How the World Ends by Joel Varty

in this world is real seems to matter just now, but as I bring my hand up level, I hear shouts and a scuffle at the end of the alley.
    “Don’t hurt me,” a voice cries out. “I’m just a guy, please don’t hurt me.”
    I don’t think, I just turn and run towards the noise.
    “ Hold his hands! Quick grab his gun! Get his vest, too! Come on, come on!”
    “Hey!” I yell through the blinding rain. “Leave him alone!”
    The piercing sound of a gunshot strikes through the night. As if in response, screams from the street beyond the narrow alley filter into earshot. Two thugs stand before me as I skid to a stop in front of the fallen man. The man on the ground is a uniformed police officer looking as ragged as I have ever seen one. He holds his chest and sobs in the crook of his arm. One man holds a gun in a shaking hand pointed at me; the other is holding his nightstick like a baseball bat. They wait for me to move. I don’t know what is stopping them from attacking me after they have downed the cop with seemingly little trouble.
    “Get out of here!” I hear myself yelling with a unique ferocity I can’t remember ever having in my voice before. It is an almost primal feeling of rage and fear at the rapid change of situation I find myself in after the peace and quiet of the sanctuary.
    I try to keep my emotions in check, though, as I say in my quietest, coldest, yet not quite cruel voice, “Put those things down and get out of here.” I try not to blink as the rainwater splashes down my face. I feel warm urine run down my leg and my knee starts to shake. I open my eyes wider at the effort it takes to stand there without cringing. I feel the coward deep inside me struggle to take control, pounding at the walls of darkness, looking for an exit into the oblivion of the night. “ Now .”
    They turn and run, leaving me there to wonder what I would have done if they hadn’t.
    The screams from down the street at the end of the alley grow in intensity, and I help the fallen man to his feet. He looks at me, face to face in a hard frightened stare, for a few moments before throwing his arms around me.
    “I didn’t know what to do,” he says, crying freely. “I lost radio contact with my dispatcher and I didn’t know where to go. The crowds are out of control and everyone is in a panic. The power’s out and there seems to be some sort of disturbance in some of the buildings.”
    “Whoa, whoa, slow down,” I say, trying to forget the fact that I have just wet myself with fear, trying to save a cop who was more frightened than I was. “What sort of disturbance?”
    “Dynamite,” he says. “Explosions.” He steps away from me and brushes himself off. “They just seem to come from everywhere.”
    “Who did this? What were they trying to destroy?”
    “City hall, the hospital, the police station, the fire station,” he says. “All gone – totally gone.”
    …
    Rachel
    Rachel hears the telephone ring just as she is getting Gwyn to sleep for his nap. “Jewel,” she says softly. “Can you get the phone for mummy, please?”
    Jewel is in tune with her mother, and hears her from downstairs, where she is just getting ready to head back to school after lunch.
    “Hello?” She says, her inquisitive voice softly echoing through the shaky wireless network to the cellphone at the other end.
    “Who is this?” asks the voice, somewhat cruelly, but quietly, on the other end.
    “It’s Jewel,” she replies, already feeling the beginnings of tears come to her eyes at the tone of this person. “I’m almost six.”
    “Put your mother on the phone.”
    “Alright,” she sighs, wondering why nobody seems to want to talk to her. It isn’t like Mummy has anything interesting to say anyways. All she does is look after Gwyn. She climbs the stairs with the slow, relentless pursuit of unhurriedness that only a child can capture. “Here you go mummy, it’s someone impatient on the phone who needs to learn better