The overcast skies cast a dull grey light over the rocky beach, deserted except for a man sitting on a small boulder. He sat huddled there, trying to protect himself from the cold wind blowing off the ocean. Occasionally, he'd stand up and look out at the ocean expectantly, but after a few minutes would dejectedly sit back down. He was neatly dressed in standard businessman attire which seemed ill-suited to his current circumstance.

This wasn't a typical situation for Harold Crenshaw, an overweight middle aged man with thinning black hair. Most days, he could be found at his desk at McRoger's Investments, staring at a computer screen filled with graphs and numbers. That was the last thing he remembered before finding himself on this beach maintaining his solitary vigil. It didn't matter that he had no idea what he was waiting for, an intense sense of anticipation held him there.

He had no sense of time passing; thick clouds hid the sun and even his watch had stopped working. Seeing this, he tapped it in annoyance and muttered, "I just bought this thing."

Surprisingly, he felt no fear. Usually, even the slightest deviation from his well-ordered life left him petrified. Instead, he was excited, the kind of excitement that comes before enjoying a fine meal or getting an unexpected tax refund. He'd briefly looked inland, but only saw an empty plain which extended in all directions and quickly lost interest. All his attention was now focused on the ocean.

It appeared as a small white dot that he initially mistook as just another wave. However, as it drew closer the dot slowly morphed into the shape of a small boat riding the crest of a wave. Harold couldn't see anyone on-board, just a small black shape near its center. He carefully moved closer to the water, trying not to slip on the rocks, to get a better look.

At last Harold could see it clearly. He blinked and shook his head several times, but what he saw didn't change. It wasn't a boat, but some kind of surfboard and the black shape was a cat. It stood at the board's center seemingly unconcerned with the waves splashing over it. Harold's heart raced as he eagerly awaited the incoming craft.

The surfboard made a scraping sound as it slid onto the rocks of the beach. Sitting down, the cat tilted its head and stared at Harold with large green eyes. It was a large black cat with white markings on its paws, chest and the tip of its tail. Moving closer, he could see the cat was soaking wet with water dripping from its long whiskers.

The cat let out a small sneeze and began to shiver. Even though he'd always been afraid of cats, Harold tentatively held out his hand. "It's okay," he said, "I won't hurt you." The cat tilted its head back as if beckoning him forward. Not sure what to expect, he bent down and gingerly picked up the cat. It didn't struggle as he wrapped it in his arms to protect it from the wind. As he did so, the cat began purring loudly.

"Sure wish there was someplace we could go," remarked Harold as he looked up and down the beach. Ceasing to purr, the cat gently tapped his left arm with a paw. Looking down, he saw the cat intently staring up at him.

"Are you saying go left?" he asked incredulously.

In answer, the cat once again began to purr.

Harold shrugged his shoulders. "Well, your guess is as good as mine, so we go left."

Holding the cat tightly to his chest, he started moving down the beach. The cat in his arms and his dress shoes made progress slow. Every few minutes, he sat to rest, trying his best to keep the cat warm. Even so, the cat's purring never stopped and even intensified as they continued on.

As they passed an area near several large boulders, the cat suddenly started squirming and leapt from his arms. "Wait!" cried Harold rushing after it. Stopping, the cat turned to look at him as he slowly walked towards it. As he bent down to pick it up the cat once again ran off, stopping near one of the boulders.

"I only want to help you," he explained in a calm voice as he approached the cat. When about four feet away, he rushed forward hoping to catch it by surprise. But the cat was too fast as it slipped through a gap between the boulders. For an instant he considered just leaving the cat, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

He walked over to the gap from which an invitingly warm breeze blew. Examining it, he was unable to see where it led and wasn't even sure he'd fit through it. However, the wind had grown colder and he was starting to lose feeling in his hands and feet. "Must be better than out here," he finally decided.

It was a tight fit, but he was able to work his way through. Exiting, he found himself at the edge of a small hollow surrounded by boulders. The air inside was warm and he stood there a moment letting his body thaw.

