It's like this.

We believe we are in control of our lives. From marital status to jobs to lifestyle, we think we're the boss, and even though deep down inside we know in our hearts that life is really just a random series of events where anything can happen, we still cling to this belief that we are at the helm, able to steer our lives in the direction of our choosing.

Therein lies life's comfort zone, the false belief that we are in control. When this belief is shattered, we stumble and fall, like a drunk in a darkened unfamiliar room.

Three days ago I was standing in the supermarket check-out aisle thinking about my wife, Catherine. I'd been stumbling in that darkened room lately, and Cath was the reason why.

"This isn't the life I want, Dylan," she had said out of nowhere. "I can't keep doing the same thing over and over. I want something more. I'm no longer in love with you. I'm leaving."

Wow.

And as quickly as she had said it, she had done it, without shedding a tear. She moved out of the house to an apartment, leaving me and our two sons, Sean and Anthony.

Sean's 8 and in the third grade, and Anthony is 4 and in preschool. People, especially men, look at me funny when they hear I'm still a stay at home dad even though the boys are in school. My only answer is, unless you've stayed at home with your children, you don't realize how much kids really need a parent at home, and it's because the little critters demand so much energy, mentally, emotionally, and physically, there has to be someone at home who's full time job it is to meet their needs.

It was nice to have had this luxury, but now, it's welcome to the real world! I keep hoping Cath will come to her senses and return home before I find a job.

Yes, I want Cath back, because I still love her, in spite of her leaving, in spite of the fact that she hurt Sean and Anthony in a way that just wasn't fair for an 8 year-old and a 4 year-old. The day I had to witness their crushed faces as she told them she was leaving, that she didn't want to live with daddy anymore, was a day my emotions reached depths of darkness I didn't know existed.

As a man, I had never cried. The night Catherine left, the night I had seen my children scream and shriek as she drove away, I cried--- until my eyes had swelled up to the point where I looked like Rocky Balboa.

So there I was in the check-out line thinking pretty much these same thoughts when a bright flash of light shot through the supermarket windows, so bright it caused a collective gasp from the multitude of shoppers.

"Was that lightning?" someone said.

I looked towards the huge glass storefront windows, looking through both the glass and the thin paper signs advertising this week's sales which were taped to the windows. I saw three more flashes in quick succession, none of which were as bright as the first.

"What the hell?" said a large man standing behind me holding a gallon of milk in each hand.

People started moving around, nervously, migrating towards the front of the store. All of a sudden there was lots of chatter, and I could hear in their tone fear, the way people sound after they've just witnessed a car accident. At the same time, the distant rumblings of what sounded like thunder could be heard from outside.

"It can't be thunder," said a man who had apparently only entered the store moments before. "There's not a cloud in the sky!"

"Only in New England," someone else said.

The rumbling grew louder, like a jet plane flying low overhead. The floor beneath my feet began to vibrate, and as I looked around, I could see the food items on the shelves trembling. I thought "earthquake." The experts had been predicting for years that New England was due for a big one.

The rumbling had become a deafening roar, and many people covered their ears.

Those standing by the windows looked up searchingly.

"What do you see out there?" the man with the milk jugs asked.

"It's like a strobe light," said the store manager, having to raise his voice to be heard. He had quickly scurried to the front of his store. He, like everyone else who was by the windows looking up at the sky, held his arms in front of his face, using his hands to shield his eyes. At that point my thoughts went from "earthquake" to "nuclear explosion."

The entire building shook. In the aisle directly behind me, cereal boxes fell from the shelves in an avalanche of colorful cardboard. People started screaming. I saw six or seven frightened shoppers running towards the exit.

Then, a series of violent flashes riddled the outside, and I swear it looked like we were being fired upon. The entire supermarket was engulfed with such a collective gasp I almost fell over. The crowd by the front windows went down, some dropping into crouches while others fell to their hands and knees they were so scared. I covered my eyes with my arm.

Then quiet.

I unshielded my eyes to see the store manager and the others around him slowly returning to their feet. Outside the storefront window, it grew dim, as if a large cloud had passed in front of the sun. This cloudy day sensation lasted but a few seconds before everything out there went pitch black.

It was 2:00 in the afternoon.

"There's no eclipse today," said the man behind me, his voice as dark as the outside.

He had fallen on his butt yet still clung to the two plastic gallons of milk. I offered him my hand, but he shook me off and stood on his own.

"I'm okay," he said.

Slowly, as if in a daze, people began to congregate at the store's exit. Leaving my cart of groceries, that's where I headed as well.

The automatic door swung open, and a young couple raced inside. The manager bounded in front of the crowd.

"What happened out there?" he asked them.

"It was horrible!" the woman cried. She and the man were dressed identically, both in green tops, tan shorts, and sandals.

"It was like someone set a bomb off in the sky!" the man shrieked.

"Alright, take it easy. Calm down," the manager said, and there was an edge to his voice. He knew that that kind of talk was all people needed to hear to turn this dazed quiet crowd into a stampeding frightened mob.

"Now, what exactly did you see?" the manager asked.

The man and woman answered at the same time, their panicked voices canceling each other out. I couldn't make out anything other than the choice words "flashes" and "explosions." Again, that was all people needed to hear.

I felt a sharp pain in my back. A heavyset man with curly hair and glasses, and smelling of b.o., shoved me in the back as he tore his way towards the exit, and I nearly fell over.

"Why don't you watch where the hell you're going!" The man with the milk jugs yelled on my behalf. "You okay?" he asked me.

"Yeah, thanks."

A bunch of people had the same idea as the heavyset man, and they started pushing their way towards the door. A thin woman who looked to be in her 60s was knocked to the ground.

"Hey! Take it easy!" the manager shouted as he moved to assist the fallen woman. "People are going to get hurt!"

"Shut up and let us leave the store!" someone shouted.

A loud shrill whistle suddenly pierced our eardrums and more importantly, froze all the fleers in their tracks.

An elderly man wearing a Red Sox cap and standing by the exit removed his fingers from his mouth and smiled.

"That's better," he said. "Listen up. I was out there in the parking lot. I saw the whole thing."

He spoke with a detached calmness that was completely New England.

"What did you see?" my milk jug friend asked.

"One minute the sun was shining, the next there was this flash right where the sun had been, and when I looked up, I saw--- the sun looked like it had tripled in size--- and then there was this deafening roar, like a jet plane, and a bunch of smaller flashes, and then it was gone."

"What was gone?" the store manager asked.

The old man in the Red Sox cap looked us over carefully, making eye contact with as many of us as possible, as if sizing us up, trying to gage whether or not we were ready for whatever it was he had to say.

"The sun was gone," he said. "The sun is gone."

"What do you mean, the sun's gone?" someone asked.

"I mean it's not there anymore. Look for yourselves. It's the middle of the day but it's as dark as night."

You could feel the clamor beginning, as if there was going to be this huge collective cry followed by a mad stampede through the exit.

The manager stepped into harm's way, right in front of the exit.

"Alright, listen! You all want to get out of here, I know! That's fine, but could you walk out, please? If not, someone's going to get crushed. So use some common sense, okay? Walk- out- the door! Okay?"

He stepped aside. I looked at the man with the milk jugs.

"You got a family?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Me, too. Let's get the hell out of here."

I can't speak for the entire crowd, but by the time my milk jug pal and I had made it through, no one had experienced anything worse than a mild push.

