The End is Now (25 page)

Mike wasn’t going to let that happen. Not yet. If he couldn’t get things done by conventional means, then…

Mike picked up his phone and dialed. When someone answered he said, “This is Sergeant Mike Frank. I need to speak with the
mayor.” In all of Mike’s years on the force, he’d only personally called the mayor three times. And those were all emergencies.

Well, Goodland had never faced an emergency like this one.

“What is it, Mike?” the mayor asked. Mike could hear his labored breathing over the phone. And he began to explain the problem.
Goodland was starting to unravel. They needed more men.

“How many do you need?” the mayor asked.

“As many as we can get. More,” Mike said.

“Go out and find the men you need. Deputize them. I’m having an emergency town meeting tonight; the news is making the announcement
in a few minutes. Until then, let’s have a curfew. Once you have your men, no one is on the streets until it’s time for the
meeting tonight,” the mayor said.

“Yes sir,” Mike answered.

When he got off the phone he called friends from the bowling league and guys he’d played poker with. He called guys who were
always jealous that he was a cop; men who were born for law enforcement but somehow missed their calling. “Now here’s your
chance,” he told them. He deputized them on the spot and called the men the Emergency Police Force. Morry printed them black
T-shirts that read EPF in bright yellow letters — it was all the uniform they needed. Mike made sure they were given nightsticks,
mag-lights, and a gun (which was never to be used; it was only for intimidation). Their job was simple: Keep everyone inside.

Mike felt uneasy about deputizing men on the spot. But these were desperate times. And when times get desperate, well, two
can play at that game, Mike thought.

By two o’clock that day, a mandatory Goodland curfew was initiated. It was only going to be for a few hours and then everyone
was allowed to come to the all-Goodland town meeting that was going to be held at the rodeo stadium at the Goodland fair-grounds.
Until then, anyone who was roaming the streets for any reason would be warned, and if they failed to comply, they’d be arrested.
No one was allowed to leave their house until six o’clock that night, and even then they were only allowed to go straight
to the town meeting where they would get further instructions on what to do until this crisis passed. Most complied. A few
were arrested. But either way, by three p.m. that day, no one outside of authorized personnel was roaming the streets of Goodland.

Jeff was trapped inside a tiny motel room. It was stale, not a hint of personality. Even things that were supposed to give
the room warmth and personality — like the painting of a cabin in the prairies with fresh snow all around it — looked completely
generic. It looked like something that belonged on a bottle of maple syrup. This painting was probably in every other room
at the motel, as well as in hundreds of other motel rooms across the country. The paintings were just like the lamps and end
tables — they were supposed to give the room warmth and personality, but instead they gave the whole room a bland, slapped-together-assembly-line
feel.

Jeff should have been at home.

His place had personality. There was that old scuffed-up leather recliner that he loved to read the sports page in; it was
the recliner his dad had given him right after he got his own place. There was his kitchen table, his living room, his bed
with his pillow that fit perfectly around his head, and best of all, his family was there. And he couldn’t be with them because
of philosophical differences.

That was insane.

Maybe he should just admit to Amy that she was right. Did it really matter if he believed her or not? Wasn’t a white lie to
get his family back together the lesser of two evils? Isn’t knowing when to back down and say “I’m sorry” a vital part of
a healthy marriage? Besides, most of the damage had already been done. Will had already gone on the news and made a scene
in the grocery store. The town was now in chaos and it had much bigger things to worry about. And everyone knew there was
only one prophecy left, so if Will could just tell that prophecy right away, everyone else would move on and start worrying
about themselves.

But what if all three of the prophecies came true, or at least sort of came true? Would the town really just leave him alone?
When people feel this paranoid, they look for some sort of leader. And what if they tried to make Will that leader? Even after
all the prophecies were over they’d want more, and if Will couldn’t give them more, they’d tear him to shreds.

Jeff didn’t know what to do. He needed help. He needed answers. He needed God. He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at
his reflection in the TV screen. His eyes were glazing over. And then, after a few minutes of staring at his own reflection,
something completely unexpected happened.

His reflection leaned forward.

Jeff was unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. So he sat perfectly still and watched as his reflection in the motel
television folded its hands and tilted its head up. The reflection looked Jeff in the eyes, only the reflection’s eyes were
steely and determined. Jeff had never seen his own eyes look like that. That’s not me, Jeff thought.

Of course I’m not you
, the reflection answered.

Jeff looked all around the room. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. Maybe he was just checking to see if he had
fallen into another dimension. He was just looking for something normal and stable. And as he looked around the room, everything
was its bland, normal self — the lamps, the end tables, the comforter, the painting — everything was normal except for the
image of himself on the television. “Who are you?” Jeff asked the image. And he was pretty sure he said this out loud.

I’m someone who’s come to give you advice
.

“Advice?”

You were just wondering what you should do about your family.

“How do you know that?”

I’m the reflection in the television that’s talking to you, and you want to know how I can see that you’re having family trouble?
I mean, isn’t that a little obvious? Everyone else in town is with their families while you’re stranded and alone in some
cheap motel room.

“Okay, then how are you talking to me?”

We don’t have time for this, Jeff. I can’t answer every question you have. I’m not your magic 8 ball.

“What do you have time for?”

To tell you this: you have to let Will give the signs that I’ve given him. You have to help him get Goodland ready for the
end.

“But why should I believe you? Honestly, how am I supposed to believe Goodland is coming to the end?”

I gave Will three signs. These aren’t simple little magic tricks. Everyone’s going to pay attention to what’s about to happen.
They’ll have to.

“Okay, but here’s my thing: Why give signs? Why don’t you just appear in the middle of Main Street as a giant ball of fire
and tell everyone what’s going to happen?”

