How the World Ends Read Online Free Page B

perfect lawns, cars parked along the road, and domestic violence bringing an ambulance or a police cruiser to the street nearly every week.
    Look to the safety of your family.
    Indeed.
    “Rachel? Are you home?” I call out, poking my head around the staircase.
    I wait a few seconds. No answer.
    I dash up the stair, the stabs of panic beginning to tear into my chest. I run so fast that I knock little Gwyn flat onto his back, and he lays there staring at me with a sly little smile on his face, despite having been toppled over.
    “Oh, Gwyn,” I cry out, reaching down to pick him up. “I’m so sorry!”
    “Thank God you’re alright,” I hear Rachel say, behind me, with obvious concern in her voice. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it home.”
    “They’re only rationing the fuel for personal use, so I think public transit is okay.”
    “Hi Daddy,” I hear Jewel say, as she runs out of her bedroom to give me a hug. Her head barely comes to my waist, and I have to turn slightly so that her head doesn’t collide with my belt buckle. “We were so worried about you! We didn’t know if you were coming home or not.”
    “I’m here, sweetie,” I say, putting as much reassurance in my voice before I begin the lie: “Everything is fine.”
    I pick up her and Gwyn and reach out to Rachel, drawing my whole family into a warm embrace.
    …
    Supper is a quiet affair, with the unusual fact that the television is left on the entire time, something we normally forbid. All of the local news stories revolve around the dozen or so cities that have “volunteered” for “temporary resource regulation” in order to ease the demand on foreign fossil fuels. The international news is all about the escalating terrorist activity in the Middle East and Africa. The use of larger scale weapons and missiles is leading analysts to believe that at least some activity is being funded by the richer, first world nations.
    We don’t bat an eyelid at these stories; we have become so disillusioned with our governments and the effectiveness of their militaries that we no longer expect reasonable results, only amazement.
    In other news, the last fiscal year’s results show corporate profits rising on an average of twenty-two percent more than the last reporting period, with nearly twenty-five percent of the overall taxable earnings falling in the top one percent of earners.
    Rachel and I spend much of the time being silent, watching the children eat pasta, or watching each other with wondering eyes.
    “Daddy!” cries out my daughter in surprise. “We forgot to pray before we ate!”
    “That’s okay, Jewel,” I reply, suddenly relieved that there is something to focus on besides ignoring the news. I switch off the television with the remote. “Why don’t you say grace now?”
    “But we’ve already finished eating,” she says, puzzled, raising her palms as if I am missing something obvious.
    “That’s alright, Jewel. God won’t mind.” I smirk. “Better late than never, your mother always says.”
    We all bow our heads and clasp our hands – even Gwyn, who has recently learned this from watching us. There really isn’t any sight cuter than a small child conversing with God; the expression is much more personal than our repeated worries, problems and pleas for forgiveness and, if we have been fortunate, thanks.
    “Dear God,” she begins. “Thanks for the food that we already ate and please help others to have food like us and please help my cousin Aeron to be happy and help all the children of the world to have food and to be happy and the big people, too. And show them what love is.
    “In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.”
    “’’Men,” says Gwyn, smiling.
    “And help Daddy get to work tomorrow,” says Rachel. “Those trains are going to be crowded.”
    “I’m not sure if...” I began to say, thinking that I would tell her I have lost my job, but in that precise moment, I’m not sure if I should tell them such bad