# # #

Speeding back to Barlow Village in the family minivan, I had the radio on.

"We're trying to get word from the White House to learn just when they'll be making a statement, but it's extremely difficult at this point since these events have only just happened---. ---There was one big flash followed by a bunch of smaller flashes---. ---Witnesses have called ABC News from all across the country. This is something that is affecting the entire nation, and as we are beginning to learn from the various reports coming in, the whole world as well."

As I pulled into our driveway, it was just before 3:00 on this July afternoon. It was as dark as midnight. The lights were on inside the house, and I was glad to see the power hadn't gone out.

Sean and Anthony were at home with our 16 year-old babysitter Lara. She needed extra money for the summer, and so a couple of days a week she'd come over to watch the kids while I went food shopping, ran errands, visited the dentist, what have you.

I noticed the temperature had dropped as soon as I had stepped from the van. It couldn't have been warmer than 60 degrees Fahrenheit.

The front screen door swung open, and little Anthony came tearing down the porch stairs. His arms outstretched for balance, he looked like a duck getting ready to fly.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

"Dad!" called my oldest son Sean. He leapt over the porch steps and quickly passed his brother, reaching me first. "We were outside playing, and there was this big flash!" Sean opened his arms to indicate the enormity of the flash.

"Yeah, a big flash!" Anthony added, copying the same gesture his older brother had just made.

"We looked up, and it was like it was all crazy up there!" Sean exclaimed.

"Yeah, all crazy!" Anthony said.

"What do you mean, crazy? What did you see?" I asked, still craving to know what had happened.

"Well, it looked like fireworks only without the colors. It looked like the sun blew up," Sean said. "But that's impossible, isn't it, dad?"

"Yeah," I said right way, though of course I didn't know.

"Are we going to die?" Sean asked suddenly.

"Why do you ask that?"

"Because if the sun did blow up, and it's gone now, we can't live, right? We can't live without sunlight, right?"

"I don't want to die!" Anthony said nervously.

"No one's going to die," I assured. As a child, I hated being lied to more than anything else, so as a parent, I made a point to tell the truth to my children. Always. "But you're right, Sean. We can't live without the sun."

Sean looked like he was about to cry. I quickly added, "But we don't know yet if the sun is really gone, now do we?"

"But I saw---."

"We don't know what you saw. Let's just wait and find out. Anyway, I'm home now. Let's get inside. It's cold out here."

As we walked onto the porch, Sean informed me that Lara had been trying to call her mom but the phone wasn't working.

Lara opened the front door and let us inside.

"Thanks, Lara. Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Sean tells me you've been trying to call your mom?"

"Yeah." Her voice was barely audible. I could tell she was nervous as hell.

"No luck?"

She shook her head.

I walked towards the phone, picked up the cordless and punched "on." Nothing. No sound whatsoever.

"The phone's not working?" Sean asked, again, looking as if he were about to cry.

"No," I said calmly, and I placed the cordless back in its base.

"I miss mommy," Anthony whined. "Is mommy coming home?"

"Boy, isn't that the million dollar question!" I thought. I knelt down to be at eye level with Anthony.

"Mommy's at work at the hospital," I said. "I bet there's lots of accidents today. Mommy's going to be busy for a while."

"What about later? Will she come home later?" Sean asked.

I could taste the bitterness in my mouth like a spoonful of cough medicine.

"I don't know," I said, because I didn't.

"I want mommy," Anthony whined louder.

"I know you do," I said softly. "We'll get together with mommy soon."

"When?" the little guy pressed.

"I don't know. I think we need to bring Lara home, first, and then we can think about getting together with mommy."

"Oh!" Anthony whined yet again. "I want Lara to stay!"

"Me, too!" Sean joined in. "Can't you stay?"

The girl smiled. The boys adored her, and she knew it.

"I think on a day like today, Lara should be with her family," I said.

"We're family!" Sean said.

"Well, we're like family," I clarified, though I didn't know why. Sean was just being difficult on purpose. I turned to Lara. "Do you think your mom's home?"

"Yeah," she said

Just then we heard barking from the back yard. It was our dog, Scout.

"Excuse me," I said. I walked across the house to the back door. "Come on in, Scout."

I opened the door, and in jumped our family pooch, a 50 pound very energetic Dalmatian named Scout. He leapt up at me and licked my face.

"Good to see you, too!" I said, helping him back down on all fours and petting his back.

Scout was 9 going on 4. He still possessed tremendous vitality for an older dog. It had been Cath's idea way back when to get a dog. Cath had always been a "dog person," and before we were married she was always the one to bond with other people's dogs, but she never quite caught on with Scout. For some reason he bonded more with me.

I remembered something Cath had said just before she left. "I don't like the way I am with you."

Were Cath and I wrong for each from the start? Even back during the days when we thought things were right? As proven by the fact that while at home living with me she couldn't even feel comfortable enough to bond with our dog?

I was suddenly overcome by a powerful sense of dread, and it had nothing to do with our missing sun.

With Scout right behind me, wagging his tail excitedly, I returned to the living room and noticed the TV remote on the floor. Anthony was always leaving it there. He liked to sprawl out on the floor in front of the TV and hold onto the remote. I grabbed it, saying, "Before we go, let's see what's going on out there."

We were greeted by the image of a darkened city, New York as it turned out. It looked as if it were in the middle of the night. Buildings were lit, as were the headlights of the bumper to bumper cars which slowly crawled along the busy street.

Then came the voice-over of the veteran newscaster.

"What you're seeing now is our camera outside the studio. Darkness has fallen all over the land on this afternoon of July 13. Reports coming in tell us that this is happening all over the world, that the entire world is shrouded in darkness. Difficult to believe but apparently true. The temperature has also begun to drop dramatically, approaching freezing in some parts of the country. Still no word yet from the White House---."

There was more, but all of it speculation.

"Enough of this," I muttered in disappointment. I wanted answers. "Let's bring Lara home."

Scout barked.

"Yeah, you can come, too," I told him.

# # #

Lara lived about 5 miles from our house, on the other side of Barlow Village, the quaint little New Hampshire town in which we lived.

It was normally a 10 minute drive. However, the weather had become nasty, and it took us much longer.

Storm strength winds blew the trees nearly horizontal. Hail pelted the windshield in a tremendous deluge, reducing visibility to nil, even with the wipers at full blast.

When we pulled into her driveway, her house was dark.

I looked over my shoulder at the boys. "I'm going in with Lara. You guys stay here."

"Can we come in, too?" they both asked.

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Please???"

"We don't want to be alone!" Sean added.

I couldn't blame them. In events such as this one, people just aren't meant to be alone.

"Alright, then," I said, as Scout barked. "Sorry, but I draw the line with you. Stay! We'll be right back."

We ran from the minivan to Lara's house as hail the size of rabbit pellets pelted our heads. Lara opened the screen door, and we all piled into the house, our hair and clothes covered with an icy coat of hail that clung to us the way snow clings to a tree during a spring snowstorm. Sean and Anthony looked at their bodies.

"We look like robots," Anthony giggled.

Lara called for her mom. There wasn't an answer.

She flicked on the lights, and we made a quick check of the house. No one was home.

"This is unexpected," I said.

"She wasn't planning on being gone long, or she would have left a note," Lara said.

Why didn't I think of that? -A note back at our house letting Lara's mom know where we were in case she was there right now looking for Lara.

