The End is Now Read online

  “We’re not going to survive!” a woman in the crowd screamed.

  “ — If we’re going to survive,” Mr. Clayton continued like a parent scolding his children, “you have to have faith in me and we must start working together. We must coexist. And since we seem to be unable to do that without guidance, we are putting some systems into place to ensure our safety. These are the same systems the mayor himself was planning to put in place before he became incapacitated. Because he is not here, I will be leading these new initiatives.

  “First, the heads of households will be assigned an odd or even number. Those numbers will be put onto everyone’s hands with what is called a henna tattoo. It cannot be washed off right away as to ensure that no one will switch numbers, but it will wash off in about two to three weeks so you can rest assured that it is not permanent.

  “Even-numbered citizens will be allowed to get rations of food and supplies on Mondays and Thursdays. Odd-numbered citizens will be allowed to get rations on Tuesdays and Fridays. The heads of households will be the only people given numbers, so they can get food and supplies for their families on the appropriate days. Hopefully, within a week at the most, we will have stores restocked and we will no longer need the numbers.

  “Secondly, we are starting a curfew from sunset on until this city can get back to normal. Business owners may go and work on repairing damage and get your shops ready for business again, but please, everyone, let’s be respectful of everyone’s property. We will not be allowing any rallies and large public gatherings for the next week. I respect the first amendment as much as anyone, but I do not want any more riots or mass paranoia. We need to put an end to this mob mentality. Leaders of all groups, I ask that you respect this policy, and if you do not, then you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  “I know these new rules are a bit harsh and even a little extreme, but hopefully they will only be put into place for a couple of days. Then we can get back to normal. But if that’s going to happen, we need a little dose of reality, everyone. Now you’re dismissed. If you’re the head of a household, you may get your number and then take your family home. And be careful out there, the roads are still very slick,” Mr. Clayton said and then walked off the stage.

  Emily smiled and squeezed Curtis’ hand. Mr. Clayton did such a good job. She thought everyone received what he had to say rather warmly.

  GARY & GAYLE

  Drivetime with Gary & Gayle was far and away the most popular morning radio talk show in Goodland. And it turned out that Gary’s views lined up politically, religiously, and philosophically with the Prepared’s, while Gayle’s views were straight down the line in sync with the Realists. Gayle laughed lots and lots on air while Gary was always somewhat gruff and serious. It’s ratings magic. The people of Goodland couldn’t get enough of their banter. And the night after the town meeting they had to have a special edition of Drivetime.

  There was lots to talk about.

  Nothing was more pressing than the mayor’s death and Adam Clayton. Gary was somewhat confident that the new mayor was the Antichrist. Mr. Clayton had the right characteristics: He claimed that he could do miracles and signs and wonders. (He didn’t exactly claim he could do miracles but he did claim he could restore order back to Goodland, which was kind of like a miracle, and he told the town that they should depend on him and his systems instead of trusting in God, which was definitely a delusion of grandeur.)

  “A delusion of grandeur?” Gayle asked.

  “Absolutely,” Gary answered. “Did you see him up there? He was so smug. He was acting like it was such a gift that we had him.”

  “He was acting like a man who’s trying to lead a town that’s been rattled by death and natural disaster.”

  “Let’s see what the callers think. We’ve got Desmond from east Goodland. What do you think, Des?”

  “Until tonight I’ve never heard of Adam Clayton. Which is why he’s clearly the Antichrist. Second Thessalonians says, ‘He,’ meaning the Antichrist, ‘will oppose and will exalt himself over everything… and now you know what is holding him back, so that he may be revealed at the proper time.’ The proper time. I mean, come on Gayle, what time could be more proper than when the town is scared out of its mind?” Desmond said.

  “Thanks for your call, Desmond,” Gary said. “Let’s take another call. Mary Crane from south Goodland.”

  “Hi Gayle and Gary. Love your show.”

  “Thanks Mary.”

  “I just didn’t like the way he said, ‘If we’re going to survive, you have to put your faith in me.’ That seems like the type of thing the Antichrist would say.”

  “But Mary, don’t you think he was extremely nervous under those circumstances. Do you really think we can read into every word he said?” Gayle asked.

  “He didn’t seem nervous to me. He seemed very confident. Almost creepy confident given that our mayor had just died. He was Antichrist confident,” Mary said.

  “Antichrist confident. So, if you show a little bit of leadership, you’re the Antichrist? Would it have been better if he stuttered a little? If his hands shook? That would have let us know that he wasn’t some supernatural being?” Gayle asked. “Let’s take another call.”

  “I agree with you, Gayle,” the caller said. “How much more can these people stretch everything? It’s absolutely crazy. They aren’t thinking straight at all, they are just taking two things that have nothing to do with each other and saying it has something to do with the apocalypse.”

  Gary had to butt in. “Okay, first of all we’re not talking about the apocalypse, we’re talking about the rapture. The apocalypse is just what you people want to call it because saying rapture makes you feel uncomfortable. And frankly you might as well call it that. Because for us it will be the rapture, while everyone left behind will have to deal with the apocalypse. So, good luck with that,” Gary said. Gary then hung up the line and took another call.

