The End is Now Read online

  Also by Rob Stennett

  The Almost True Story of Ryan Fisher

  a novel by

  Rob Stennett

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  ZONDERVAN

  The End Is Now

  Copyright © 2009 by Rob Stennett

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.

  ePub Edition June 2009 ISBN: 978-0-310-56135-4

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

  * * *

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Stennett, Rob, 1977 –

  The end is now / Rob Stennett.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-310-28679-0 (softcover)

  1. Armageddon — Fiction. 2. Goodland (Kan.) — Fiction. 3. Satire. I. Title.

  PS3619.T476477E63 2009

  813'.6 — dc22 2009005157

  * * *

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, Today’s New International Version™. TNIV®. Copyright © 2001, 2005 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers printed in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other — except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  I, Rob Stennett, would like to thank the city of Goodland for being so friendly to me when I visited. If you ever get the chance, you should visit their fine town. Wonderful people. I recommend the diner at the Goodland airport. And I’d also like to remind everyone that this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, rapture predictions, and/or apocalyptic events is entirely coincidental or for fictional purposes.

  Interior design by Beth Shagene

  Edited by Andy Meisenheimer, Becky Philpott, and Jared Winkel

  09 10 11 12 13 14 • 23 22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Contents

  COVER

  ALSO BY ROB STENNETT

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  DEDICATION

  THE BEGINNING

  GOODLAND, KANSAS

  WILL HENDERSON

  JEFF HENDERSON

  JEFF HENDERSON

  SERGEANT MIKE FRANK

  AMY HENDERSON

  WILL HENDERSON

  AMY HENDERSON

  GOODLAND, KANSAS

  EMILY HENDERSON

  EMILY HENDERSON

  THE HENDERSONS

  THE MIDDLE

  THE PREPARED

  JEFF HENDERSON

  AMY HENDERSON

  AMY HENDERSON

  JEFF HENDERSON

  GOODLAND, KANSAS

  WILL HENDERSON

  EMILY HENDERSON

  GLENN DAVIS

  SERGEANT MIKE FRANK

  JEFF HENDERSON

  MARY CRANE

  JEFF HENDERSON

  AMY HENDERSON

  EMILY HENDERSON

  GARY & GAYLE

  JEFF HENDERSON

  THE HENDERSONS

  THE END

  THE REALISTS

  THE HENDERSONS

  SERGEANT MIKE FRANK

  THE HENDERSON CHILDREN

  WILL HENDERSON

  JEFF HENDERSON

  EMILY HENDERSON

  AMY HENDERSON

  JEFF HENDERSON

  EPILOGUE

  ROB STENNETT

  THE ALMOST TRUE STORY OF RYAN FISHER

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS

  In memory of Marjorie “Ginga” Stennett

  & Grandpa John McGuire.

  I’ll see you on the other side.

  THE BEGINNING

  Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed — in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.

  1 CORINTHIANS 15 : 51 – 52

  There are certain rules to surviving a horror movie… Never, ever, ever under any circumstances say, “I’ll be right back.” Because you won’t be back.

  JAMIE KENNEDY, SCREAM

  GOODLAND, KANSAS

  One week from tomorrow, at precisely 6:11 in the morning, the rapture or apocalypse or Armageddon or whatever else you’d prefer to call it, is going to occur.

  But only in Goodland, Kansas.

  The rapture will not take place anywhere else in the world. It will not crash the stock market, cause cars to wreck, or leave planes without their pilots. Husbands will not leave for the kitchen to grab a jar of pickles, only to come back to the living room and discover that their wives are now nothing more than piles of clothes. Power plants will not shut down, leaving televisions, light bulbs, street lamps, and hairdryers without electricity. Running water will not stop, forcing citizens to take baths in rivers and wash their clothes in lakes. Meteors will not crash into the ocean and create tidal waves. Nuclear missiles will not be launched from the USSR, North Korea, East Germany, or any of those pesky countries in the Middle East. Barcodes will not be tattooed onto wrists or foreheads. The number 666 will be nowhere in sight except for those rare instances when a customer at McDonald’s buys nothing but a Filet O’ Fish and a medium strawberry shake, and the total including tax comes out to be six dollars and sixty-six cents. A world government will not be formed. Computers will not melt down because they are confused about what the year 2000 actually means. Aliens will not blow up the White House.

  Nothing like this will happen.

  That is, nothing like this will happen anywhere but in Goodland.

  This goes against conventional wisdom. Most people think that when the end comes it will be widespread: Trumpets will sound and horsemen will appear and it will be a whirlwind of all kinds of tribulation — from pre-trib, to post-trib, to middle-trib. But that doesn’t make sense. It’s just not how such things work. It’s not true to the pattern of how other miraculous destruction has occurred in history.