"Maybe she took your brothers somewhere?" I suggested.

"Maybe."

"And your dad's at work?" I asked.

She nodded.

A gust of wind rattled the windows.

Lara jumped. She looked terribly afraid.

This wasn't a time to be alone.

"We'll stay with you for a while, if you'd like," I said.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Sure. You guys want stay here with Lara until her mom comes back?"

They cheered.

"Well, that settles that," I said.

So we waited, but the longer we waited without anyone returning home, the more I thought of Cath, and I kept kicking myself for not having left a note. Cath could have been at our house right then, and she wouldn't have had any idea where we were. Of course, I didn't really believe Cath was home. Common sense told me she was busy at work in the ER. Yet, emotions disintegrate common sense like acid.

"Lara, we need to get back to our house just in case Cath comes back home," I said. "Why don't you come with us?"

She shook her head. "No. I should be here."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, but she looked far from convincing.

"You could leave your parents a note. They'd know you're safe," I pressed the issue. It was clear the girl was terribly frightened.

Sean and Anthony chimed in. "Please? Won't you stay with us?"

"You don't mind?" Lara asked.

"Mind? On a day like today, the more company the better," I smiled.

Lara found a pad and pencil by the telephone and scribbled a note to her parents. She left it on the kitchen table.

Opening the screen door to leave the house, we stopped short. The hail had changed to snow.

# # #

The ride back to our house from Lara's was even slower than before, not only because of the blizzard like conditions, but because there was now bumper to bumper traffic on the road, which was unheard of around here. Barlow Village was an extremely small town. Traffic here didn't exist. Yet, today the road was full, a genuine caravan of cars, minivans, pick-up trucks, SUVs, and tractor trailers. It looked like a mass exodus from one of those 1950s giant monster movies.

"Where is everyone going?" Sean asked.

"Either home, or they're leaving," I answered.

"Why would they be leaving?" Sean asked again.

I'd been asking myself the same question, and I didn't like the answer.

House after house, we saw nothing but darkness. People were leaving.

We pulled into our driveway. I had held the faintest hope that I'd see Cath's Volvo in the driveway. I didn't, and the arteries around my heart tightened.

We quickly ran through the pouring snow to the dry confines of the screened in porch.

Entering the house, the kids stumbled on ahead of Lara and me, with Scout dutifully bringing up the rear, and Anthony bellowed his usual, "Home, sweet home!"

"He's not really aware of what's going on. Good," I thought, but I knew better than to think the same of Sean. He was 8, and he was very aware of what was going on. I could see it in his eyes, the raw fear.

Yet, like children the world over, Sean possessed the amazing ability to roll with the punches and cope with just about anything, anything that is, but a parental breakup. He had not handled that well at all, and to my surprise, his whole attitude towards me had changed. He had grown much colder, as if he blamed me for driving Cath away, which, to an extent, was true. I was the reason Cath left.

I closed the door behind us and flicked on the light switch. The light didn't go on.

"Uh oh," I said.

"What?" Sean asked nervously.

"I think the power's out." I tried a lamp. Same result.

The boys were suddenly running around trying all the lights they could touch.

"Yep! The power's out!" they both announced.

"Daddy, I'm cold!" Anthony whined.

"That's because you left all the windows open!" Sean said to me, and I knew from the tone of his voice that he wanted to add the word "idiot." Attitude again.

This whole Sean thing had caught me off guard, especially since he and I had always been extremely close. Like any parent, I would honestly say that I loved both my children the same, yet I can't deny the special bond that has always existed between myself and my first born son. Some unspoken connection, some spark, that brings us together in a way that I can't explain nor completely understand other than to know it's there.

I had had this experience once before, with my paternal grandfather. We too shared an unspoken connection that seemed to make us soul mates for life, and if dear old grampa can be believed, after death as well. During the last years of his life when he was really ill, he had been fond of saying to me, "We'll be together again. Just like old times. You and I, running around a baseball field."

Soul mates. Not with my parents. Not even with Cath. I'd only felt this bond with grampa. Until Sean came along. And then it was there again.

I knew it to be real because it wasn't something I sought. It just was.

So when he turned on me, not only didn't I expect it, but it hurt all the worse.

"Well, it is July!" I barked in response. "And it was 80 degrees this morning! Give me a break!"

Sean swallowed. Hurt.

I began closing the windows, and as Lara and the boys helped, we soon had the house sealed shut. Yet it was still damned cold inside, and it didn't help that we were wearing shorts and t-shirts.

I checked the thermostat. The inside temperature had already dropped to its lowest point, 40 degrees. It felt even colder, which it probably was. The thermostat didn't record temperatures lower than 40, and with the power out, the furnace wouldn't be turning on any time soon.

Our winter clothes were stacked away in boxes in the basement, with the exception of our winter coats, which hung in the front closet.

"Guys, you'd better put these on," I said, entering the living room with a stack of coats over my arm.

"Winter coats in the summer?" Sean asked.

"That's silly!" Anthony laughed.

"I wish it were," I thought, as I handed Lara one of Cath's coats.

We sat in the dim living room, lit by the flickering light of the one candle we kept on hand in case of blackouts, all bundled up in our coats, talking occasionally but mostly sitting in silence. The snow continued to fall outside, and the howling winds shook the windows with a ferocity usually seen only in the worst winter storms.

I craved news. I wanted to know what had happened, and what was being done about it, but without power, our television was useless.

"How about the radio?" Sean asked.

"No batteries," I said.

"The van's got a radio," Sean said. "And heat!"

He was right on both counts, the smart aleck. Actually, I appreciated his smarts.

"You guys want to go into the van for a bit? Warm up. Hear some news?" I said.

The answer was a big "yes." Even Scout barked and wagged his tail.

Once again, we paraded out the front door onto the porch and into the snow covered yard. Several inches of the white stuff had fallen onto the ground, and our sneakers, out of their league, provided our feet with very little protection from the wintry elements. In short, as we made our way to the driveway, our feet were wet and cold.

I was just about to open the side door to the van to let the kids inside when a deafening boom exploded in the sky above our heads. It was the kind of sound that brings grown men to their knees. Anthony shrieked and fell flat on his back into the snow as if someone had knocked him off his feet, a comical sight if not for the circumstances. I looked up into the sky, not sure what I expected to see. Fire, perhaps? Scout yelped and then howled. I didn't see anything in the sky. I turned towards Anthony, but Lara was already helping him up.

Then Sean cried out, "Look!"

I followed my son's pointing finger to see way off in the distance what looked to be monstrous flashes of light, red flashes, igniting the entire sky, looking like something out of War of the Worlds.

"In the van!" I shouted, and I rushed everyone inside. I followed right behind and slid the side door shut. As Lara buckled up the boys, and Scout hopped into the rear seat, I inserted myself behind the wheel, started her up, blasted the heat, and turned on the radio.

Anthony was crying. I looked back to see Lara removing him from his car seat and carrying him with her to the farthest seat in the back. As she sat Anthony on her lap, she rocked him gently in order to soothe him.

Seeing that the front passenger seat was unoccupied, Scout jumped down from his position next to Lara and Anthony, and squeezing his way by Lara's legs, scurried to the front seat where he joined me by my side, his front paws up on the dash, and his tail wagging behind.

"I don't want to die!" Sean cried, his voice full of panic.