A sharp "meow" snapped him out of his defrosting session and he saw the cat about ten feet in front of him. It sat there staring at him and flicking its tail impatiently. However what caught his attention wasn't the cat, but what lay beyond it: a small concrete building. The cat turned and started walking towards it with Harold close behind.

The building was constructed of rough concrete blocks with a single door and several windows around the exterior. The sight of light coming from the building filled him with expectation. Maybe now he'd finally find out what he was doing there.

Harold waited at the door several minutes trying to control his anticipation. The gentle tapping of a paw on his leg made him look down. The cat glanced up at him and pawed at the door. "Okay, okay," he griped. There was a dull metallic clang as he knocked on the door.

The door slowly opened and the bright light made him blink. All he could see was the silhouette of what looked like a small boy. "Please come in. I've been expecting you," he said in a voice that was surprisingly deep for a child.

So many questions flooded his mind that he had trouble deciding which one to ask first. He finally choked out a strained, "Where am I?"

"I'm Breslin and this is my home," replied the boy in a tranquil voice. "I know you have many questions and I promise to answer them."

Something about his voice calmed Harold and he stepped inside. It was a small room, furnished with only a table and two chairs. The bare floor and walls were made of smooth concrete with only a cupboard mounted to one of the walls. A single door led to the rest of the building.

The boy knelt on the floor and began vigorously rubbing the cat with a large towel.

"I'll be with you in a few minutes," he said without looking up, "but, first I need to take care of Sushli."

Sitting down, Harold got his first good look at his host. His skin was rough and streaks of silver could be seen in his blond hair. He clearly wasn't a child. There was something about his face that seemed odd, eyes too far apart and ears that were almost perfectly round. After he finished drying the cat, Breslin brushed its long black fur, whispering gently to it as he did so.

Finally, he went to the cupboard and took out two bowls. Once placed on the floor, the cat eagerly rushed forward and began eating and drinking.

Breslin stood by the table, his head only slightly above Harold's. "Sorry for making you wait," he said apologetically, "but doing this everyday takes a lot out of her."

"Doing what?"

"Bringing people for me to talk with."

"Is that why I'm here?"

"Partially," he answered, taking a small tablet out of his pocket. "Now, would you tell me your name please?"

"I thought you said you were expecting me."

Breslin laughed, "Yes, but not you specifically. Each day, Sushli brings a new visitor."

"I'm Harold Crenshaw," he answered distractedly, watching the cat finish eating and slowly walk out of the room. "But how can a cat do that, bring a new visitor every day?"

"I'll explain everything, well, at least as best I can. It's a long story, so we might as well be comfortable. Can I get you something to drink, tea perhaps?"

"Tea would be fine."

His host left the room and a few minutes later returned with two steaming cups. "I hope you like it," he said placing them on the table and sitting down.

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"Where am I?" Harold didn't mean to sound demanding, but he'd been waiting awhile and was losing patience.

Breslin stared at him for a moment, "Based on your clothing, I'd say about three hundred years in the future."

"That's impossible!" cried Harold.

However, the shock quickly passed and with a sinking heart, he realized it was the only explanation for everything he'd seen. All he knew was long gone. His wife and children would never know what happened to him.

He looked at his host with pleading eyes, "I don't belong here, send me home."

Breslin looked at him with pity as he answered. "I'm truly sorry to put you through this, but you'll soon understand why it's necessary." His tone became more forceful as he continued. "However, one thing you shouldn't doubt is that once we're done talking you will be sent home."

Even though he had no reason to, Harold believed him.

"If you're ready, we should get started."

"I'd like nothing better, but tell me, why'd you choose me?”

Breslin looked down seemingly embarrassed, "Actually, you weren't chosen. It's really a matter of chance that you're here."

"Never was very lucky," Harold observed grimly.

"You'll think differently once you understand why you're here."

"We'll see about that."

Breslin placed the tablet on the table between them, "This will record our conversation. Now, please, tell me about yourself."

"I thought you were going to explain why I'm here?"

"Yes, but to do that, I need to know you so I can explain it in a manner you'll understand."

"Well, I work for McRoger's Investments. Been there nearly eight years now ..."