  There are always warning signs.

  God didn’t simply destroy Nineveh — Jonah was swallowed by a whale and then sent to warn Nineveh of its impending doom. Moses warned Pharaoh before the plagues hit — and even the plagues started out innocently enough, simple stuff like frogs and locusts before the heavy hitters like blood rivers and death angels. Peter warned Ananias and Sapphira, Lot warned Sodom and Gomorrah — and in the end they were all destroyed to warn others about the dangers of wickedness.

  This is what will happen in Goodland. Their rapture will be a signal to the world. They are a warning. A sacrificial lamb. It makes sense. Once everyone sees how powerful the rapture is, they will b
e afraid, or excited; they will hit the floor and repent of their sins. Everyone, everywhere, will know the truth. Not only that, but this event will provide God a chance to see how things go. He can look at the rapture and see what worked and what didn’t. He can watch the good, the bad, and the ugly of the apocalypse so He can know how to improve it when He takes it global.

  Goodland is the test market for the rapture.

  The ultimate warning sign for all to repent.

  WILL HENDERSON

  Will was running late. At this rate he’d never make it home in time for dinner. And this wasn’t just dinner. This was Monday night dinner. This was the most important meal of the week for the Henderson family. The meal for which his mom spent the whole day cooking things like roast, garlic potatoes, fresh baked rolls, and pistachio fruit salad.

  Will knew he should have left Nate Jackson’s house sooner. But Nate had just returned from a family trip to Kansas City where he got the most impressive set of brand-new, mint-condition DC graphic novels Will had ever seen. “Look how cherry these are,” Nate said as he opened the cellophane packaging and slowly took out the comics. Nate was right. These were cherry. Batman and Superman looked lifelike on these pages. No, they looked better than lifelike. Every detail on every page was breathtaking. Otherworldly. How could someone be expected to keep track of time when looking at comics like this?

  “Can I read it?” Will asked.

  “Yeah, just be real careful. Mom said I’m not even supposed to open these because they’re so nice.”

  Will sat on the edge of Nate’s bed and flipped the comic books open. He turned to one page after another, reading about the adventures of the superheroes. Will’s mind always got lost in these stories, and at that moment he was lost in thought about Batman. Will felt bad for Batman. The Flash could move at the speed of light, Wonder Woman had an invisible jet, and Superman had a ridiculously unfair amount of powers (flight, laser vision, X-ray vision, wind breath, super strength — and those were just his basic powers — it seemed like he could just come up with a brand-new power whenever he needed it). And then there was Batman. He had exactly zero superpowers. He was rich. He had a lot of money. His trust fund was his power. He could buy really cool cars and planes and bat gadgets that could do anything and everything. But Batman couldn’t do anything for himself. Will thought all the other superheroes probably looked at Batman like he was a poser. Batman was the rich kid who had to buy his way into the Super Friends club. That must have made Batman really sad. Will thought Batman probably lay in bed late at night and tried not to cry at the mean things the other superheroes said. Batman probably would even look towards the heavens and pray, “Please God, give me some kind of superpower. It doesn’t have to be much. Just the ability to jump over a building or become invisible or shoot beams of ice or fire out of my hands.”

  Will was almost in a trance flipping through the pages thinking about Batman when Nate said, “Dude, don’t you have to be home? It’s almost dark.”

  Will looked up at the clock. “Shoot. I gotta go.” He jumped off Nate’s bed, ran down the stairs, and opened the door to leave. “See you later Mrs. Jackson,” Will said.

  “If the Lord tarries,” Mrs. Jackson called from the kitchen.

  Once Will was out of Nate’s house he started walking home down the gravel road. The road was on the outskirts of Goodland and on either side were large cornstalks as tall as NBA players. Will walked as quickly as he could. But even at his quick pace he wouldn’t make it home in time. His family lived so far away from everybody.

  Still, he needed to make it home in time. This was Monday night dinner. This was a huge deal. So, the only chance he had to make it home before he was grounded for the next month was to cut across the cornfields.

  Will stepped into the fields and knew that if he walked in a straight diagonal line, he would cut at least twenty minutes off his walk home. He’d just have to keep walking quickly and he’d be there in no time. He’d be there before his mom could call Nate Jackson’s mom and ask where he was. Will didn’t like when his mom talked to Nate’s mom. They always talked about religious things.

  Of course most people talked about religious things in Good-land. Will had visited some of his cousins in Denver last summer and noticed that no one around there ever said things like, “If the Lord tarries,” when they said goodbye. But in Goodland that was just how most people said goodbye. Kind of like saying “Geshundheit” after someone sneezes. But the thing is, most people say “Geshundheit” after you sneeze. It seemed to Will that no one said “If the Lord tarries” anywhere else in the world. He wanted to make sure so he tested the theory out a month ago when his family visited Worlds of Fun amusement park in St. Louis. The teenager buckling Will into the roller coaster told him, “Have a good ride.” And Will answered, “If the Lord tarries.”

