Authors: Rob Stennett
“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
raptur
e 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 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 justice?”
“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?”
“Henna tattoos wash off.”
“Oh, so it’s like those tattoos they give away in packs of gum.”
“They’re a little more intense than that. They last for weeks.”
“Weeks. Wow.”
“Weeks are a big deal when that’s all we have left.”
“I know, that’s why I said wow,” Jeff said. “Okay, so let me guess, he had you tattoo the number 666 on your hands?”
“No.”
“No,” Jeff said, “then what number?”
“He used the numbers one, two, three, and four, which can all easily add up to six.”
“They can also add up to seven, eight, and nine,” Jeff said. And that’s when Jeff stopped himself. What sort of conversation
was he in? Was everyone actually saying Mr. Clayton, who had the guts to step up and be the leader at a difficult time, was
the Antichrist because of his initials and bubble gum tattoos? This was insane. The whole town had gone crazy.