The End is Now (33 page)

“Sure,” Will said and slammed the door shut.

Finally, Amy could just lay her head on the window again. She was so tired. She just wanted to sleep. Somewhere deep inside
of her, something was screaming that they had to get back to Good-land, that they were needed for the end, but she just didn’t
have it in her to listen to that voice right now. She didn’t have the energy to fight the town anymore. She had thought the
town would be grateful for the salvation that her son was bringing. But they hadn’t been. They were always second-guessing
him, Amy always had to defend Will, and she just didn’t have the strength for any of it anymore.

She wanted to sleep, but when she closed her eyes, sleep wouldn’t come. Even sleeping seemed like too much effort. The only
thing that seemed right to Amy was pressing her face against the cool window of the police car. As she looked around the front
of the Stuckey’s, she noticed how carefree all of these people were. Most were on road trips of some sort. Families on trips
to theme parks, fathers taking their daughters to college, and so on. Life seemed so uncomplicated for these people. It was
like they’d never even heard the word
rapture
.

And as Amy continued to scan the exterior of the Stuckey’s, she saw something frightening. She had to blink and close her
eyes to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Will was talking to some bearded, potbellied trucker wearing a black shirt. Will
was frantic as he talked. He waved his hands all over the place. The trucker nodded as if he understood and then opened the
passenger door and let Will in. The trucker glanced to his right and to his left, looking as guilty as a shoplifter, as he
closed the door behind Will.

Why is my son getting into that truck? What is he doing?

“Will!” Amy yelled. And she pulled on the handle to get out. The door didn’t budge. She pulled again. But of course, she couldn’t
get out. She was in a police car. It was designed not to let the strongest of detainees out, and the grate between the front
and the back seats kept Amy from jumping into the front seat and letting herself out.

“Will!” Amy shouted again. “Will!” She was screaming now. “Somebody help! That man is taking my son!” The red semi truck was
pulling away. It was pulling away with her baby inside it. “Please someone! ANYONE!” Amy looked all around but the families
on road trips just kept filling their cars up with gas. “Oh my God, he’s taking my baby, he’s taking my baby!” Amy said as
she watched the truck pull away from the Stuckey’s and back onto I – 70.

Within seconds it was out of sight.

Then there was a tapping on the window of the opposite side of the car. It was a police officer. A real police officer. Not
a fake one, like Jeff.

The officer opened the door and stared at Amy. “Ma’am, I need you to calm down and tell me where the officer is who arrested
you? Normally detainees aren’t supposed to be left alone.”

Amy opened her mouth to explain everything, but words wouldn’t come out. She just broke down sobbing. It was more hysterics
than sobbing. Deep down in her mind she knew she had to gain control to explain herself. Will needed her. She wanted to stop
crying but she felt like she couldn’t. It took her well over a minute — an eternity when your son’s just been kidnapped —
to calm down enough so she could tell their story to this officer.

Mike Frank swears he’s never had a dream in his life. When he goes to bed at night he lays there until the darkness overtakes
him, and when he wakes up in the morning there is nothing but grogginess. As he brushes his teeth he never remembers any dreams,
he never remembers flying or standing on the school bus in his underwear or any of the other dreams people claim they’ve had
a thousand times. When he tells people that he’s never dreamed, they all say that’s impossible, you have to dream, everybody
dreams. But Mike just feels skeptical, like they’re trying to convince him of something that simply doesn’t exist.

It seemed like everyone was trying to do the same with the rapture. They believed in it so strongly and talked about it so
passionately, but just because someone desperately wants something to be true doesn’t mean it is. Cubs fans always believe
that this is the year they really will win the World Series, mothers believe that their child really was the best and should
have been cast as the lead in the school play, and half of the people Mike pulls over believe they weren’t speeding. And people
don’t just believe these things — they’re fanatical about them. And the more fanatical, pushy, and insistent people are about
something, the more Mike believes it just isn’t true. Everyone was fanatical about the rapture which, deep down, made Mike
think the whole thing must be some elaborate hoax.