  The teenager looked at Will as if he were from Neptune.

  On their road trip home from the amusement park, Will asked his mom, “How come nobody else talks like we do?”

  “What do you mean?” his mother answered.

  “Nobody in Denver or at Worlds of Fun says things like, ‘If the Lord tarries.’ Only people in Goodland say things like that.”

  “That’s because they’re not concerned with the rapture,” his mother said.

  “Oh.”

  “You know what the rapture is, don’t you?”

  Of course he knew what the rapture was. Everybody knew what the rapture was. He’d heard about it lots of times in Sunday school. People around town talked about it every once in a while. And from the way people talked, Will always worried that it was coming soon. That made Will scared. He didn’t want to die.

  Not that it was really dying. Or was it? He’d have to go away. His life on earth would be over. Isn’t that essentially what dying is? Does it matter if you skip the pain? Or is the pain part of dying? Do you have to experience something bad like a bullet through your chest or a car wreck or liver cancer or AIDS or burning or drowning? Is that part of dying? Probably it was. So that was one of the things that Will liked about the rapture. He’d get to skip the pain part of dying. It was like God would hit fast forward or skip to the next chapter, and he’d be whisked away to some magical place with clouds and harps and singing. He’d be whisked away to heaven.

  So it wasn’t really heaven that bothered him — it was just that there was so much here that he hadn’t experienced. He hadn’t graduated and thrown his cap high into the air. He’d never learned to drive or been able to pick up a girl by himself on prom night. He wouldn’t be able to go on a camping trip with just his friends like they’d always planned they would when they were old enough. He hadn’t ever owned his own house, or had a job where he made lots of money that he could spend on video games and guitars and flat screen TVs.

  Worst of all, he’d never even had a girlfriend, he’d never kissed a girl like all the other guys at school said they had. And he’d certainly never had the S-word with a girl. And he sort of wanted to do that too. Not until he was older. Not until his wedding night, and maybe not until a while after that. The S-word sounded crazy and weird and like a lot of fun, but also kind of scary and intimidating for Will right now.

  But it wouldn’t always be scary. Someday he would be ready.

  Still, he didn’t think about the S-word much, but he thought about his wife all the time. He wondered what she would look like. She’d probably have blonde hair and she’d like to play soccer or volleyball. Will even wondered if he knew his wife right now. Sometimes, during math when the teacher was writing long division problems on the board, he’d look around the classroom and wonder if his wife was sitting in class with him. Was she a few desks away and just as bored as he was? What if someday, once they were married, they’d talk about math class and tell each other, “That’s where I first noticed you, in math, during those super boring lessons. That’s when I knew we’d be married.” But that day would never come. He’d never get to have that conversation
with his wife. He’d never even get to know who his wife really was.

  He’d probably be raptured before then.

  And that wasn’t fair. This was a point Will often brought up in his prayer time. “God, why can’t you wait until I’m old, like twenty-five, until you bring the rapture? Let me do some of the stuff that people have gotten to do for thousands and millions of years before me. Isn’t that fair?” And then Will felt like God spoke the answer to him: No, that wasn’t fair. The rapture had to come someday; it couldn’t wait until everyone turned twenty-five. Because then it would never happen. And besides, there were some people who were babies or little kids and they’d never get to experience all the good stuff Will had. They’d never get to ride a bike, or white-water raft, or go see the Kansas City Royals play live and in person. He should consider himself lucky he’d gotten to do all of that. Even more, he would be very lucky that the rapture was going to happen in his lifetime. He was special.

  And then he stopped.

  He looked around. He was so deep in thought about the rapture and Worlds of Fun and his future wife that he’d lost his place in the cornfields.

  Where are you? There was barely any sunlight left. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the cornfields. If his parents knew that he’d cut across the cornfields, he couldn’t imagine how grounded he would be, but it would be bad. He would probably still be grounded after the rapture. The adults didn’t want anyone in the Johnsons’ fields because they stretched on as far as the eye could see, in every direction, rows and rows of endless cornstalks like trees in a forest. Will could navigate them; he’d done it before, but he had to pay careful attention to the subtle changes and markers along the way. And he thought he was paying attention. But all the thoughts of the rapture crept in and distracted him. It happened to him sometimes. Emily made fun of him because of it. His mom said it wasn’t his fault. One thought could jump onto another and another. But she also said just because it wasn’t his fault didn’t mean he wouldn’t have to fight against it. She said he needed to pay attention, and that wasn’t easy; that’s why they called it paying.