– Finally," he said with relief. But then he smelled a strange odor in the air. It was like the smell after a thunderstorm, only stronger. Chris thought he'd smelled it before, when the plane went down.

Suddenly Chris began to feel very dizzy. He realized that he had to speed up. Gathering all his strength, he ran towards the house. A crimson glow filled his entire gaze. It was a beautiful but ominous sight. Fear was growing.

Chris ran with all his might. His legs seemed to twitch, and his arms were cramping. Suddenly he stopped and threw his head back.

– What's happening to me? – he whispered. – Am I dead? – Is that the end of it?!

There was a lump in his throat, and he felt very sick at the thought that he would never see his Mary again. He remembered the dream he had seen in the hangar. It was as if he had seen Mary's silhouette in the fog, running from him toward the house, looking back and smiling.

Chris tried to move toward Mary. His legs wouldn't listen, and his hands felt like they were grasping for air. But he kept going. Suddenly his hand hit the porch railing. Chris grasped it as hard as he could and began to climb toward the door.

When he reached the door, he yanked on the knob, and the door popped the lock with a crash. As soon as Chris was inside the house, everything was muted, and he felt much better. He took a few steps into the back of the room and collapsed, unconscious.

Chris lay on the floor, feeling the morning sunlight through the ajar door. His body felt heavy and stiff, his head humming as if a thousand tiny hammers were beating inside. He raised his head slowly, trying to realize what had happened. His eyes were still hazy, but he gradually began to make out the outline of the room: an old wooden table and cracked floorboards brought Chris to consciousness.

Suddenly he remembered. A wave of panic swept over him. He struggled to his feet, feeling his knees shake and the pain throbbing in his temples. Going to the door, Chris gingerly touched the broken lock.

Chris looked out into the yard and squinted against the bright light. It was a sunny day, birds chirping in the distance, a light breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees.

Chris closed the door and headed for the sink. He turned on the faucet, and cold water came in a thin trickle. He leaned over and greedily clung to the faucet, feeling the water fill his parched throat. The taste was surprisingly pleasant, as if he'd never drunk anything like it before.

Chris washed his face with his shirt sleeve and looked at himself in the mirror. His reflection was pale and haggard, with dark circles under his eyes. He remembered again what had happened. The plane crash, the impact, the pain, the loss of consciousness.

On the second floor was the small radio room he and Ted used for hunting. Chris walked up the creaky steps, feeling his heart beating faster with each step.

– I hope the solar panels are working," Chris said to himself.

Stepping into the room, Chris flicked a switch and the lights came on.

– They're still working," Chris thought with relief.

Chris was an expert in the field installation of solar powered LED lighting fixtures. His professional activities involved frequent business trips.

Chris turned on the radio and twisted the tuning knob, but all he heard was hissing. "This thing only has a five kilometer radius," he thought. – "Only Ted lives within that zone. It won't reach the city." He frowned and tried once more to catch a signal, but to no avail. Chris sighed irritably and tried again. But the silence was so thick that it seemed to fill the entire space around him.