Authors: Rob Stennett
As Jeff entered the stadium, representatives from both sides tried to recruit him. They offered him pamphlets and gave him
petitions to sign. He ignored them easily. He didn’t really have time to care about whose side he was on at the moment. There
were more immediate things to worry about as he entered the stadium. Like where his family was.
As he wandered through the stadium’s corridor, there were so many faces — women, children, and teenagers who all looked and
sounded the same, bundled up in bright scarves and mittens and skull caps. There was no way he could find the needle that
was his family in this haystack of people. He supposed he could try to shout out for them, but it was so loud in the stadium.
There were so many voices talking and shouting that Jeff could barely hear himself think. And when Jeff thought it couldn’t
get any louder, rain and drizzle started tapping against the steel roof of the old stadium.
Jeff didn’t know what else to do to find his wife and son and daughter. He asked everyone he knew and no one had seen them.
He tried calling Amy’s cell phone, but for whatever reason she wasn’t answering.
Still, he needed to talk to her. He found a chair in the top row in a corner of the arena and tried to call his wife again.
She still didn’t answer. So he kept calling. He called twenty-six times, and every time his calls went to voicemail after
a couple of rings. It was driving him crazy. He had so much to tell her. And since he couldn’t tell her anything in person,
he left her messages.
Lots of them.
He said, “Something happened and I want to tell you about it. Call me.”
“Hey, there’s some pretty serious people here. I mean, everyone is pretty freaked out. I want to protect Will. It’d probably
be best if you gave me a call.”
“Okay, I know why you’re not calling me back. But listen, I understand now. Honestly, I get it. I’m sorry for being so awful.
Give me a call.”
“A miracle happened in my motel room, Amy. Well, maybe not a miracle. I don’t know what classifies as a miracle. I think someone
has to be healed or bread has to be multiplied. But it was a supernatural event. Okay, that sounds really
X-Files
. Just give me a call.”
“Amy, why aren’t you answering? Please call.”
“Lot of people here. It’s like a freezing-cold rodeo — without livestock. Can you imagine if they tried to ride those bulls
in this weather? They’d be sliding all over the place. Kind of funny, huh? Um, anyway, I have my cell on me so just call whenever
you get this.”
“Did your battery die? I told you to buy a car charger. It’s going to be tough for you to call without a battery.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you a little of what happened to me. The face that visited Will… it also visited me. In the motel TV. That’s
all I’m going to say. Just a little teaser if you will. You’ll have to call if you want to find out more.”
“Wow, look at this stadium. I didn’t even know there were this many people in Goodland. I bet someone here has a phone you
can borrow if you ask them. Everyone’s pretty nice and they understand this is an emergency, so I’m sure they’d be willing
to let you use a phone so you could call your husband.”
“Okay, well, um, I’ll just keep an eye out for you. But I have my phone on me if you want to call.”
Those were the messages he left. And he thought he might try to give her a call one more time and leave her one more message
just in case, but that’s when the mayor stepped up to the podium and began to speak. At the sight of the mayor’s jolly, overweight
frame, the stadium’s loud, chaotic murmur turned into a whispering hush and the only sound left was the drizzle on the roof.
“Goodland is not a city. It’s not a metropolis. It’s not a bustling center of commerce. It’s a town,” the mayor said, like
an upset father scolding his children. “What separates us from everyone else? Our community. Our trust and respect for one
another. That’s why people move here. That’s what people love about this town. And I can’t believe we are willing to give
that up so easily. I cannot believe my town has split in two so quickly. We need to find some compromise. Some middle ground.
“Most of all, we have to stop acting like it’s every man for himself. We have to stop raiding the stores and hoarding all
of the food and supplies and generators for ourselves. So we are taking some steps to make sure no one goes hungry. And the
Goodland Utility Company has assured me the running water and electricity will not be going out anytime soon. But if by some
unforeseen and/or unpreventable reason the power does ‘leave,’ we are finding ways of backing things up. We are going to make
it through this time, together. I know there are differing views as to what’s happening, but we must stop being divisive and
learn to live with and respect one another.”