  “Yeah, okay, I think the most obvious reason Adam Clayton is the Antichrist hasn’t even been talked about yet. The mayor has asked us to get marks on our hands. And not just marks — he wants us to get numbers.”

  Gary then interrupted the caller. He took a moment to explain to the audience Adam Clayton’s complicated number system. It went like this: For half of the town, the number one was tattooed on the hands of the male heads of households and the number three was tattooed on the hands of female heads of households. The odd numbers were allowed to get supplies on Mondays and Thursdays. For the other half of the city, the number two was tattooed on the hands of the male heads of households and the number four was tattooed on the hands of female heads of households. The even numbers were allowed to get their food on Tuesdays and Fridays.

  “So, yeah, okay, you can see where I’m going. You do a little bit of simple math and you can see the frightening ramifications of these numbers. On even days the number two males and the number four females would be standing next to each other. Two plus four equals six.”

  Gary could see where the caller was going so he jumped in. “Okay, but then we all know men don’t listen to instructions very carefully. So it’s perfectly rational to think that on the first Monday of the system a few of the number two males, who were supposed to get their food on Tuesdays, would not understand and so they’re gonna mix in with the number one males and number three females. So then the food shelter is filled with people with the numbers one, three, and two. And even a second grader could tell you that one plus three plus two equals six.”

  “Right,” the caller said. “And what about when everyone goes back to work? Two single mothers who work at the Goodland coffee house could both get their food on Mondays and Thursdays. Three plus three equals six. The three garbage men in Goodland all got their food and supplies on Tuesdays and Fridays. That means every home in Goodland would be passed by with a truck carrying three men with the number two tattooed on their hands. Three multiplied by two equals six.”

  Gayle
had to chime in, she couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay. That’s cute. I get where you’re going. The mark of the beast.”

  “Think about how our new leader has tattooed our town with the most evil, dark, and wicked of all numbers: 666. He has placed the Mark of the Beast on our skin,” Gary said. “How are we supposed to not respond to that? One or two of these things, sure, its just a coincidence. You add them all up and this new mayor is looking a lot like the Antichrist.”

  “I could kill that new mayor for what he’s done to our town,” the caller said.

  “Yeah, but you don’t actually mean kill him. Do you?” Gayle asked.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” the caller said. His voice sounded like ice water. “Think about it. Osama, Hitler, Saddam, all these guys. Think about how much better off we all would have been if someone had just had the courage to kill them early on. Millions of lives would have been saved. And a lot more lives than that wouldn’t have been destroyed. But if someone had stepped up like a man and assassinated those rulers, it would have saved the world from so much evil.”

  “Okay, I think we’ve heard about enough from you,” Gayle said and hung up the phone. It was one thing for a caller to stir up a little controversy, quite another for him to be advocating murdering the mayor of their town over the airwaves.

  “Let’s take our next caller,” Gary said.

  “I don’t know why we would kill the mayor,” the caller said.

  “Thank you,” Gayle responded.

  “I mean, if the Prepared are so itchy to kill someone, why don’t they kill that little boy? Did you see him up there tonight? He keeps getting this town much more freaked out. And then the mayor died right when he said, ‘The power is leaving.’ If you ask me what’s wrong with this town, it’s that Henderson kid.”

  “Okay. Goodbye,” Gayle said and hung up the phone again. She and Gary looked at each other. They’d never gotten calls like this.

  “All right, I’m going to ask all our listeners out there for a favor. Can we not talk about committing acts of violence over the airwaves for the rest of the night? Can you all do me that little favor?” Gary asked.

  But as the night went on, the callers didn’t oblige. They talked about murder, lashing out, and fighting back. The calls got worse and much more unthinkable. Gary and Gayle were shocked. Sure, they knew the town would be scared — there had been some apocalyptic storms and the mayor had died — but they were, after all, talking about religion and politics. These were bloody things. That was nothing new.

  What was new was how Goodland was responding to them. Gary and Gayle were just trying to do the same thing they always did, stir up a little healthy debate. But this town was beyond debate now. It was time for action. And as Gayle and Gary packed up for the night, they’d never felt filthier. The things they’d heard over the airwaves tonight, the thoughts that were flying through people’s heads, were otherworldly. This was Gayle who’d noticed that, and she was the agnostic. But even she had to admit that something wasn’t right with their fair town. And she needed to get home and be with her family. They both did. After that night, after listening to the way the entire town was talking, Gayle and Gary thought the only safe thing to do was gather up their families and lock themselves in the basement until this all passed over.

  That was assuming, of course, that this was just going to pass over and not be the beginning of something that would stay with the town forever.

