Sunlight flooded through the one-inch gap between the lids, creating a glowing wall of slow-dancing dust motes that divided my dumpster neatly into two dark halves. They were just normal dust motes. Not the bad ones.

I found myself transfixed by the efficiently mechanical motions of a cockroach I had named Mister Skitters as it traversed the edge of the gap. I probably had not seen the same bug twice, but I enjoyed pretending that it was always the same one coming to visit. He crossed from darkness to light and back again without fear, casting an occasional sharp-angled shadow across my chest. He was still angry with me for throwing all of his trash out of the dumpster.

"Sorry," I croaked softly. My throat was as dry and my head as sore as they had ever been. Dehydration hurt. I didn't think I would last another day in this metal box. The sun seemed stronger today, so maybe the air was clearing. Maybe the noise of the afflicted was getting softer. Maybe it was almost over and I could get out of this filthy, foul smelling, uncomfortable oven today.

As I listened to the noise outside, I tried to compare it to my memory of it from yesterday. I couldn't be sure, but I thought the volume was lower. The horrid, monotonous moaning started during the meteor shower and had spread across the city like a hellish musical theme. It was a constant chorus of unwavering pitches. It sounded like a million people had opened up and said 'ahh' for the doctor, and then never shut up. It also had a choppy, almost electric quality, akin to the sound of a kid quoting Star Wars lines through a spinning fan.

My biology teacher had compared Earth to a living entity that inhaled and exhaled, just like us. All the plants and animals of the world were like the cells in her lungs. Some of us consumed oxygen and made carbon dioxide, while others did the opposite. The imagery of it had stayed with me. The new sound of the city was Earth choking on things that she shouldn't have inhaled.

I held my breath as the sound of sprinting footfalls approached. I held my finger to my lips, as if Mister Skitters understood what it meant, or even cared. Nothing frightened my brave, creepy little friend. I, however, had good reason to be frightened. I had seen these things up close; seen what they had done to people. I silently willed the thing to turn around and sprint away, like it or others like had done for the past twenty-four hours.

Flickering blue light reflected through the gap, casting the cockroach in a supernatural light. I imagined him as a comic book character. A hero, of course.

I pulled the oxygen mask down over my face, but didn't turn the valve on the tank. I was far enough away and fairly isolated from any contaminants it might spread. Still, it never hurt to be prepared. I silently intoned a mantra of 'Go away' to no avail. If I didn't leave soon, this dumpster would be my coffin.

I genuinely missed the sounds of traffic and car horns. Of people talking and shouting, and street vendors, and even the one fellow who paced in front of the hotel having angry conversations with himself. Even that crying baby on the airplane.

Those memories felt so old. Could it really only be three days since my brother and I landed at JFK?