That’s a nice thing to say, Jeff thought. But it doesn’t play out in reality. The two sides are in direct opposition to each
other. The Prepared think the world must be saved and the Realists think there is nothing to be saved from. The Realists don’t
want to be told how to live. They want to keep to themselves. So how are they supposed to coexist? By their very nature, the
Prepared have to tell people they aren’t going to be raptured and the Realists want them to just shut up. There’s no respectful
coexistence in that.
“I know some of you don’t believe in the prophecies. Others are terribly worried. So that’s why, just to be safe, we’ve worked
on the power. And to get the final prophecy out there, we’ve brought Will Henderson here tonight.”
You’ve brought
who
here tonight?! Jeff thought. He almost screamed it. But neither his body nor his vocal cords could move as he watched his
son led out of the pen normally reserved for the bulls and their riders during the summer rodeo. Will was guarded by two secret
service – looking men wearing black suits, sunglasses, and with earpieces squiggling out of their left ears. Emily was also
there, and Amy followed closely behind her children with a proud smirk.
Jeff was sure it was a smirk.
And he was sure she caught eyes with him the second she left the pen. She knew exactly where he was, she had seen him there
squirming and worried the whole time. She wouldn’t answer his calls because she didn’t want him stopping her from her plan.
And what kind of plan was this? Yesterday she was dead-set against helping the mayor out in any way and now they’d all teamed
up against him. What was going on? The second he goes away, she starts working directly with the government? Was she that
dead-set against him? It wasn’t his plans, it wasn’t his ideas that she was against — it was
him
.
And that, more than anything, made him furious. He wanted to shout at her from the top row of the arena. He wanted to ask
her how she could have let — invited, even — so much come between them. But at the moment, he couldn’t scream or shout or
say anything. He could only watch. He was no longer the head of his family — he was, instead, alone and completely helpless.
“I know there are differing views about what went on at Jefferson Elementary on Thursday,” the mayor said, “but no matter
what your views are, we must all acknowledge that Will Henderson is a hero. His brave actions saved the lives of hundreds
and hundreds of our children. And I think, for that, he must be applauded.” At that, most of the stadium burst into applause.
Many stood and cheered.
“So tonight I’ve asked Will Henderson to unveil the final warning sign. And then I assure you, your government will do whatever
it takes to ensure that we are protected from whatever’s out there. I know some of you think there is nothing to be protected
from. And that’s fine. I know others of you think there is no way to protect ourselves. To both sides I say, we are just looking
to guide this great community through this time, so that everyone is provided for. And you will see over the next couple of
days, this is exactly what will happen. Then maybe we can go back to being the town that I have grown to love so much.
“So, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I present Will Henderson.”
There was more polite/raucous applause. Jeff looked at his son who seemed petrified by the crowd, unable to move with all
of those eyes staring at him. Finally, Will crept up and took the microphone. He held it in front of his face but did not
speak. He mustered a “Hi,” and then stood for a few more moments. “My name is Will Henderson. I’m eleven years old and I’m
the one the face gave the three signs to.” The mayor stood confidently behind Will, his hand on Will’s shoulder.
That should be my hand, Jeff thought.
Will went on, “Okay, so one night in a cornfield a week ago I got three signs. The first sign was
destroy
. The school was going to be destroyed. The second sign was
power
. The power is — ”
At that moment, Jeff knew exactly what was going to happen. Will would say, “The power is leaving” one more time and then
the stadium lights would just shut down. Flash, they would just burn out. Then the power would be gone. In the parking lot
every streetlight would burn out, one by one. Lights in homes would just die. The sound system would go silent. And like that,
Goodland would be set back five hundred years, into the Dark Ages. Who knows what sort of riot would take place in the stadium?
People would claw and scratch and trample one another in the darkness.