For the next hour Harold spoke about his life. He shared stories of his childhood growing up on a farm, meeting his wife, his children, and his career. He thought this would bore Breslin, but he leaned forward eagerly taking in every word and interjecting questions. He seemed most intent on learning the emotions Harold felt during different events in his life; the joy of getting married and the birth of his children, the grief of losing his father, and the frustrations when he didn't get the promotions he felt he'd earned.

His tea cup now empty and his voice getting hoarse from speaking, Harold raised a hand. "I've answered all your questions, now answer mine."

Breslin stood up, "My apologies. Sometimes I tend to get carried away." He walked out of the room, "I'll get us some more tea and answer all your questions."

He brought over the two cups and sat down. "What do you want to know?"

Harold's mind raced, he had so many questions, but one seemed to rise to the top of the list. "How was I brought here?"

His host looked down, "I honestly don't know. The scientists tried to explain the process to me, but I didn't understand any of it."

"Can you at least tell me why Sushli was surfing?"

Breslin laughed, "Surfing you say, I wish I could have seen it." Turning serious he continued, "that's something I can answer. When we undergo experiences we don't understand, our mind will often react by superimposing images of familiar objects."

"You mean I imagined it?"

"In the simplest sense, yes. It's your mind's way of protecting you as you traveled here."

Harold squeezed his arm and tapped the table, "This is all real now, right?"

"Of course," Breslin quickly answered. "Now, what else would you like to know?"

"Why I was brought here?"

Breslin leaned back and put his hands together, "Now we get to the crux of the matter. You were brought here to help save the world."

Harold stared at him silently for a moment before bursting out in laughter. "Me, save the world? You must be joking."

Breslin glared at Harold. "Is it a joke that I'm the only one left? Is the desolation you saw outside funny?"

"I'm sorry," stammered Harold, "I just found it so unbelievable that someone like me could achieve anything like that."

"But you'll have an advantage, knowledge of what the future holds," countered Breslin with a gleam in his eye.

Memories of different television shows and movies flooded Harold's mind. "Wait, don't bad things happen if you change the past?"

"What could be worse than the annihilation of the human race?"

Stunned, Harold just sat there fumbling with his tie.

"I need your help," pleaded the small man across from him, almost in tears, "I'm the only one left."

"What do I have to do?"

"I'll explain."

He tapped the tablet and an image was projected in the air between them. "Signs of the coming cataclysm were evident even in your time ..." he began.

Videos of politicians and riots filled the air before them as Breslin described what they were seeing. He told of a world becoming ever more divisive as distrust grew between nations and even between citizens within the same nation. Political, cultural, racial, and religious differences trumped any concept of shared humanity as violent outbreaks grew more common.

Civil strife and dwindling resources in poorer nations forced many to flee, seeking a better life in other countries. Nations were overwhelmed by the influx and an inevitable backlash of hatred and violence followed. To maintain order, exceptional powers were given to the police and military, turning many countries into virtual police states. Within seventy years of Harold's time, almost every nation on earth had closed their borders.

Harold watched and listened in horror. "How could this happen?"

"Unfortunately," answered Breslin, "it's just human nature. For a time we'd been able to overcome our natural prejudices and selfishness, but it soon ended. A desire to seek revenge for perceived grievances took hold and outrage became political capital. Instead of uniting, national leaders encouraged peoples' baser instincts to gain and maintain power."

Images of battles and destruction now could be seen as Breslin continued his account. These localized disturbances escalated into conflicts throughout the world. For a time, they were conducted with conventional weaponry, but, at last, one nation chose to employ nuclear weapons. The remaining world powers acted quickly to retaliate to prevent a worldwide catastrophe. But, it was only a reprieve. The next time nuclear weapons were used, no world powers remained.

Bright flashes could now be seen coming from the image projected by the tablet followed by views of devastated cities and burned bodies. The projection stopped.

"That was a hundred and fifty years ago," continued Breslin, sadness evident in his voice. "Only one or two percent of the world population survived with high radiation levels present throughout the world."

"Look at me," he commanded standing up and slowly turning. "I don't look like you, do I?"

Harold shook his head, "No."

"This is due to genetic mutations caused by the residual radiation. I'm more fortunate than most though, I lived. Nearly eighty percent of children didn't."

