Three Days in April by Edward Ashton Read Free Book Online

and crying—­pretty much doing what I was doing a little while ago. I stop, kneel down, touch her shoulder.
    â€œHey,” I say. “Are you okay?”
    She stops crying, and her eyes focus on mine.
    â€œAm I okay?” she asks. “Are you a fucking idiot? No, I am not okay. Have you looked around? Fuck!”
    I rock back on my heels. She seems pretty worked up.
    â€œSeriously,” she says. “Don’t you know what’s happened?”
    I shake my head.
    â€œIt’s the Rapture!” She’s screaming now. “It’s the Rapture, and I’m still here!”
    I stand up and back away. She presses her head against her knees and wails.
    â€œI don’t think this is the Rapture,” I say. I didn’t pay a lot of attention in church when I was a kid, but I’m pretty sure there was nothing in there about everybody bleeding out through their anuses. She looks up at me. Her eyes are bloodshot and staring.
    â€œSo,” she says. “What is it, then? What happened to everyone?”
    I look around.
    â€œThey’re dead,” I say. “Everyone is dead.”
    She looks away again. At least she’s being quiet now.
    â€œWhy aren’t you dead?” she finally whispers. “Why aren’t I?”
    I turn away and keep walking.
    I live in a two-­bedroom bungalow that backs onto Reed Park. Walking down my street, I could almost convince myself that nothing bad is happening. The neighbor’s dog charges across their front yard and stands barking at me from the driveway, and the sprinklers are on in front of the house across the street. There aren’t any ­people out, but that’s not too unusual, even on a sunny afternoon like this one. I can see a sliver of the soccer field in the park between the houses.
    Sunday afternoons are a big time for league games.
    I’m not going to look out there.
    I let myself in the front door and close it behind me. “House,” I say. “Are you there?”
    â€œYes, Elise.”
    Thank God. I was afraid my house avatar might be as dead as my phone.
    â€œDirect contact, please. Terry.”
    There’s a long pause. That isn’t good.
    â€œI’m sorry, Elise,” House says finally. “Direct contact is not possible. Would you like to prime an avatar? I can queue it for transmission as soon as communications are restored.”
    â€œYes,” I say. “Voice only. Zero interactive. Terry, contact me. Now.”
    â€œIs that all?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œQueued for transmit.”
    â€œHouse. Are incoming feeds active?”
    â€œYes, Elise. Reception is normal. Transmission is blocked.”
    â€œBlocked by who?”
    â€œBlocked by whom?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œCorrect phrasing is, ‘Blocked by whom?’ ”
    Terry set my house avatar to correct my grammar. I don’t know how to unset it. This is not the time.
    â€œFine, jackass. Blocked by whom?”
    â€œUnknown.”
    â€œCan I get vids?”
    â€œYes. Topic?”
    â€œNews. National. Live. Centrist. Kitchen wallscreen.”
    I hear the caster talking as I walk through the foyer and into the kitchen. He’s saying something about rising bond rates in the European markets, and how that’s good for some investors and bad for other investors. I’ve never understood why they bother with stories like this. As far as I can tell, every single thing that ever happens in the world is good for some investors and bad for other investors, and knowing which investors any particular thing is good for is only helpful if you know it before that thing happens.
    Anyway, he’s not talking about the apocalypse, which, if that were what was happening, you would think would be the lead story.
    I run cold water in the sink, splash some on my face, and spend a solid thirty seconds scrubbing at my hands. When I look up again, the crawl across the bottom of the screen is