Leona craned her neck, looking through the venetian blind to see her house, number 25. She could just about see it through the foliage of the stunted birch tree opposite.

Dark, still, lifeless.

Like Jacob, she’d much rather be settled in over there, amongst familiar surroundings, amongst her things.

She looked up at her bedroom window - and thought she saw something tall and dark against the back wall of her room. Motionless, like her, studying the gathering madness outside . . . the shape of a person.

‘What . . .?’ she mouthed silently.

A gentle breeze caused the birch to sway slightly and she lost sight of her bedroom window amidst the swirling of leaves. A few seconds passed, the breeze lapsed, the tree settled once more. For a long minute she struggled to peer into the gathering gloom of her bedroom, but it was made difficult with the fading evening light and the sheen of a reflected golden sun balancing on the rooftops.

She could see nothing now.

Leona shuddered and turned away from the window to join Daniel sitting on the sofa in front of Jill’s luxurious plasma screen TV, like everyone else in the world, watching the news. They sat in silence, whilst Jacob lay on the floor in front of them, sorting meticulously through his Yu-Gi-Oh cards.

‘. . . spreading across the country, in every city. In most cases the flash point of each riot has been centred around the big supermarkets, the larger petrol stations. In many of the bigger cities, there simply isn’t any sense of order or control. The police have been armed, and the armed forces have been mobilised and stationed around key government installations and supply depots, but beyond that, there simply are no uniforms to be seen . . .’

The reporter on screen had a face that Leona recognised; he usually reported on business things, from the City. But now here he was on the rooftop or balcony of some building looking down on a street thick with black smoke from a burning car, and people running erratically. His usually well-groomed appearance, the smartly side-parted hair, the navy-blue suit and tie had been replaced with the look of someone who had been roused from sleep after an all-night vigil.

‘Law and order has apparently vanished from the streets of this country in the last six hours, since the Prime Minister’s disastrous lunchtime press conference. Amongst the chaos down there, below us, we have distinctly heard the sound of gunfire several times in the last few minutes,’ the reporter continued, gazing down on the smoky scene below.

Leona, shuddered anxiously.

‘There have been unconfirmed reports of military personnel guarding key locations, using live rounds on civilians. There have been hundreds of eye-witness reports describing fights over food, killings in many cases. This is a truly horrifying scenario, Sean, being played out on every street in every major town and city in the country . . .’

The image cut back to the studio.

‘Diarmid, is there no sign at all of the police or the army out there? I mean, we’re looking at Oxford Street right now, aren’t we?’

‘That’s right, Sean. Wholly unrecognisable right now, but yes, this is Oxford Street. This particular disturbance began at about three in the afternoon around a Metro-Stop supermarket, when the staff attempted to close the store and pull down the shutters. This triggered a riot, which quickly led to the store being rushed and the stock completely looted. I saw people emerging from it hours ago pushing trolleys full of food, and then several fights breaking out on the street as other people attempted to lift goods from these trolleys. This particular riot then spread to the other stores up and down the street, with people, quite unbelievably, storming a sports clothes retailer nearby, and next to that, an electrical goods store. Looking down on this now Sean, one is reminded of some of the scenes we saw during the LA riots in 1992, and also in the aftermath of Katrina in New Orleans. But to answer your question Sean, I have seen absolutely no police or army since we arrived here.’

The image on screen cut back to the studio.

‘Thank you for that report, Diarmid,’ Sean said, looking down at a sheaf of papers in his hands. ‘Those scenes of the rioting currently going on in central London.’

Sean Tillman took a long steadying breath, and then looked up again to camera; the trademark early morning smile that Leona found irritating, but frankly would have loved to have seen now, replaced with a chilling portrayal of grim resignation.

‘There has still been no further comment from the Government since the lunchtime press conference. We have been informed though that the emergency committee, code-named “Cobra”, with full legal authority, is in effect now governing the country. Whether the Prime Minister is steering that committee, or some other minister is, as yet, unclear.’

Leona turned to Daniel. ‘Oh God, Dan, this is so scary,’ she whispered.

Daniel nodded silently.

‘Reports have been coming in from foreign correspondents throughout the afternoon. A similar pattern of events seems to be occurring in many other countries. In Paris, unrest that started in the suburb of Clichy-sous-Bois, has spread across the city, with many buildings now on fire, and reports of many hundreds of deaths amongst the rioters. In New York, the announcement of a city-wide emergency food rationing ordinance was met with demonstrations on the streets that quickly escalated to a full-scale riot.’

Daniel got up. ‘Can I use your phone? I want to try my foster parents again.’

Leona nodded. ‘Sure.’

As he headed out of the lounge to the hall phone table, Jacob stirred. ‘Lee, are we having a big war?’ he asked casually.

‘What? No, of course not!’ she snapped at him irritably. And then noticed from the worried scowl on his small face that even Jake was aware that all was not well with the world. ‘No Jake, we’re not having a war. But things have gone . . . wrong, and people are getting a bit panicky.’

Jacob nodded as he digested that, and then looked up at her again. ‘I want Mum. Where is she?’

Leona smiled, she hoped reassuringly.

Daniel returned. ‘There’s no tone on the telephone line. It’s, like, dead.’

‘Dead?’

‘Not a thing.’

‘Who’s dead?’ asked Jake, his lips were beginning to quiver unhappily.

Leona could do without him whimpering right now. ‘No one Jake. No one’s dead. Just play with your cards right now, okay?’

Jacob nodded, but instead of returning to his cards and continuing to sort them into monster and spell decks, he looked up at the TV and watched the flickering montage of flaming cars, and smoke-smudged skylines. He listened to the words, with cocked head, not entirely understanding what was being said, but instinctively knowing that none of it was good.

‘You want to use my mobile?’ asked Leona.

‘Yeah, please,’ replied Daniel.

‘. . . in Saudi Arabia, Iraq and Afghanistan particularly. From what we know, the evacuation of troops from the region is continuing apace, with a steady procession of Hercules transport planes depositing troops at several RAF bases, including . . .’

On the TV screen Sean Tillman suddenly disappeared. The only thing left on screen was the News 24 logo in the top left corner and the scrolling news feed along the bottom.

‘It appears,’ his voice announced, ‘we have lost some lighting in the studio. I’m sure this will be rectified short—’

And then there was a chaotic blizzard of snow on the TV and a hiss.

‘What happened to the TV man?’ asked Jake.

Daniel, holding Leona’s phone in his hand, looked up at her. ‘Oh shit. What’s going on now?’

She shook her head.

And then the lights in the lounge went out and the TV winked off.

‘Whuh—?’

The amber-hued streetlights outside along the avenue, which had only minutes ago flickered on, went out.

‘The power’s gone,’ she whispered in the dark.

Jacob began to panic. ‘It’s all dark! Can’t see!’ he whimpered.

‘Relax Jake, you can see. It’s not dark, it’s just gloomy,’ she said as calmly as she could manage, feeling the leading edge of a growing wave of panic preparing to steal up on her too.

Jacob started crying.

‘Shhh Jake. Come up here and sit with us.’

He got up from the floor and squeezed on to Jill’s leather Chesterfield sofa between Leona and Dan. ‘There,’ she said, ‘nothing scary’s going to happen, we’re just going to sit here and—’

Then her phone rang and all three of them jumped.