All my life I was trained to be practical. To solve problems through scientific principles. But nothing could prepare me for the destructive pounding left in the wake of the asteroid. I could understand it on a scientific level. But the humanity... well, let's just say I never comprehended that part fully.
  Since the largest asteroid fragments smashed into the midwestern states, I was relatively safe and intact. The Appalachian Mountains, the Adirondacks, the Poconos all provided some measure of protection. They rocked and rolled for sure, but they also acted as sort of a buffer for the impact's shock waves.  I could only hope that the larger Rocky Mountains had shielded Jilly and the west coast.
  I was in what the locals called "upstate" New York. A nice little village by the name of Goshen. If Jilly had wanted to be a stage actress, it would have been the perfect place for a weekend retreat just a few hours “upstate” from New York City.
  I had only been there a few weeks and things were going well. I even got a few leads for employment in LA. But I didn't realize that all my training, all my knowledge would be hundreds of times more useful to me after the destruction than before.
  The infrastructure was still partially in place. As we later learned, not only was there physical damage – power plants, cell towers, communications and power lines to name a few – but there was also a people crisis. Shock, awe and the deaths of millions. Whereas a radio station might have remained intact, the people who knew how to use it were either gone - more concerned with their lives than with operating a station - or had died. Limited cell phone service was restored quickly, and some level of other communications were re-established. Of course, in order to handle all the traffic, with limited manpower and resources, the powers-that-were established restrictions on use. I tried several times to call Jilly and a few of her contacts I knew, but never seemed to be able to find out much. She had been at the audition, but no one had seen her since. I had to assume that she either had forgotten her cell phone at the apartment, or it was destroyed. For once, I hoped and prayed that she had misplaced it. The alternative hurt too much.
  So many questions rang through my head that first day. Why didn't anyone tell us this was going to happen? They would have known months in advance. I suppose it would be almost impossible to determine exactly where the impact would be; and, even if that could have been solved, I can't imagine planning and executing an evacuation of the entire midwestern United States – even if they all had somewhere to go. Then, to move all the equipment... well. Blatantly impossible. So, perhaps the decision to not release the impact data made sense. There was no where to run, hide or disappear to.
  It took me four days to finalize a plan of action. Things were in such a state of flux: the shock, the denial. I wish now I had recovered my composure sooner, but I was lucky as it was. Some people still haven't recovered, seven years on.
  While I don't profess to understand humanity, I am capable, at least, of observation and deduction. Almost no one was able to see beyond a few simple things; their need to know if brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, parents and friends were alive and the need to keep things as they were. Denial may be a great way to protect one's sanity, but it stinks when you need to take action. So most of the people thought I was crazy when I finally loaded a few useful items in my car and took off. Only a fellow engineer would have understood my payload: if they were capable of rational thought.