"You're not going to die!" I said, and I quickly turned up the volume on the radio.

"---that was the President just moments ago from the White House saying that as of right now, no evidence exists that this is a terrorist act. He also made it clear that they just don't know. The belief out there right now, at least from the few scientists we've heard from, is that the sun is gone. I'll say that again because the very notion is--- well, how else can I say it? It's far-fetched and unbelievable, but they're saying it's true. The sun is gone."

My breathing grew erratic. I could feel the pressure mounting around my chest.

"What do they mean the sun is gone?" Sean cried. "That's impossible! The sun can't be gone! We can't live without the sun!"

"Alright, Sean, take it easy! They don't know! Okay?" I barked. "They don't really know. They're just guessing!"

I changed the station. I wanted local news. I wanted to know what the hell was going on in the sky all around us. I stopped when I heard the panicked voice of a newscaster.

"Authorities are urging people to stay in their homes and take shelter in their basements. Heavy meteor showers are now being reported over the skies all across the United States. Extensive damage has been reported, especially in the Seattle, Washington area, and more recently, in northern New England. The states of Maine, New Hampshire, and Vermont have all reported heavy meteorite activity."

Another bright flash lit up the sky.

"Are those the meteorites?" Sean asked.

"---authorities are urging people not to panic, to seek shelter in their basements or in the many public shelters being set up in cities and towns across the country. We are told that huge multitudes of people are taking to the nation's highways, and that this is causing a very dangerous situation. So please, if you can, stay home---."

Stay home?

That was the last thing I wanted to do.

Those red flashes in the sky were coming from the east. From Concord. Where Cath was working.

If only she'd come around the corner in her Volvo and pull into the driveway, I found myself thinking. That would solve everything. That would make everything right. We could retreat to the cellar as a family and hide out together. We'd be able to focus our energies on the disaster at hand.

Focus. That was something I was having trouble with. In the van with my children and Lara, I was only partially there. The other part was with Cath.

"Come home, Cath," I whispered, as if willing her to return.

"She's not coming home!" my conscience groaned. "Get over it! Get over her!"

"How can I get over her? She's still my wife! We're not divorced yet! I still love her. In spite of everything, I still love her!"

I looked at the gas gauge. Three quarters full. Plenty of gas for a trip to Concord.

"Guys? I'm not sure what to do, but I think I want to go to the hospital and find mommy," I said, my voice tentative, my emotions confused. "And I think I should go alone."

"No! No, dad! Please!" Sean yelled in a voice full of horror, as if the notion of separating from another parent would strike him down dead on the spot.

"Driving right now is dangerous!" I argued.
"Then don't go! Let's go down to the cellar! That's what the man on the radio said to do!" Sean said.

"But what about mom?" I asked, and it was a rhetorical question, because I was thinking these things out as I was speaking.

"I want to get mommy! Let's go get mommy!" Anthony cried from the back seat.

"It's too dangerous! We can't go!" Sean shouted at his brother.

Life is full of bad decisions, and I guess this is part of what makes us human. So often we can see the writing on the wall in huge letters in red ink, "DON'T DO THAT!" yet we do it anyway.

I knew I'd be putting my children and Lara in jeopardy, but the fact of the matter was, I had to find Cath, and I wasn't about to separate myself from my children. So, common sense be damned!

I turned half way to look at Sean, Lara, and Anthony.

"I want to find mom," I said. "We'll go together. Lara, I'll take you home first."

She squeezed Anthony tightly and shook her head.

"No," she said. "I'll go with you"

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

People aren't meant to be alone.

"Alright, let's do it then," I said.

I backed the van onto the road which was already thick with snow- the snow plows hadn't mobilized yet, and on a day like today, who's to say they even would? Traffic had dissipated somewhat. There was now only an occasional car on the road, and most of them were slipping, sliding, or worse yet, stuck. I hadn't even driven a quarter mile and I was already second-guessing myself.

"How can you do this to your children? Put them in danger like this? You coward! Just because you can't bear to be without your wife, the same woman who walked out on you! You pathetic excuse for a man!" My conscience was without mercy.

We merged onto Interstate 89 for the drive to Concord. This was a stretch of highway I usually raced along at 75 miles per hour, but at this moment I was lucky to be doing 20. The windshield wipers were at full blast, but I still couldn't see a thing. That's how fast the snow was falling. There was a car in front of us, so I focused on its red rear lights and nothing else.

Flashes were lighting up the sky all over the place, and even inside the sealed van, we could hear the thunderous booms.

About three miles outside Concord, the red rear lights of the car in front of us brightened. Brake lights. The car was stopping. Up ahead through the whiteout conditions I could barely make out the wild flashing of blue police lights.

"Why are we stopping?" Anthony asked from way in the back.

"The police are in the road. Might be an accident," I answered. I noticed movement in the road ahead. Cars seemed to be turning around. "Uh oh."

"What?" Sean asked.

"I think they're making us turn around."

I watched as the car in front of us, a green station wagon it looked like, began the process of a three point turn. Suddenly, as if out of thin air, a tall state trooper dressed in a thick parka emerged from the white background and approached my window, which I quickly rolled down. Scout offered a low growl as the officer stepped towards the van.

"Quiet, Scout," I muttered.

"You need to turn around, sir," the officer said.

"We're on our way to Concord," I tried to say, but the officer cut me short.

"The city's closed. You've got to turn around."

"But my wife---," I pointed over my shoulder. "Their mom---."

"The city is closed. Now turn around. Immediately, sir. Let's go!" he shouted.

"No, you don't understand. My wife is in the city. I need---."

He leaned his head deep into my window, into my personal space. "Listen to me. What you need is to get your kids out of here! Do you hear what I'm saying? It's a state of emergency! The city is gone, and in a few minutes, this whole area is going to be engulfed in flame. Turn around, and get the hell out of here! Now move!"

He slapped at my door as he moved on to the next car behind us. I was shaking.

"What does he mean the city is gone?" Sean asked. "Is mommy alright? Are we going to see mommy?"

I didn't answer. I was too busy trembling. At that moment I stopped thinking and switched to "automatic pilot" mode. I began turning the van around, which was no easy task in the storm, especially the drive over the median to get to the northbound lane. Once I had turned around, I drove out of there as quickly as I could, which, with all the snow both on the ground and still falling, wasn't very fast at all.

I had driven maybe two miles when Sean screamed out, "Daddy, watch out!"

I looked up. A flaming ball of fire, huge, the size of a house, passed right over us from right to left and landed in the woods across the highway, setting off what sounded like a sonic boom and igniting the whole area in a fiery inferno. Anthony shrieked liked he was being dismembered, and Scout began an incessant howl.

As more balls of fire fell, landing all around us, I tried desperately to get us out of there, but the thick snow clung to the van's tires, and moving fast just wasn't an option.

"Come on, come on!" I muttered. "Just get us back home."

While in the air, the meteorites rumbled, like thunder. Right off the bat, the newest rumble differed. Not only was it much louder, but it possessed the added element of a whistle. It didn't take me long to place the sound, and by then, I was ready to shriek myself.

I looked up as far into the front windshield as I could.

"Oh no," I moaned. "I can't see it. I don't know where it is!"

"Can't see what?" Sean screeched.

