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of disasters in the normal sense of the word. Instead, the lead story told a much grimmer tale. Scientists appeared to have confirmed that the planet's situation had begun to deteriorate drastically and that it still showed no immediate signs of easing or improving. They claimed that if the temperature continued to increase at the same rate as it had done over the last few days and weeks, dangerous and then deadly levels of heat would be reached in the very near future. Already people had begun to die in the hotter climates of the world and all the evidence available appeared to suggest that this devastation would quickly spread around the rest of the globe.

With a strange mixture of terror and morbid fascination, I read and reread every word of the article many times and, even then, it was hard to believe and absorb all that it said. My immediate fears gradually subsided, however, only to be quickly overtaken by an uneasy sense of helplessness. I felt angry and frustrated about the fact that, if the temperature really was going to reach life-threatening levels soon, there was nothing I, or anyone else, could do to stop it from happening. Having what little control which remained over my own destiny ripped from my hands without the slightest warning was a sickening and gut-wrenching feeling.

Later on the television, a news reporter did her best to calm a nation that sat on the edge of their collective seats, hanging on her every last word. Although she was as powerless as the rest of us to do anything, she seemed determined to try and convince her viewers that the conditions could just as easily improve as they could worsen. I thanked her mentally on behalf of the rest of the population for her assurances, but her hollow words held little comfort for me or, I presumed, for anyone else. She warned that further energy pulses were expected soon and that we should go indoors or get under cover when they struck. Her tone of factual concern was reminiscent of 1950s cold war propaganda films and, as in those same films, she gave advice on how to survive. Her words fell on deaf ears as I knew that, if things finally did reach such a desperate stage, no-one could have any idea of what we might find when we finally crawled out of our protective shelters.

Looking around my little home, I felt low and alone. I wished with all my heart that I could be with my family and I dreamed of seeing their faces again. I knew, however, that they were hundreds of miles away and the geographical gulf which lay between us compounded my pain. Although I wanted desperately to be with them, I also soon realised that I didn't want to be anywhere without Samantha at my side.

In a surprisingly short length of time, I had managed to begin to accept the fact that the planet could be entering its final days and that there was nothing I could do to stop the destruction - it was inevitable. I knew that the pain I would feel at the end would be halved if Sam was with me. The thought of her made the fear seep away.

Chapter Twelve

As I had expected, the next morning at the office was deathly quiet and seemed to take an eternity to pass. Despite the fact that only one customer walked through the office doors before midday, every moment of mine and my staff's time was taken up with running around to satisfy the relentless requests and orders of Miss Clewes, the inspector. With a complete and utter disregard for our own important daily duties and routines, she constantly demanded that we take paperwork, files, computer disks and anything else she required into the office which had once been mine but which she had quickly made her own. Our troubles were compounded by the fact that less than half of my staff had bothered to turn up for work. As well as making more work for the rest of us, their absence said little for my management of the office.

When Robert and I had arrived to open up the building at half past eight. Miss Clewes had been waiting on the doorstep and, from the moment she had stepped into the building, she had worked constantly and without pausing for a moment until one o'clock when she stopped regimentally for a precise hour's lunch. As soon