What the Hand: A Novel About the End of the World and Beyond

by Stockwell, Todd

  “What are we looking for, rats?” said the nervous one called Hodi.

  I was still terrified, but Hodi’s nervousness and there only being two of them helped calm me some. Sliding the pistol away from my body, I placed a shaky finger on the trigger.

  “Look, the sooner we check it out, the sooner we get out of here. I don’t want to get shot for something stupid,” said New York.

  ***

  The Minions didn’t mess around with discipline. There were no hearings or court-martials. If you screwed up enough or disobeyed orders, you’d more likely than not be shot where you stood. Like the California Tarantula, the Minions, too, would eat their own kind.

  ***

  “Okay, okay, but there’s nothing here,” said Hodi.

  “Look at all these holes. We need to check them,” said New York.

  I braced myself. I could see their flashlights bouncing off the cave walls. I prayed Billy wouldn’t panic and come out shooting.

  “Are you kidding me? There are too many to check,” said Hodi. “I’m getting hungry.”

  “Well, let’s check the biggest ones.”

  “What if there’s a snake?”

  “Enough, Hodi! Let’s get it done!”

  I tried to steady the pistol, but I was shaking too badly, so I laid it on the rock face, still pointing out but with my finger off the trigger, afraid it would accidentally fire. I could tell they were moving from hole to hole. The light came and went, Hodi complaining more with each failed search, until I could hear him just below my crevice. I saw the top of his head bounce briefly by the opening in front of me. But then he kept moving.

  “Did you even look in there?” said New York.

  “Yeah, I looked.”

  “I’m serious, Hodi.”

  “You know…I’m getting a little tired of you calling the shots. Who the hell put you in charge of me? I don’t recall the ceremony where you were awarded the boss of Hodi badge. See this chevron? It’s the same one you got. It means I’m a corporal and you’re a corporal. You are not the sergeant. You are not the captain. You are not the king cave hunter! Got it, General? Now, I will go back and check that stinking hole, but then I’m going to get me some of that dog food they’re calling chili down there.”

  “Fine, numbskull—but if we get in trouble for this, I’m gonna beat you to death before they shoot us!” I could hear Hodi laughing. “You think I’m joking—I’m going to check the back of the cave,” said New York.

  ***

  Now I figured we were done. New York would find them if I didn’t do something quick. I had no choice. As soon as Hodi poked his head up, I would put a bullet in him and then chase down New York, if Billy didn’t get to him first.

  ***

  Billy, hearing their exchange, had already slipped out of his crevice and was stalking New York with the shotgun.

  ***

  I heard Hodi moving on the gravel. He was just below me again. I readied the pistol. His head bounced once above the opening. He must have slipped because I heard a sliding sound.

  “Damn!” he said.

  But then he was up again. I heard his foot land on rock. It must have been the same small ledge I used to boost myself. And in a moment there he was. I lurched back a little under the fold. I could see the top of his head again, this time steady. He must have been adjusting the flashlight in his hand because its beam bounced all over the crevice.

  Then he shoved himself forward and up, until his flashlight and my pistol met. The beam was blinding for a moment, so I turned my head slightly away and switched my flashlight on, pointing it toward his face. My eyes adjusted. His were closed, whether to avoid my light or because he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  I don’t know why I didn’t fire, but he seemed to be as afraid as I was, and so I hesitated. He didn’t have a weapon. He must have left it below so he get up the rock more easily. He opened his eyes again, and he looked at me. I looked back at him.

  The standoff only lasted a few seconds, but it seemed like minutes. Then something about him changed. He seemed to relax. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Somehow I knew he wasn’t going to give me away. And he didn’t. He just slid back down the canyon wall. I turned my flashlight off and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Before I could even think again about New York finding the others, I heard yelling and somebody running on the rocks from the back of the cave. It was New York. Billy, who was right behind him, also heard the yell. And seeing the Minion turn suddenly and run, he dove to the ground on one side of the cave, ready to shoot as he approached, but the frantic New York ran right past him.

  “Hodi, there’re a ton of giant spiders back there!”

  “What?” said Hodi.

  “Giant spiders!” By this time, New York was already upon Hodi and added, “Dude, get your rifle and let’s get the hell out of here!”

  “Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here!” said Hodi.

  ***

  I went to the Hall of Knowledge to look up Hodi and find out why he didn’t give me away. It turns out he’d seen something in my eyes that reminded him of himself. He could see I was scared and didn’t want to hurt him or anything. And that pretty much summed up Hodi’s experience with the New World Order and the Minions. Hodi, a peace-loving Muslim much of his life, had had enough of killing and being afraid. A week later, he deserted. Unfortunately, the Mark of the Beast made him easy to track, and within a few days, he was caught and executed. When one of his captors asked him where the hell he thought he was going with the traceable 666 implant, he responded with one word: “Exactly.”

  But there was something else; something I didn’t understand. I discovered that Hodi was here in the New Kingdom. I didn’t understand it because it was written in the Book of Revelation that anyone carrying the Mark of the Beast was doomed. It must have been a mistake, I thought, but it wasn’t, because a few weeks later, I actually looked him up and thanked him. So I went back to the Hall of Knowledge to find out about the discrepancy. What did I find out? It was so simple and so beautiful it brought me to tears. It was this: God can change his mind.