The rumbling was now a full blown roar, so menacingly loud the entire van shook and rattled. Scout jumped down and hid underneath the dashboard, his tail between his legs. Anthony was crying outright, and checking the rear view mirror, I saw Lara's face full of tears as well.

"What is it??" Sean hollered.

I clenched my fists tightly to the steering wheel, gritted my teeth and ducked my head low, applying my foot to the brake. I was too shaken up to drive, and then it passed directly overhead.

A passenger jet, humongous, probably a 767, a mother of a plane, flying so low I knew it was going to crash.

"Sweet mother of Jesus!" I cried.

I slammed my foot on the brake and brought us to a complete stop. The enormous aircraft was about to belly flop directly in front of us.

"It's going to crash!" I screamed. "Close your eyes!"

Lara covered Anthony's and shut her own, while Sean turned his head but couldn't avert his eyes. Like son, like father. I felt like the ultimate reality TV fiend, horrified yet glued to the screen. Why do horror and the disasters which befall humanity fascinate us so much?

The plane went down, several hundred yards ahead of us, into the forest beyond the curving highway. I grimaced and clenched my teeth, as I watched the airliner plunge to the earth.

There was a flash, and then the whole thing went up. Three explosions in quick succession, loud and horrifying, and we all screamed. These three explosions converged into one gigantic fireball that climbed into the sky like a towering skyscraper.

Another meteorite fell, real close, to our left, shaking the hell out of the earth.

I thought we were going to die, but I told myself, "We're less than a mile from the Barlow Village exit. We're almost home!"

Trembling, I pressed my foot to the gas pedal and inched our van forward, through the snow, past the fires, by the meteorite hits, until we reached the exit.

I guided the van onto the off ramp and headed into town.

# # #

We got as far as the Town Hall when the road became too thick with snow to be passable. We had to stop.

I pulled up behind a line of cars which had been left in front of the Hall. I hoped that perhaps the town had set up a shelter inside.

I ushered everyone out of the van and led them towards the Hall. I didn't have a leash for Scout, but he made like my shadow and followed me closely all the way into the building, and no one said anything about his presence.

Once inside, we were immediately directed to the staircase which led down to the underground bunker, originally designed as a bomb shelter during the cold war.

The room was crowded with residents of Barlow Village, and I tell you honestly, never have I been so happy to see so many familiar faces. Among them, I saw Pam Dooley, huddled with her two children Mark and Melissa, playmates of Sean and Anthony, and we headed in their direction. Her husband Jim wasn't with them.

"He's in Europe," Pam said. "We tried to call him and actually got through, but the phones went out."

"I'm sorry," I said. Pam looked so sad. I asked if she had seen Cath, but she hadn't, and that was the extent of our conversation, as we were too exhausted and scared to say much of anything else.

The room was full of people, yet it was quiet, with just hushed murmurings here and there. We sounded like a church gathering before the service, until Morgan Belieau, the town manager, called for everyone's attention. They had set up a podium, and although there was no microphone, Morgan, a gifted public speaker, projected his voice sufficiently so that even those of us in the back could still hear what he had to say.

"The good news is the meteor showers seem to be over. The bad news is the weather. The conditions outside remain life threatening. The temperature has dropped well below zero, and the snow drifts are covering the cars. We strongly advise everyone who's here to remain here, for your own safety. We have plenty of food stored down here, and bottled water."

"How long?" someone asked. "How long can we stay down here? How much supplies do we have?"

"What about fresh air?" someone else asked.

Morgan nodded affirmatively and moved his arms in a downward motion, his body language definitely implying "it's OK. Keep calm."

"We have enough food to accommodate a crowd this size for a month, and believe me, if we're here that long, we will have come up with an alternative plan by then, I guarantee you. As far as fresh air is concerned, there is a vent system in place, and it is operating. It's powered by the same generator which is giving us our light and our heat.

"If any one of you at any time wants to leave," Morgan continued, "that's your call, and no one here will stop you, but we strongly recommend you stay."

I immediately thought of Cath, separated from those who loved her most. I had failed to find her. I looked into Sean's nervous eyes, and it was almost as if he were reading my mind. For a moment, I wanted to go out there and try again, but looking into my son's eyes, I knew I couldn't. I couldn't take them into harm's way again, nor could I leave them to search for Cath alone.

Some time later, Cliff Rogers, the head postal clerk in town and other than Morgan Belieau the most visible public leader and closest thing to a mayor Barlow Village had, came up behind me and placed his hand on my shoulder. He said softly, "We've made an executive decision. The pets can't stay."

I could feel my face contorting into a scowl that would have made Clint Eastwood proud.

"Who made an executive decision?" I asked.

"Morgan, myself, and the other civic leaders who are here. We all love pets, but there's a limited amount of food and water. Only enough for the people."

I'd never liked Cliff Rogers much. There was something so very cold about him. With his neatly trimmed yet thick mustache and goatee, and his serious demeanor, he came across more like a high school principal than a postal clerk. Even the way he sold you stamps made you feel you were under his watchful eye, or at least he made me feel that way. Yet he was one of the most popular men in town. "He does so much for the village" was a popular refrain you heard when someone was talking about Cliff Rogers, and it was true. There wasn't a project in town that Cliff didn't become involved with, from fighting to keep truck traffic through the village to a minimum to rolling up his sleeves to build the new children's playground. The man was ubiquitous.

He was still a cold fish with me though. I always got the feeling he looked down upon me because I didn't have a "real" job, but then again, I guess I'm hypersensitive about that. Anyway, he was rubbing me the wrong way once again.

"It's the kids' dog," I lied.

Cliff glanced down at Scout and then over at Anthony, who was sitting on Lara's lap, and then at Sean who was standing with Mark and Melissa, before looking back at me.

"I'm sorry. They'll understand."

"That's easy for you to say, you cold-hearted bastard! You don't have to tell them!" I thought.

"Would you like me to do it?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"You need to put him down. It's the humane thing to do."

I looked at him with what I'm sure was a horrified expression on my face. "You mean kill him?" I asked, careful to keep my voice down.

"He'll freeze to death out there. That's a lousy way to go. A painful way to go."

Damn Rogers for being right!

But Scout was a member of our family. We loved him. I loved him. I couldn't.

I have a knack for making the wrong decisions, and it's because I'm a very emotional person, and my emotions often dominate my thinking processes as well as my actions. I often know something "should" be done, but I decide against it because my heart says otherwise. It's cliché, but I've been told I have a very feminine way of thinking. I guess it's that stay at home dad thing again.

There was no way that I or anyone else was going to shoot Scout. The dog deserved the chance to fight for his survival. This was my heart talking. My head was telling me the dog would die a gruesome, painful death out there in the cold, and he would definitely suffer.

What kind of a man did that make me, that I would let my dog suffer? A coward. My conscience talking again, and it added, "Another reason your wife left you. You're a slave to your emotions. You wouldn't know a good decision if it kicked you in the ass!"
It's a problem I never used to have. Staying home with my kids simply made me a more emotional person than I used to be, and it's because children are like crossword puzzles, except instead of exercising the mind, they exercise the emotions. On the one hand, they elicit pure joy by doing the sweet funny things kids do, and on the other, as extremely irrational beings, they plain and simply put their parents through emotional hell. Hang around kids, you sweat emotion.

"No," I said, staring emptily into space before turning to Rogers. "I'll do it."

He nodded contemplatively. "Sooner than later. We want to finish the purge as soon as possible."