At the moment, Mike was laying in bed trying to sleep. He must have been lying there for hours with his eyes closed yet unable
to drift into the darkness. He knew he needed to get some rest after the ice storm, the riot outside this morning, and all
of the chaos at the town meeting the night before. He felt stretched so thin. And he could expect the same from his men —
they were tired, worn out, and exhausted. They didn’t know how much longer they could hold up law and order in Goodland.

If Mike was going to lead them, he needed to sleep, but his thoughts were racing so quickly. How can everyone just be destroying
our town? How can they be looting and wrecking and burning every corner in Goodland? I know all of these people. They’re good
and decent. How are they really resorting to this?

And then his alarm clock blared. He opened his eyes and looked at it. It was seven p.m. It was time to wake up and start making
the calls to the men on duty for the night. Normally it wouldn’t be an issue — if they were scheduled, Mike had no question
that his men would be there. But the rapture was taking a toll on all of them. So he decided it would be best if he double-checked.

He picked up his phone and started calling through his roster. He started with Charlie, a longtime friend, a man who’d been
on the force for the last ten years. “Hey Charlie, just checking in to make sure you know you’re on duty with me at eight.”

“Yeah, I know,” Charlie said.

“Okay, great.”

“But I don’t think I’ll be there.”

“You what?” Charlie had never turned down a request from Mike. Ten years on the force and Charlie had always helped out Mike
whenever he asked.

“I’ve helped enough. My family needs me now,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, and the best way you can make sure your family’s okay is by protecting this town.”

“No, the best way to make sure they’re okay is by making sure they’re prepared for tomorrow morning. Goodbye, Mike,” Charlie
said right before he hung up.

Mike wanted to call him back and yell about loyalty and duty and the oath to serve and protect that they’d made. But Mike
feared his sermon wouldn’t get through to Charlie. From the sound of his voice it seemed that another set of beliefs had already
taken over Charlie’s thoughts and his life.

So Mike kept calling the men who were scheduled to help him protect the town. He called Earl and said, “Earl, you know you’re
on duty at eight, right?”

“Yeah, I need to talk to you about that, Mike.”

“About what?”

“I’ve been talking with some other guys on the force,” Earl said. Mike didn’t really know what he meant by
guys on the force
. Before all of the prophecies there were five full-time officers in the department. But now, with all of the emergency police
officers, who knew where they were taking the conversations.

“And what have the guys been saying?” Mike asked.

“That this fear is spreading like a cancer. That this is a good and decent town with good and decent people. But when the
rapture talk comes up, everyone goes crazy.”

“It’ll be over in the morning. We need to stay stable. We need to serve and protect until then.”

“It won’t be over in the morning. Once this prophecy doesn’t come true, there’ll just be another. I think it’s time we did
something proactive.”

“Proactive?”

“Yeah, send a message.”

“What kind of message?”

“Don’t worry about that. Just promise to stay out of our way.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Then I guess you’re going to have to stop us,” Earl said, and then the phone went dead.

Mike couldn’t believe that everyone was turning their back on him. But all the guys reacted either like Charlie or Earl did
and said they were staying with their families until the end or that they were doing something “proactive.” There was no loyalty
left. Not a soul had a sense of duty. Mike was the only person who still cared about such things.

Mike knew it was up to him to stop whatever it was that all the men on the force were planning. But he didn’t know if he could.
Because what frightened him the most was realizing that maybe Earl was right. Maybe the fear of Armageddon was a cancer in
Goodland, and the town would never be stable and whole and healthy again until that cancer was cut out.

The sun was once again setting over Goodland. It didn’t paint the Goodland skyline in crimson reds and oranges like it usually
would this time of year, but instead glowed an ashy gray.

