It was the tenth hour of the tenth day of the tenth month of the tenth year. It was time. They crawled out from the caves, the tunnels, the buried places under the earth, the places forsaken in time. They were old; they were middle aged and teenaged and children. Babies were strapped to chests and they were eerily, disturbingly quiet. What they had in common was the pallor of their skin, their bones prominent under the pale skin and those who were robed wore rags and patches. As they moved into the sunlight on that morning some moaned; others cried and the youngest screamed in terror at the pain of the brightness and the strange warmth. They had never known the sun. They were the refugees, the refuse, the human detrtus of the global apocalypse and they were ready to reclaim their birthright on the small blue planet.