Before I could say "screw you!" he pumped my hand with a firm handshake and said, "See me if you need anything," and he was on his way, making his rounds through the crowd.

I was trembling. I didn't want to explain Scout's fate to Sean or Anthony, nor did I want to do what I was going to have to do. I should have let Rogers do it.

Wrong decision #9,342.

I called Sean over. Anthony's eyes naturally followed his brother towards me.

"Guys," I said weakly. "Scout can't stay here with us. This place is just for people not for pets. I've got to take him outside."

"He'll die outside," Sean said.

I was too exhausted to be creative. "We don't have a choice."

"I don't want Scout to die!" Anthony cried.

"I don't want him to die either!" I said, with an unfortunate edge in my voice. "I've got to take him now."

"I want to go with you," Sean said.

"Me, too!" Anthony cried.

And now for wrong decision #9,343.

"Okay."

Scout was sitting by my feet, looking directly up at me. As he so often did, he looked at me with an expression that made me think he had understood every word of which had just been spoken. His eyes were so sad.

"Come on, Scout," I said, feeling terrible, and the four of us walked to the staircase which ascended to ground level.

Once inside the spacious main room of the town hall, we saw Morgan Belieau standing by the front door next to a couple of other men, all of whom were wrapped in thick winter coats and hats. The wind was howling, and the hall full of drafts.

"My boys just want to say good-bye to the family dog," I said to Morgan once we had reached him.

He nodded. "Okay. Once we open the door, don't be out there for more than a minute." He looked at me expectantly, and I knew what he was looking for.

"We don't believe in guns in our family," I said.

He looked at me the way I would expect a doctor to look at a Christian Scientist. Unlike Cliff Rogers, Morgan Belieau, with his warm smile, soft eyes and smooth silver hair, was very much the grandfatherly type. He had a way of making people feel good about themselves all the time, and when he disagreed with you, he let you know without cutting you down. "It's your dog, and you know what's best for him. Let me know when you want us to open the door."

He motioned for the two other men to join him across the hall.

"Why did you say we don't believe in guns in our family?" Sean asked.

"Because--- they don't want Scout to suffer."

Sean thought about this for a minute but still didn't get it.

"They want me to shoot Scout so he won't suffer out there in the cold."

Both Sean's and Anthony's eyes went full moon wide, and Anthony dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Scout's neck. "You're not going to shoot Scout!"

"No, I'm not going to shoot him."

"Then he's going to suffer," I heard Sean say, and his voice was as cold as the wind howling outside. We made eye contact, and once again, I could see his disappointment and anger focused upon me.

"I'm not a coward, Sean. I'm an optimist, and I will be an optimist until I die. I believe Scout deserves the chance to survive out there, and I'm giving him that chance."

Sean opened his mouth to comment but evidently changed his mind, because he didn't say anything.

I said, "Alright, let's say good-bye to Scout."

"Bye, Scout," Anthony said, showering his neck with kisses.

Sean crouched to one knee and did the same.

"Okay, dad's turn," I said.

I crouched down and hugged the poor dog. His smooth fur, which even when clean used to smell bad and drive my sensitive nose crazy, smelled so familiar now, like home. I hugged him close and could feel his heart beating.

"I love you, Scout," I whispered. "God how I wish it were true you could understand me. This isn't my choice. I'd keep you with us forever. I don't want to send you out there. You're a good dog."

I stood and told Morgan Belieau we were ready to open the door. He came over, motioned for the boys to step back a bit, and making sure I was ready, opened the door.

A blast of cold air struck our faces, and it took my breath away.

"Bring him out. Quickly!" Belieau urged.

I nudged Scout towards the door, but he wanted no part of the outside, and plunked his butt down on the floor. He wouldn't move. I reached underneath his belly and pushed upwards, and Scout responded, standing on all fours.

"Come on Scout!" I beckoned, but he still wasn't moving.

I wrapped my arms around his body and carried him out the door. The kids started to follow me, and I heard Morgan call them back. I plopped Scout onto the snowy ground, and when he landed, he immediately dropped his tail between his legs. For a moment, he faced the snowy unknown, before turning his head to look back at me. With his ears low and his face wrinkled into a frown, his body language screamed, "Why are you doing this to me?"

I hated myself at that moment. I stood with him for a short time, out there in the blizzard. Snow was swirling everywhere, and it was blindingly white. I couldn't see a thing beyond three feet of me.

"I love you, Scout. You're a good dog!" I said loudly. "Now go home! Go home, Scout! Go home!"

I bent over and kissed him on the top of his head. I turned around and nearly bumped into Morgan, as he was holding the door open for me. I stepped back into the hall and looked over my shoulder one last time. Scout was still standing there, looking at me with that confused depressed look in his eye, and then Morgan Belieau slammed the door shut.

# # #

There were about 300 of us cramped inside the underground bunker, about half the population of Barlow Village. It was windowless, of course, yet the lighting was adequate, even bright, and there was a ventilation system. Air continued to flow throughout the room, and although it wasn't comparable to having the windows open on a balmy summer afternoon, it sufficed.

Belieau assured us again that the generator would not fail, but added that even if it did, we wouldn't freeze to death, since the temperature underground remained constant, around 55 degrees Fahrenheit, I think he said.

There were bathrooms, so basic washing and bathroom needs would be taken care of.

We were all exhausted, yet most of us were talking nonstop, a result of nervous energy, I suppose. Talking and speculating.

About what had happened.

Had the sun actually been struck by terrorists? Had it simply died out long before scientists assumed it would? Was God fed up with the human race?

"You can rule out terrorists," said Jim McIntyre, an elderly man we knew through church, a really nice guy. He always patted the boys on their heads and made a point to ask Sean how the Red Sox were doing. Jim was sitting in our group, which consisted of me, Lara, the boys, Pam Dooley and her kids, Mrs. Carrigan, our neighbor who lived three houses down the street, and a husband and wife who looked to be in their early 30s who I didn't know.

"I was talking to my son on the telephone shortly after this happened. He's an astronomer," Jim said. "I told him I thought it was terrorists, but he said even the most powerful manmade weapon, the hydrogen bomb, wouldn't affect the sun."

"Why not?" the husband asked, looking like he had just sucked on a lemon.

"I'm not sure exactly," Jim answered. "Something about a bomb being the same kind of mechanism by which the sun radiates."

"It'd be like throwing fire on fire," I said.

"Yeah, I guess that's about right," Jim nodded.

"What about an asteroid collision?" the wife asked.

Jim shook his head. "I thought of that too, but Jimmy said no. Said it would have to be huge. Even something the size of Jupiter, he said, wouldn't knock her out. Anything large enough to knock out the sun would most likely destroy the entire solar system at the same time, and since we're still here, that's not the case."

"Maybe it just burnt itself out, then," Sean said.

"Jimmy didn't think so," Jim answered.

"Maybe Jimmy doesn't know what the hell he's talking about!" the husband said. "I still think it's freakin terrorists! Those Arabs are clever bastards!"

I threw a contemptuous glare the husband's way. He looked like the kind of guy who came home from work, cracked open a can of beer, farted, and waited for his wife to cook him dinner without lifting a finger to help her.

She grabbed his arm and nestled close to him. Poor thing, I thought, to be stuck with a guy like that.

Then the irony of my thought smacked me in the face. He's the guy with a wife on his arm!