  JEFF HENDERSON

  Jeff woke up on Saturday morning with a horrible crick in his neck. He’d spent the night in a jail cell sleeping on a concrete slab of a bed. Other than the bed, there was nothing in the cell except a toilet that was so grimy Jeff could no longer tell what color it was supposed to be, and a tiny window that was over seven feet off the ground. Jeff had to stand on the tips of his toes and careen his neck just to see out the window. The only reward he got for his efforts was to see the feet of officers and the emergency police force as they walked towards their squad cars.

  He couldn’t believe he’d spent the night in a jail cell. He couldn’t believe he’d charged the field like that last night. Then again, he couldn’t stop himself. After the mayor died, he could see the town was furious and scared out of their minds about the mayor’s death, and he could see them blaming Will for predicting it. They’d be so furious that they’d storm the field and want answers; when Will couldn’t give them what they wanted, they’d rip him limb from limb. And that was more than Jeff could bear to see.

  He’d sprung up from his seat and shouted for his son.

  No one else moved. They all just stared at him like he was a moron. He felt naked, he might as well have been streaking across the stadium floor. But what was he supposed to do? Go back to his seat? Was he supposed to say, “I’m sorry, I misjudged you and thought you were about to tear my son apart like a pack of blood-thirsty vampires?”

  No, he couldn’t go back. He needed to be with Will. The reflection said he needed to help his son. Maybe the way to do that was to stand with him. Maybe all the reflection was trying to say was he needed to stop trying to protect his son and instead just encourage him. Maybe the reflection’s only message to Jeff was this: Be a father.

  Jeff had sprinted towards Will, wanting more than ever just to scoop him up and tell him he loved him. He wanted to tell him, “I’m sorry I’ve always been a little closer to Emily.” It wasn’t like he purposely tried to be closer to Emily, it was just he could understand her ambition — she wanted to be homecoming queen, she wanted to go to college and change the world. All Will ever wanted was to read comic books and play video games. There wasn’t much to him. Or so he thought. But the courage and the heart that Will had shown in the last couple of days was greater than anything Jeff had ever done. To be able to stand in front of an entire stadium —

  Wham!

  That’s when he’d been tackled by men in suits. He didn’t know who they were or why they were tackling him. The whole experience was really jarring. And he felt embarrassed that he punched one of the secret service guy and he felt mortified as he was being hog-tied in front of the entire stadium. But he didn’t want to seem embarrassed. He wanted Will and Emily to know he was okay. So he said hi to Emily and told Will about the reflection.

  The night ended with him being shoved into a jail cell and told, “You’re being charged with disturbing the peace, assaulting an officer, and possibly an assassination attempt on Mr. Clayton.”

  “Assassination? With what, my bare hands? Mean words?” Jeff said.

  “I can’t discuss the specifics of your case.”

  “I was trying to help my son.”

  “Save it for the judge,” the officer replied.

  “When’s my case going to be tried?”

  “After the rapture,” the officer laughed as he walked off into the distance. That was the last Jeff had heard from anyone official.

  Now Jeff was trapped in this cell. He had no way of knowing what had happened last night. How were Emily, Will, and Amy? What was going on in Goodland? Was it still in one piece? Was everyone okay? How had things at the town meeting ended up? He needed to know.

  “I want my phone call!” Jeff shouted, his face pressed against the bars of his jail cell. He was staring down a long hallway with what must have been five different cells connected to his on one side and a concrete wall on the other. At the end of the hallway stood a rusty green metal door with a window the size of a mail slot.

  “I want to talk to my lawyer!” Jeff shouted. But no one opened the rusty door. No one peeked through the mail slot. “I deserve some answers.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you deserve,” a voice answered. “There is no justice or due process anymore.”

  “Oh,” Jeff answered. “Okay.” He was a little startled that someone else was in one of the cells. He hadn’t heard or seen anyone else since he’d been dropped off last night. But since there was no one else to talk with Jeff asked, “Why isn’t there any more j
ustice?”

  “Because this town is being run by the Antichrist.”

  “Oh,” Jeff said again. He hadn’t gotten the memo. “You sound familiar. Do I know you?”

  “This is a small town. We all know each other.”

  “Then tell me, who’s the Antichrist?”

  “Adam Clayton.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Well, his initials are A.C. for one.”

  “AC?”

  “Anti Christ. Adam Clayton.”

  “Seriously, that’s why you think he’s the Antichrist?”

  “It’s one of the reasons. It’s not the only reason.”

  “Okay, besides Sesame Street letter-of-the-day reasons, what else do you have?” Jeff was surprised to hear himself coming off so sarcastic. But he was tired and he’d been freaked out for his family’s safety for what seemed like weeks. He’d seen too much and been jerked around for too long to be moved by anymore Goodland paranoia.

  “What about the Mark of the Beast?”

  This was just getting better and better. “The Mark of the Beast?”

  “Yes, he placed the Mark of the Beast on the hands of those who were willing.”

  “What is the Mark of the Beast exactly?”

  “Henna tattoos.”

  “Henna tattoos?”

  “They’re like tattoos.”

  “Okay, but what’s the difference between a Henna tattoo and an actual tattoo?”