  17

  We walked out of the darkness into the light of the afternoon. Nobody said a word. Our eyes adjusted as we took in the mountain air and felt the sun that was still ours, at least for a time.

  ***

  The Minions had given up the search and were already miles from our mountain. I thought about Hodi and what he had done. I thought about the sudden presence of so many tarantulas. All the times we’d rehearsed, I hadn’t seen even one, yet when Billy and I went back to give the all clear, there were at least two-dozen of the giant spiders spread out across the ledges, just below the crevices where the others hid. The large spiders remained perfectly still as we approached, unflinching and unafraid, standing guard like British sentries at Buckingham Palace. It was impressive—enough to send New York running.

  Hodi and the spiders had been little miracles. I looked up at the full moon, and for a moment, imagined it a great eyeball winking back at me. The hand of God was with us.

  ***

  That night, cautious of Minion activity, we celebrated our close call beside a fireless pit. Billy broke out a couple bottles of wine from his most recent raid. Ironically, it was that particular theft that had prompted the Minions to search the mountain in the first place. The bottles came from the ranch house of a local big shot. The rancher had used his political clout to instigate the unusually large-scale search.

  Even the sisters, who hadn’t had a drink since they left Las Vegas, partook that night, probably to quell the anxiety that still lingered, fueled by the nerve-racking events of the day.

  Together, we toasted our survival and the good Lord for seeing us through. We drank to the Minion, Hodi, for his moment of compassion. We drank to Roger for first spotting the Minions, even though we had to pull it out of him. And we drank to our eight-legged guards.

  ***

  There were Ch
ristians on the Old Earth who would have frowned on our celebration. Some believed it to be the “devil’s juice,” a sinful concoction with no useful purpose except to further the debauchery of man. Other Christians found it acceptable to drink moderately or on special occasions. And there were those like the Catholics, who involved alcohol in their weekly masses, and with a reputation for putting a few down outside the church—some with a certain unabashed pride.

  The Bible itself did little to solve the debate, offering seemingly opposing viewpoints: “…Be not drunk with wine,” “Wine is a mocker and beer a brawler…,” “In the end it (wine) bites like a snake and poisons like a viper,” “Jesus turned the water into wine,” “Every man sets out the good wine first… ,” “I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until the Kingdom of God comes,” and on and on….

  Why couldn’t God make up His mind? Should I drink? Should I not drink? Was it acceptable to drink a little bit? Could I drink a little in church? Could I get drunk at a wedding? How about at a bar mitzvah? Jesus drank; why shouldn’t I? Why had God created a fermentation process in nature if he didn’t want people drinking alcohol? Was it all right I got hammered after losing my job? What about after my wife left me, even if it was my fault? How about after losing my little girl?

  ***

  And while Christians argued, Bible skeptics and critics on the Old Earth pointed to the debate as another example of Biblical contradiction, just another example of why the Bible, God, and Christianity were full of baloney. They laughed at our silly quandary, our inner turmoil, our inconsistency, our hypocrisy, our weakness, our Christian guilt.

  ***

  Well, was drinking ok? Was alcohol good or bad? What about other substances that caused impairment? And why were there so many inconsistencies on the subject, and lots of other subjects in the Bible for that matter?

  ***

  I never considered myself an alcoholic on the Old Earth. I often went weeks and months without it. Don’t get me wrong; I drank plenty. I just never had the craving alcoholics describe, like I had to have drink. No, my problem with drinking was that once I had a few, all bets were off. I craved a party, and it was alcohol that usually got me there. More often than not, I’d end up doing something stupid like getting in a fight, getting behind the wheel, doing drugs, hitting a strip club or casino, and who knew what else.

  Was there good in any of it? Of course not. But I got to thinking. I began to pour over those sad days and nights, and the sadder adventures that followed. I remembered the trouble and the depravity, and I winced at my pathetic lack of control. But there were other times.

  ***

  My brother Geoff and I were close growing up, at least until we hit our early teens, when the year separating us seemed insurmountable as I became the little brother he didn’t want tagging around. Then he joined the Marines, leaving home when I was seventeen. After that, he got married and moved to North Carolina. During those years, I saw him maybe three times. We talked sporadically on the phone, but it was always awkward. Eventually, we gave up on even that, and I didn’t see him for about eight years.

  He was a different person when he finally showed up at my door with his wife and two boys. Now a family man and a full-blown Southerner, he had come out to see my mom and take the kids to Disneyland. Sophie played with her cousins while Renee and my sister-in-law chatted away in the living room like old friends.

  Then there were Geoff and I, nodding and grunting, trying to avoid each other by interjecting ourselves into the wives’ conversation. Until they decided to take the kids to the mall, and we both went into a panic, offering to go with them, a suggestion met with surprise and quickly denied because neither of us had ever offered to go to a mall except maybe at Christmas.

  So there we were—brothers, who had once spent long effortless hours at play, now sitting as complete strangers in brutal silence. At least until I had this thought: Let’s go to a bar.

