Slow Apocalypse by John Varley

yard.
    “We got glimpses of it coming off the Cahuenga Pass,” Dennis said, softly. “But we couldn’t see just how…huge it is.”
    There was another bright flash of light, and a few seconds later the thunderclap of a new explosion. Dave heard Ellen gasp.
    “It’s so awful,” she said. “It’s so awful.”
    Dylan was tugging at Dave’s pant leg.
    “Could I swim in your pool, Mr. Marshall?”
    So much for the end of the world as we know it. Dave had to remind himself that Dylan was only eight. He might not have understood the gravity of the situation himself, at that age. Also, looking a little closer, he could see that the child was scared.
    He had put the cover over the pool weeks ago, to keep it from evaporating in the summer heat. He planned to use it for drinking water if things got bad, and it looked like they were going to.
    “Sorry, Dylan,” he said. “The pool-cover motor is broken.” Addison started to say something, then caught his gesture and kept mum. Dylan shrugged, and devoted himself to his iPod, where an action movie was playing on the two-inch screen.
    “You think it’s growing?” Dennis wanted to know.
    “It’s grown to the west since I started looking,” Addison said.
    “You can see several fires to the east,” Dave said. “I figure those were started by burning debris from the first explosions.”
    “Those would be houses, right? In…”
    “Baldwin Village. Windsor Hills. Maybe Crenshaw.”
    “I don’t know those places very well.”
    “Mostly middle-class homes.”
    They couldn’t see how far the fire had spread to the south, but Dave knew debris must have landed there, too. The flames coming from the center of the oil field seemed maybe a little less intense.
    “Would anybody like something to eat or drink?” That was Addison, valiantly trying to be the hostess during her mother’s indisposition.
    “I couldn’t eat,” Ellen said. “But I’d like a soft drink, if you have one.”
    Dave was grateful for the chance to look away from the fire for a bit as he helped Addison find beverages and put out bowls of peanuts. It seemed to calm her down to have something to do. As she served, he brought the television outside on a rolling cart. The helicopter views of the conflagration told them a lot more than they could see themselves. Dave channel surfed compulsively, and no one objected.
    Bill Danvers, KCAL, channel 9. He was jogging along, his cameraman trying to keep up. It was a chaotic picture that only stabilized when he paused for a moment to let the camera pan over the flames ahead of him:
    “It’s pandemonium here on the east side of the fire. I’m trying to make my way toward it, and every street I’ve tried is filled with cars that are not moving. They have nowhere to go, it’s gridlock. Some have driven up into yards, but they can only get so far, and the yards are now gridlocked, too. Many people have abandoned their vehicles and are walking away from the flames, which I can see towering in front of me. In the last block I saw several elderly people sitting on the curb, unable to go any farther, at least for now, and one man who looked as if he was having a heart attack. There was nothing I could do for him. I had to move on.”
    Melanie Worth, KCBS, channel 2, posed against yellow police tape, flames leaping into the air behind her:
    “The heat here is incredible, I don’t know how much longer we can stay in this position. Just across the street from me there are a dozen structures on fire, and behind that, I’m told, are literally hundreds of homes burning. There is only one fire engine that I can see. I’m told more are on the way, but it won’t be easy to get here. I hear sirens in the distance. I hear a plane approaching…There it is, one of those smoke-jumper planes just dumped a load of orange fire retardant on the edge of the flames. I’m afraid it’s not doing much good. The fire here is just too broad, too intense. The fire chief has just