"What are you looking at?" the husband asked when he noticed I was staring at him.

My favorite response to this question has always been my best friend's from the 6^th grade, Stevie Mullen. He'd say, doing his best George Jefferson impersonation, "I haven't figured out yet!"

I had nothing so clever or dramatic up my sleeve.

"What does it look like? I'm looking at you," I said.

"Well, knock it the hell off, alright?"

"Why? What are you going to do? Ask me to step outside?"

"Don't be a wise ass!" he said continuing to display all his charm.

"Dad," Sean said. I looked at my son, and he said softly, "Stop it, okay."

As much as I wanted to tell this guy off, I knew Sean was right. It wouldn't solve anything, and it would only make matters worse, so I smiled at Sean and stopped talking to Mr. Potato Head.

"I agree with you. Terrorists are very clever," Jim said. "But Jimmy made it quite clear. Nothing here on earth---."

"Screw Jimmy, already! What the hell does he know!" Mr. Potato Head said.

"He's got a Ph.D.," Jim muttered.

"All book smarts is all that is! No common sense!"

I rolled my eyes and looked over at Jim. We exchanged smiles of disbelief.

"Did he say anything about what he thought might have happened?" I asked Jim.

"He did," Jim answered, and Mr. Potato Head groaned, as if to say, "Here it comes!" "He said something about a---- what did he call it now? A magnetic a-nom-a-ly, I think. This a-nom-aly, theoretically, could disturb the way the sun shines. He gave me more details, but it was all over my head. He also mentioned something about interstellar dust, but he said that was unlikely too because it would have to be large, and the scientists of the world would have seen it coming a long time ago."

"Well maybe they weren't looking too carefully!" Potato Head complained.

"Those theories are all fine, Jim," Mrs. Carrigan said, "but the fact remains, the sun isn't shining anymore. Something happened up there, and if your son Jimmy, a scientist, doesn't know what--- well, I just don't like the sound of it."

"Does it really matter what happened?" Pam Dooley asked. "It's over and done with! We have to think about our survival now!" And she hugged her two children.

"Survival?" Potato Head said. "Lady, with the sun gone, we ain't surviving! I don't need no Ph.D. to tell me that!"

Thanks to his lamebrained comment, the children lost all color in their faces. I was ready to say "shut up!" but Jim said calmly, "I don't think the sun is gone." There was a confidence in his voice I found soothing. "I'm reasonably certain if it had been destroyed, we wouldn't be here right now."

"Well, where the hell is it? Playing hide and seek?" the husband asked.

"I don't know," Jim answered. "For some reason, it has stopped shining, but it's still up there, and I believe it will shine again."

No one, not even Potato Head, wanted to add anything more after such an optimistic statement. The conversation ended right there, which is exactly where we wanted it to end, and we sat in a contemplative perhaps even prayerful silence for a long time.

A short time later, someone mentioned that Morgan Belieau and Cliff Rogers had access to a radio. The next time Belieau took to the podium, Jim McIntyre wanted to know what was going on out there.

"What are they saying on the radio?" Jim asked.

"Nothing much," Belieau answered. "Still don't know what happened."

"Is the president alright?" asked Mrs. Carrigan.

"Yes, the president is alright," Belieau said, a statement which caused the folks in the room to erupt in loud burst of hoots and applause. The reaction brought a smile to Belieau's face. "He's in an undisclosed location, but he keeps delivering radio messages every couple of hours or so."

"What's he saying?" Jim asked

"For us not to give up. For us not to lose hope. For us to remember that we're Americans," Belieau said. "He also said something else, something I thought was very poignant. He said we should remember that we're human beings, and that the human race which populates this world is full of brilliant minds and miracle workers, and that with God's help, we will find an answer, and we will survive."

The room erupted in a thunderous cheer.

# # #

The first and second days passed without a hitch, but by day three people were growing stir crazy. Not being able to see the sun, not being able to breathe fresh air, not being able to change one's underwear, by the third day these things were starting to make us testy and uncomfortable.

It was on this day that Morgan Belieau decided to let people back up to the main level once again, to shake things up a bit.

When it was our turn, we bundled ourselves up in our winter coats and trekked over to the staircase. Lara hung close to the boys, and Jim McIntyre came along in our group as well.

McIntyre patted Sean on the head. "Figures something like this would happen this summer, with the Red Sox in first place over the Yankees!"

Before allowing us entry into the main lobby of the town hall, Morgan Belieau warned us to keep away from the windows and the door, and for us not to remove our coats or hats.

"The cold is like nothing you've ever experienced," he said.

When he opened the door to let us inside the hall, the cold that blasted through the doorway was like some kind of pouncing animal, pressing hard against our bodies and nearly ripping the door from its hinges. We were actually forced back several steps, and Anthony lost his balance and fell on his butt.

"Quickly!" Belieau beckoned. "We need to close this door to keep the cold from getting down to the bunker!"

Lara picked Anthony up, and we all trudged into the main room.

"Good God!" McIntyre said, as Belieau closed the door behind us.

It was as if we had walked into a hall full of ghosts. White whispery things flew all around us like spectral apparitions, eerily lit by the numerous battery operated lamps placed at even intervals around the room, but these were no ghosts. Snow and ice, nothing more, blown around the hall in an indoor squall.

The ground and walls were white with icy snow. The windows had all been boarded up. The staircase which led to the second level had also been blocked by nailed boards.

"It's so goddamned cold even with everything boarded up we can't keep the moisture out," Belieau said.

"How cold is it?" I asked.

"It was 50 below yesterday before the thermometer broke," Cliff Rogers said, approaching us from the boarded up front door.

"Any theories yet? What are they saying on the radio?" McIntyre asked.

Neither man answered.

"What is it?" I asked.

Belieau ushered us away from the kids.

"We haven't picked up any broadcasts in the past 12 hours," he said.

Both men looked grim.

"You don't think we're going to make it, do you?" McIntyre asked.

"Do you?" Rogers asked with that cold edge in his voice.

"We have food and water for a month," McIntyre said.

"300 people in one room will never survive a month," Rogers said.

"You're awfully pessimistic," McIntyre said.

"Care to share any reason why I shouldn't be?"

"I believe in God," McIntyre said.

"Don't get me started on God!" Rogers said.

"I didn't know you weren't a religious man, Cliff," McIntyre said.

"I used to be."

"What happened?"

"God never shows up. Ever notice he's always conspicuously absent every time there's a tragedy?" Rogers asked. "Hell, he's always absent! Good times, bad, it doesn't matter. Anyone ever see God? No, and you know why? He's not there!"

"Once you have faith, you understand," McIntyre said calmly.

"Faith? That's code for God doesn't exist so you'd better believe in the idea of him!"

"Gentlemen, this conversation isn't going to help matters," Belieau said in his grandfatherly tone. "We will all be better served by a cautious sense of optimism."

"Amen," McIntyre nodded.

The conversation changed course, with Belieau going on at length about our ample supplies and heat. In the bunker, we were safe from the elements, he said, but that's not what concerned him. He and Rogers were worried about our psychological health, and they conceded that we would need to venture outside at some point, probably sooner than later.

I found myself too preoccupied with my own anxieties to be an active participant in the conversation. As such, I missed most of what they were saying.

Instead, I kept looking at my boys, playing with Lara, and I kept thinking, "I don't want them to die as children. I want them to live, be happy, and enjoy their childhood so they can grow into well-balanced men who will do right by the world."