As Emily looked at the Goodland skyline, she could see the damage the last few riots had caused to local businesses. Smashed-in
windows were covered in duct tape and trash blew across the deserted streets. It didn’t feel like Emily should be driving
to homecoming. She didn’t know what it did feel like, but certainly not like homecoming. Certainly not like the most magical
evening of her life.

But that’s exactly where she was going. She was in the car with Curtis — her hair was fixed perfectly, her silver dress was
beautiful, and she had a red rose corsage strapped on her wrist. This was supposed to be the most important night ever, the
crowning moment of her life, but all of this rapture stuff had upstaged it. There was a dead mayor and riots and people talking
about the Antichrist, and half of the town convinced that the rapture was coming tomorrow morning — 6:11 tomorrow morning,
it had been said — probably about the time she and her friends would be at the Waffle House ordering omelets after partying
all night.

According to the Prepared, this was the last night of her life. It was the last night of everyone’s lives.

So shouldn’t they be at homecoming living it up? Emily knew she certainly would be. She’d been waiting six years for this.

But as she walked into the high school gym she was horrified. Maybe all of those kids at the popular table would get the last
laugh because after all of the build up, the hoping and dreaming, homecoming was so
lame
. Not that it was decorated lame; the homecoming committee had actually done a pretty decent job. There were silver, blue,
and pink lights all over the place, shimmering streamers, great music, and a disco ball to add a little classy ambiance.

But the gym of Emily’s high school felt so flimsy and lame because at most, half of the junior and senior classes were there.
And most of them were Realists. The Realist parents insisted that their children go to homecoming because skipping homecoming
was exactly what the Prepared would want them to do. “My mom says the Prepared want to disrupt our lives in any way they can,”
one girl explained to Emily.

Emily was deflated. The dance floor was sparse. The mood was somber. This is what a zombie homecoming must feel like, she
thought. It would feel all helpless and lame and gross just like this.

Perfect. Just perfect.

The homecoming game had already been cancelled last night because of the town meeting. And now this. She was about to be named
homecoming queen in front of a hundred people. Big deal. What was the point? Did it really matter if she was crowned queen
if no one was there to fawn over her? If nobody was there to see it?

Emily Henderson would not let that happen.

“Don’t worry, more people will show up,” Curtis said.

“Take out your phone,” Emily said.

“What?”

“Get out your phone. We’re making some calls.”

Emily took her phone out of her purse and hit a number on her speed dial. “Veronica, where are you?” Emily listened. “No,
there’s a lot of people down here.” Emily listened again. “I don’t care what you’re wearing, get down here now. This is the
last night of our lives, and even if it isn’t, we’re going to act like it is.”

Will had never ridden in a semi truck. Or a helicopter. The most exotic thing he’d ever ridden in was a minivan with third-row
seating, and that was hardly anything to brag about. Under different circumstances Will might have been impressed with the
walkie-talkie and the fact that there was a bed right behind the seats for the trucker to sleep. If things weren’t so dire
Will might have been fascinated with the life of a truck driver.

But things were dire.

His sister was in trouble. And now that it was pitch black outside, Will realized he might not have thought through his plan
carefully enough. What if he got back to Goodland and he and Emily couldn’t get out in time and they were raptured while his
mom and dad were away? That would be horrible.

Heaven suddenly never seemed scarier.

And if that thought wasn’t bad enough, he was in this truck with a creepy bearded guy whose breath stunk like Funyuns. The
trucker said he’d take Will back to Goodland, but maybe he’d have said anything to get Will in the cab. This man was a stranger
after all. And when Will was younger he’d been taught about the danger of strangers. When he was six he thought the world
was full of killers and kidnappers and child molesters. That’s the way his Boy Scout safety class made it seem. “Never talk
to any adult you don’t know. No matter if they offer you candy or video games or a ride home. Stranger danger!” the Scoutmaster
always said. So for a long time Will would walk around the mall scared out of his mind of all the dangerous adults lurking
around. He’d look at one lady and think
she’s probably a kidnapper
and he’d look at some man and think
he probably kills children and puppies
.