  You might laugh at us, and you probably should. But I call it a small miracle, for two strangers walked into a bar and two friends emerged; two brothers, drunk, yes, but having become closer nevertheless.

  Now our wives were none too happy when they picked us up, but that only brought us closer—as did our shared hangovers. From then on, we were brothers again because of the drink. I took my family for visits and we talked often after that. Could it have happened without alcohol? I don’t know and I don’t care. I got to know my brother again before he disappeared.

  ***

  The point of my boring story is this: amongst the madness and stupidity, alcohol had served a purpose. And it wasn’t the only time. A few glasses of wine broke the awkwardness of my first date with Renee and brought us closer that night. It inspired a dull audience at my sister’s wedding, turning it into a celebration to be remembered. Alcohol numbed the pain of my father’s death. It helped me through the aftermath of the Rapture, the first months of Sophie being gone, and the fear and horror of the Tribulation.

  ***

  Alcohol and other natural, mind-altering substances were used and manipulated by man for both good and evil purposes. A good example is the drug morphine—derived from the opium flower—given as a painkiller on battlefields as far back as the American Civil War. Soldiers who had to endure all manner of horrific wounds, including broken bones, stab wounds, bullet wounds, burns, head and face wounds, torn and severed limbs, and blown-out eyeballs were given at least some respite from the pain by its use. It also saved lives by preventing wounded soldiers from going into shock. On the other hand, the street drug heroin, also derived from opium—basically super-charged morphine—was highly addictive, wrecking lives and causing death. Opium could both save and destroy.

  ***

  Like nature, the Bible is filled with such contradictions. This is because they were both created to accommodate free will. Free will is about choice, and choice is, obviously, by its nature, full of contradictions.

  The Bible doesn’t state that alcohol is evil because it isn’t. Its use is suspect but not forbidden. The Bible is a book of reason and possibility, not a book of rigid impossibility. Religious fanatics on the Old Earth would comb the Bible for so-called rules, while often ignoring everything else related to a particular subject, especially if it interfered with one of their agendas. All this did was serve to alienate many intelligent people who weren’t willing to live with the crushing guilt of such hypocrisy.

  I’m not saying any of this to excuse my bad habits. But what religious fanatics failed to notice was the overwhelming yet subtle beauty of contradiction, alive and well, shifting about the rules, wherein lies the essence and greatness of the Book. The Bible is not a book of rules, not because there are no rules, but because the rules are useless without self-discovery.

  There are absolutes in the Bible, clear rights and wrongs, but this doesn’t mean that God is an absolutist. If He were, He would have stuck to the laws of the Old Testament, and He wouldn’t have bothered sending His son to pay the price for our sins.

  ***

  Drunk on wine or stone sober—my fondest memories of our days on the mountain are of sitting around the fire with my friends, laughing and talking, singing, fighting, or deep in prayer. Because it was there with them that I could forget, if only for a moment, what I was and the things I had done. And it was there that the pain of missing Sophie would subside just long enough to feel hopeful about seeing her again.

  ***

  And it was there that I got to know Danny, got to know her toughness and keen intelligence, admiring her beauty while convincing myself I was falling for her.

  I especially looked forward to the Bible studies because Danny usually led them, and I could watch her without being obvious. At times I would bait her with arguments, taking an opposing stance even if I wasn’t sure of it, just to engage her in conversation.

  ***

  Besides the Bible, the most important book in my possession was a book on California’s edible plants. This book, m
ore than guns, traps, or pilfered food, kept us alive, as it provided an immediate and relatively simple means for nourishment no matter the circumstance.

  Danny, once a practicing vegetarian, was especially interested in the book and would eventually become our expert in the area. But it was I who first introduced her to the handful of plants I had been grazing on in the vicinity of the cave, and it was during these horticultural outings that I became smitten.

  ***

  Despite our predicament and the accompanying grime, tedium and hardship, we couldn’t help at times but to be in awe of our surroundings. And, on a clear, early summer morning, Danny and I, out gathering plant food, were treated to a particularly inspiring view.

  We had reached a clearing in the woods, where the trail ended and the terrain grew rockier, until we were standing on a great boulder overlooking a valley. The sun threw a stretch of light, wide and straight like a highway, between the shadows of the mountains, intersecting the river below.

  “Look—God is amazing,” said Danny.

  “It’s pretty nice,” I said.

  “No, see the cross; it’s a sign.”

  The rail of sunlight did pass the river at the exact middle of the valley and was absorbed by the shadows, so it was shorter above the river, as in the shape of a crucifix. “You think?” I said.

  “Don’t you think?” she said.

  “I don’t know; I’m not big on signs.”

  “What are you talking about, George? This whole thing is about signs: the star before the Rapture, the quakes, the wars, the Mark of the Beast.”

  “I mean personal signs.”

  “What’s the difference? They’re all personal. And what about all you went through with your old partner and your old student at the checkpoint sparing you? And how ’bout those spiders…and Hodi? Come on,” she said.

  ***

  In the previous weeks I had positioned myself to be wherever she was, again trying not to make it too obvious. But she knew what was up, and I didn’t care because we had gotten to know each other. She told me about her life, and I told her a version of mine.