I heard the words "suicide pills" and focused in on Belieau saying they had them, but they weren't about to use them. Rogers was going on about "dying with dignity."

I wasn't handing my kids suicide pills. I thought of Scout and saw the dreadful image of the dog lying in the snow, the cold so harsh it sliced open slits in the dog's body drawing bright red blood.

"How many times? Before you stop making the same mistakes?" my conscience asked.

I thought of Catherine. How she had left after all those years of marriage, an action I'd never pegged her for taking. My life was one big mistake.

I felt a soft tug on my hand and turned to see Sean by my side. He pulled me away from the trio of men.

"Dad, what's a suicide pill?" Sean whispered.

The question hit me like a burst of ammonia.

For as long as I could remember, I had never lied to Sean or Anthony. I had always felt strongly about treating my sons as mature beings and with respect. Now, as I thought about it, it just seemed like one more mistake.

"Do you know what suicide is?" I asked him.

He nodded. "When you kill yourself."

"That's what a suicide pill does."

Sean pointed to the men behind me. "Why do they want that?"

I grimaced, and I could feel my face hardening, as if I were aging ten years right before Sean's eyes. I crouched down and spoke to him at eye level. "The thinking is, being trapped down here with no hope of escape, might drive people crazy, or if we run out of food, we'll die from starvation, and that's not a good way to go. The pills offer us a peaceful alternative. They'll allow us to go with dignity."

I couldn't believe I was using Cliff Rogers' words!

"I don't want a peaceful alternative!" Sean nearly roared, and I placed my hand on his shoulder to steady him. "I'm not dying, dad! I'm not taking any pills! I'm going to live!"

"Shh," I hushed him. Like father like son. "I'm not taking any pills either. Neither are you or Anthony."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

I wrapped my arms around Sean and hugged him. Feeling his warm body pressed against my own, I allowed myself to feel the presence of my dear, late grandfather. He stood behind me and placed his large hand on my shoulder. I could see him there, with his characteristic smirk, and I could hear him, saying, "You're going to be alright. You and your family."

I had been aware for some time of Anthony's voice. He'd been saying something but I'd been so caught up with my talk with Sean I hadn't answered, and neither had anyone else. It's tough being a 4 year-old, very tough getting anyone's attention. He must have been trying for a long time, because all of a sudden he just up and shouted, "I see the sun!"

All of us turned to look at Anthony. He stood pointing at one of the boarded up windows, with Lara by his side.

"I see the sun!" he shouted again.

Through the boarded plank we saw for the first time the faintest whisper of white light.

"I think the kid's right!" Belieau said.

"Glory be to God!" McIntyre cried out.

We ran towards the wall, and Belieau and Rogers immediately grabbed a couple of hammers from the floor and ripped the nails from one of the boards, tearing it away. They looked through the newly created space.

"I see it! It's the sun!" Belieau cried. "The sun's back! Look! Look, everyone!"

He made room, and we scurried forward.

Over the horizon, as if it had never left, the sun was shining.

# # #

Within a few hours, the temperature outside had returned to a normal 75 degrees. The trickling of water was everywhere. There would be massive flood problems, no doubt, but no one cared. The sun was shining again.

Somebody who had a boom box was playing a recording of George Harrison's "Here Comes the Sun," and to this glorious theme, we hugged, rejoiced, cried, and said our good-byes as we slowly made our way back to the above ground world outside.

It didn't take us long to find our minivan, still parked where we had left it. It was dead, of course, like most of the other vehicles around town, its engine and battery killed by the cold and ice. So we returned home on foot and were there within 20 minutes.

I had just about opened the front door when a blue Mercury Sable station wagon pulled into the driveway. It was Lara's parents and brothers, and after a tearful reunion with her family, Lara shed tears again as she said goodbye to Sean and Anthony, and to me. They drove away, and suddenly it was oh so quiet.

I opened the front door, and the three of us entered the living room.

"Home sweet home," Anthony said, breaking the eerie silence.

It was extremely stuffy inside. I had closed all the windows when the temperature had plummeted. I began going around the house flinging open all the windows when to my amazement I heard a sound that at first I thought I had only imagined. And then I heard it again.

From the back yard.

A dog's bark.

"No way!" I shouted, as I ran to the back door. Sean and Anthony heard it too, and they were quickly upon my heels.

I opened the back door and a very wet Scout bounded in like insanity on four legs, jumping on us, falling to the floor, barking, jumping on us again. He didn't know what to do with himself he was so happy.

"How the hell did you do it?" I asked, petting him incessantly.

He answered by looking up at me with ecstatic eyes that seemed to say, "I don't know! I'm just happy to be here!"

As Sean and Anthony hugged and kissed Scout, I stepped onto the back porch to check the back yard. I found the remnants of a tunnel of sorts in the melting snow which led to Scout's dog house. He must have found his way home (a miracle in itself!) and then tunneled through the snow down to his dog house, where he survived for those three days. I assumed he avoided dehydration by eating snow.

I made Scout a huge bowl of Dog Chow and set it on the kitchen floor. He wolfed down the food like a starving puppy.

"You're Scout the Wonder Dog!" I said.

"When is mom coming home?" Anthony asked.

His words punched me in the gut and took my breath away.

The road in front of our home was like a parade on the Fourth of July. Cars were riding up and down the street, horns blasting, American flags waving, people cheering, hooting, waving.

On our front porch were four rocking chairs. With Scout lying by our feet, Sean, Anthony, and I sat on three of them, rocking back and forth gently. The fourth chair remained empty and still.

We watched the cars drive by, watched other people celebrate, as absent family members returned home to the neighborhood, and joyful reunions were made. Everyone seemed to be getting back together.

We watched and waited for our turn.

We looked longingly for Catherine's silver Volvo to roll around the bend and pull into the driveway. Sean and Anthony talked endlessly about running out to the driveway to give their mommy a great big hug.

I wanted to hug her too. As difficult as things had grown between us, hatred really hadn't become an issue. Neither one of us had grown so bitter that we hated the other.

I looked skyward at the sun burning as brightly and as powerful as it always had before.

Speculation was all over the airwaves. What really had happened to the sun? No one knew.

I'm sure that in time the answer will be discovered. My money is on that magnetic anomaly theory Jim McIntyre had talked about.

Yet, there's a part of me that believes the laws of science had very little to do with what happened. I was an English major in college, my concentration being the Romantic poets. I had particularly enjoyed William Blake and was fond of his belief that poets not scientists wrote of reality. Thinking of Blake, I couldn't help but wonder, what if the sun disappeared by choice?

What if it were just sick and tired of looking down upon the Earth and seeing mankind make one bad decision after another? What if it no longer wanted to be part of our world? What if it simply had said, "The hell with it! I've had enough! I quit!"

What if that's what really happened?

"We are sickening," I thought. "If I were a star looking down upon us I might want out too."

But there up in the sky the sun was shining again.

"It came back," I thought. "The separation was only temporary. We have a second chance."

I couldn't help but feel optimistic, even though for all I knew, for all anyone knew, the darkness could come again.

I rose from my chair and hugged both Sean and Anthony, and I heard my grandfather's voice. "You'll be alright."

The three of us continued rocking, Scout by our feet, until sunset, waiting, waiting, with a firm, unwavering confidence that our patience would be rewarded.