The brightness in the room tells me I’ve slept late into the morning. After a pretty decent meal, Falk had insisted I sleep in the bed, and he had stayed on the couch. I’d passed out almost immediately after crawling under the blankets. I hear the water running in the bathroom and realize that Falk must be taking a shower. I remember how it felt to have him hold me, and I’m more than a little embarrassed by my reaction to the circumstances I have found myself in. Then again, I don’t suppose there is a handbook to follow when the city has been flattened and virtually everyone has been killed. I shiver as I untangle myself from the blankets and drop my feet to the floor. I’m wearing the underwear Falk bought in the hotel shop along with the thin, white T-shirt supplied by the airline. I change into the Atlanta-themed sweatshirt and pull my skirt back on.