Come on, Jeff. You know the answer to that.

Jeff didn’t know the answer to that. And he wondered why his reflection would think he had the answer.

I know this has got to be a lot for you to comprehend, and I can completely understand why you are overwhelmed by this whole
situation. But that doesn’t mean I’m still not expecting you to do the right thing. And the right thing is to stand by your
son’s side and help him deliver the three signs I gave him. That might not seem like much. And you probably feel like a third
wheel. I can understand that. Joseph felt the same way two thousand years ago. But he wasn’t a bystander. Well, he sort of
was. But he knew his role was to be a bystander. Maybe it’s time to understand your role.

Then Jeff’s head bobbed down and his reflection went back to normal.

Jeff felt groggy. He waved at the reflection in the TV screen and made faces, but the reflection just mimicked every one of
his actions. Whatever was there was now gone.

Did I dream that? Jeff wondered. No, dreams are not like that. Jeff had dreamed before and that was no dream. So, what was
the alternative? He had a vision? Was he supposed to believe God himself or some power from on high had come down to give
him advice on his family life? There had to be some other alternative.

So Jeff sat on the edge of the bed for quite a while trying to think of some other explanation about what had just happened
to him. After exhausting every other option, he decided there was only one way to make sense of what had just happened.

God had spoken to him. And now it was time to act.

While most were trapped inside their houses during the curfew, others were making efforts with their time. Efforts that would
impact eternity. Mary Crane was making those types of efforts because the thought of not being able to see the other girls
in her pinochle club for all of eternity was unbearable.

They were like sisters to her.

They laughed and drank Chai tea and talked about the newest quilting patterns. The girls at Tuesday morning pinochle shared
stories about what the kids were doing now that they’d left the house. They talked about their marriages, about what life
was like when they were young, and they gossiped about everyone. Even though Mary only saw the girls once a week, they were
still her family, kindred souls who understood every part of her life.

Every part except one. They did not believe in the rapture and they snickered at folks who did. Mary never admitted that she
was one of the believers. And now she may have to pay the ultimate price. She would be separated from her friends and her
sisters for an eternity. She would be in heaven while they all rotted in the underbelly of hell, and she would have to look
down at them as they screamed, begging to know: Why didn’t you ever tell us?

Mary wasn’t willing to live with that on her conscience. So, while everyone else was nestled safely at home, warming themselves
from the ice storm and waiting for the meeting that night, Mary was making a stand. There were members at her church who were
actively planning on spreading the word of what was about to happen that night. They would be at every gate passing out pamphlets,
and they would have counselors all around the area willing to say a simple prayer with those who were willing to change their
eternal destination.

Mary hoped to pass a pamphlet out to every member of pinochle club. She would track them down if she had to. The pamphlet
explained the realities of the rapture so much better than she ever could. Mary hoped that each member of the pinochle club
would read it, and as they looked up from reading she could imagine their faces as the reality of eternity dawned on them.
And then Mary would grab their hands and she would pray with them.

Mary knew she was about to leave her life on earth, but she wasn’t willing to leave the girls in her pinochle club. They were
her sisters. Her best friends. And they were worth fighting for.

Jeff was shaving in his motel room using the complimentary razor and shaving cream he’d asked for at the front desk. The razor
was cheap and it burned as Jeff dragged it across his face. It was another reminder of how badly he wanted to go home. But
at the moment he had to get ready to go to the town meeting. Everyone, supposedly, was going. And in all of Jeff’s years in
Goodland, he could never remember a meeting that everyone went to.

When Jeff finished shaving he put on some Old Spice after-shave. It was also complimentary. He was pretty amazed at all of
the complimentary stuff that they had at the front desk of the motel. Of course Jeff was hoping that they had Brut, because
Amy loved the way he smelled with Brut on, and so to keep the Brut smell special, he only used it for things like their anniversary
and Valentine’s Day. If he ran into her at the meeting tonight and she smelled the Brut on him, she would clearly understand
how much he missed her. He could only hope Old Spice would send the same message.

Once Jeff finished getting ready, he got in his car and drove to the Goodland fairgrounds. As soon as he arrived, he hopped
out of his car and started walking across the field with all of the other people in Goodland. His breath billowed out of his
mouth like cigar smoke. His face felt burnt and chapped. And far away from the stadium, no one was really talking. Everyone
had their faces tucked into their jackets trying to avoid the cold.

As Jeff neared the stadium, it started to crackle with life like a football game. There were two teams, only they weren’t
football teams — they were two groups: the Prepared and the Realists. Both sides had banners and T-shirts and all other sorts
of paraphernalia that made it crystal clear where their allegiances were drawn. And each side was doing all they could to
draw converts to their point of view. Many of the Prepared walked around the stadium’s entry points wearing sandwich boards
with messages handpainted across them like: “Repent!” and “Is Your Soul Ready?” and “There’s Room in Heaven for You.” Some
from the group had pamphlets printed on glossy paper that explained what the rapture was and what could be done about it.
There were also counselors and prayer lines outside of the meeting for anyone who was open to getting his or her soul right
with God. And the prayer lines were packed. There was quite the mini-revival going on outside the town meeting.

The Realists were just as vocal. They talked about the intolerance of the Prepared. They had pamphlets that explained the
bigotry of the rapture and demanded a more equal opportunity rapture where Muslims and Buddhists and Scientologists could
also be scooped up and taken to eternity. But the Realists’ main message was simple: Stop the madness. They said that if God’s
going to come, let Him come, but why tear apart the town with fear and paranoia in the meantime? They begged the Prepared
to stop being so vocal, to stop trying to influence every policy and decision that was made. They said the Prepared were leading
people towards lawlessness and it was time to start being realistic about the future.