Breslin sat back down and neither man spoke for a long while. Harold stared down at his tea, but no longer felt like drinking. However, he had to know more.

"You said you were the only one left. What happened to everyone else?"

Breslin tapped the tablet again and scenes of men and women working together to clear wreckage appeared in the air. "If anything mankind is resilient. They'd finally learned to see past their differences, just too late to save their world. The survivors banded together and developed a plan to save humanity's remnant; the colonization of Mars."

The video now showed men and women roaming through ruined cities, gathering equipment and supplies. Next, images of large rockets slowly taking shape on a large empty plain came into view. "It took over a hundred years, but at last there were enough ships for everyone," he continued as flames erupted beneath many of the rockets in the image. Some moved effortlessly skyward while others rose a few feet before exploding. The image vanished.

A sound like a sob erupted from the small man, "Only half got off the ground."

Fighting to maintain his composure, Breslin continued, "Everyone knew colonizing Mars was a long shot, but it was considered our best chance to save humanity. I don't even know if any of the surviving ships reached their destination."

Harold wanted to say something, but was unable to find the right words.

Breslin leaned forward, speaking quickly, "Colonizing Mars wasn't our only idea. A group of physicists came up with another option, sending a message to the past. Some thought them crazy and others feared what might happen if they succeeded. However, humanity was desperate and their work was allowed to proceed."

Harold's body tingled with excitement as he finally realized why he was there. He was to be one of those sent to warn humanity of its impending doom.

Breslin smiled, "I see you finally understand. Yes, I want you to share everything you've seen and heard here. Tell as many people as possible. Hopefully, enough will heed your warning to prevent what happened to our people."

"I will," promised Harold. "However, what happened to the other scientists?"

"When they finished their work and the system was operational, they left. A rocket had been left behind for their use. I watched them leave nearly twenty-five years ago."

"Why didn't you go with them?"

Breslin smiled broadly, "Someone needs to speak with those who're brought here. As a psychologist, I was deemed to be best qualified for such an assignment. Plus, it affords me the opportunity to meet new people each day."

Harold suddenly felt dizzy and his vision blurred. "What's happening?" he cried.

"You're about to return to your time," answered Breslin rushing around the table to face him. "Please remember everything that's happened here. Tell the people of your time what's coming so they can stop it."

He looked at the small man standing beside him and tried to answer, but his mouth wouldn't open. An attempted nod also proved futile. Harold's last view of Breslin as he faded away was of him anxiously calling out to him.

Breslin stood there a moment staring at the empty space where Harold once sat before he and everything around him faded to black.

Harold Crenshaw sat at his desk staring at the computer screen. Suddenly feeling light-headed, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. As the feeling subsided, the image of a large black cat standing on a surfboard appeared in his mind. With a smile he thought, "Must have seen that on the internet somewhere." Feeling better, he sat up and once again began concentrating on the graphs and figures before him.

"Cerebral Activity Temporal Transmission complete," announced a mechanized female voice. Breslin sat in a large padded chair in a room filled with electrical cabinets and video monitors. Lifting the metal helmet off his head, he slowly sat up and looked around. "Still here," he muttered through clenched teeth.

Leaving the room, he called back, "Reinitialize system for 8 A.M. tomorrow."

"Affirmative," replied the female voice.

"Harold seemed so convinced," he said while slowly walking down a hallway. "I was sure getting him to talk about his emotions would have pushed the memory to his conscious mind. I must have missed something."

Entering a small cluttered office he called out, "Prepare playback."

"Playback in two minutes," came the reply.

He sat at the desk and flipped on the monitor. As he waited he picked up a picture of a woman. Her dark hair didn't entirely cover her head and her skin was covered with dark splotches, but even so she smiled brightly. Breslin stared at the picture as a tear ran down his cheek. "Maybe tomorrow, Sushli," he whispered, "Maybe tomorrow."

Sandra Cook stood near a large boulder on a desolate rocky beach staring out at the ocean. A cold wind made her wedding dress billow out behind her, but she seemed unconcerned as she anxiously awaited whatever was coming.