Jeff could see this all happening in a flash. He knew he had to get down there and protect his family. This was what the reflection
in the mirror was telling him to do. He was just waiting for the right moment to spring himself out of his chair and run down
to stand beside Amy and Will. But the right moment wasn’t coming. Because as Will continued talking, something odd happened
— the lights in the stadium kept on burning bright and the sound system kept pumping out sound. They were using as much power
as ever. Even though this seemed like the optimal moment for a sign from on high, the sign wasn’t coming.
“ — leaving. And I’m pretty sure the final sign is,” and Will stopped. He seemed nervous to say another word.
The mayor crouched next to Will and told him, “It’s okay, son. Just take your time.” Then the mayor gave Will another squeeze
on the shoulder.
Who is this guy? Jeff thought. He comes in and takes over my family and now he’s crouching next to Will and squeezing his
son’s shoulder like he’s Mr. Cleaver and Will’s the Beav? How did Amy do this to me? How did she replace me with the mayor?
If the power does go out, and I’m alone with the mayor, I may make it so he doesn’t walk out of here.
Jeff snapped out of his thoughts. He watched his son take a deep breath and say, “Okay, the final sign is, the rooster crows
before the harvest.” Jeff almost thought he could see a thought bubble over every head in the stadium asking what “The rooster
crows before the harvest” was possibly supposed to mean. Will tried to answer them by saying, “I don’t know what that means
exactly. I wish the face would have been more specific or he would help me to remember better. But honestly, I’m still trying
to understand what
the power is leaving
means.”
And that’s when the mayor collapsed. His legs simply buckled and his body slipped to the ground with a quiet thud. He grabbed
at his chest and rolled on the ground for a few seconds, and then went still as a corpse. The entire stadium gasped. Will
dropped the microphone and turned to stare at the mayor. Quickly, assistants and agents and God knows who else swirled around
the mayor. Even from the top row Jeff thought he could read the lips of one of the other assistants as she whispered, “I think
he’s dead.”
As the mayor grabbed another leg of fried chicken, dipped it in country gravy, and took a generous bite, Amy thought that
no one should be eating that much fried chicken. Certainly not the mayor who was already far heavier than a man of his height
should be. He probably didn’t care. His jolly, overweight frame was one of his trademarks. It was like the city of Goodland
was being led by John Candy or Chris Farley. Everyone loved that he was overweight. He played Santa Claus at the Christmas
parade every year, and it seemed like the whole town had cheered like fraternity boys and sorority girls when they danced
among the disco lights at his inauguration ball.
But Amy didn’t find the mayor to be jolly or happy or a whole lot of fun. To Amy, the mayor looked like the Godfather or that
big guy from
The Sopranos.
Amy felt like a mafia boss was sitting in her kitchen. It was as if she was about to make a deal with the devil. But she
was running out of options. And when he called and asked if he could come over so they could talk things out, she felt like
she didn’t have much of a choice. First of all, they didn’t have any food. Their trip to the grocery store couldn’t have been
more of a disaster. They left without a single item of food or any helpful supplies. Even worse, Will had given his second
prophecy in the grocery store.
The grocery store.
God had given him such an important message, a message the whole town needed to hear, and Will gave it in aisle 11? Certainly
God’s plan A for Will and His message did not entail giving his prophecy in the middle of some freezer aisle where he could
barely be seen or heard. If it was up to her, Will would have delivered his prophecy — well, she didn’t know where exactly.
And maybe that was the problem. She didn’t have a plan. Now two of the three of his prophecies were gone. There was only one
left.
To make matters worse, the town was going crazy. Her friends and neighbors had turned into frightened children. No one was
using this time to get themselves ready for the afterlife; they were acting childish, indulging their every desire. So what
would happen once they started running out of food? Right now there was looting and violence and Lord knows what else going
on outside of her house. But when food became scarce and the power went out, what would happen then? What would everyone turn
into when things went dark? She needed to make sure she was protected. And Amy had to make sure the final prophecy could be
delivered at the right place and at the right time. Jeff couldn’t help protect her and he didn’t want to help Will do what
God had asked him to do. That’s why Jeff was gone. He had forfeited his right to lead his family. But she needed someone’s
help.