Henry returned to the replica town and hovered close over his own tiny figure. A strange expression came over his face as he cooed to the little doll.
“You can call me mayor, everyone here does.”
He picked up the little doll and set it on the steps of the mayor’s house.
“Brigands? Kill them all and make sure none of them get away.”
He flipped open the back of the apartment building, where Jane and Billy were sleeping, and plucking them out of their beds, he set them on the steps.
“The mayor himself has personally selected a present, just for you.”
He picked up his doll again and held it, cupping it with his hand. His hands moved, his face emoted, his eyes blinked, and he spoke.
Immediately, the figurines on the table stopped talking or moving, the toy truck rolled to a stop and the train shut off. Henry returned to the metal safe cabinet, set his figurine inside and closed the door, locking it with a key.
* * *
Three days later, Henry Couzens stood on the steps of the yellow brick building near the back wall of the township. The citizens shuffled in their strange gait into place and stood still, staring straight ahead. Al, the distiller, and Ed, the sheriff, stood off to one side on the steps. Henry expected their full support for him as the new mayor and they’d promised to deliver. Both of them knew he held all the power and were scared of him now that Willis was gone. Nobody moved or talked, they paid perfect attention.
His wife, Jane, stood on one side and his son, Billy, on the other. Jane wore a ruffled dress and Billy wore short pants, while Henry wore a white shirt and black pants.
"Citizens, you’ll look back on this day as the beginning of a period of great prosperity.”
He pointed to a freshly painted city limits sign, propped against the fence in the front. “Couzens Township.”
"As we inaugurate my first day as mayor, I pledge to you we’ll work hard, but life will be better than ever. I’ve taken the liberty of giving each of you a small gift. Personally selected by me. Everyone can take the day off and enjoy a party, in honor of all your hard work. A holiday I like to call . . . Labor Day.”
Coffee with Jesus
Z. S. Roe
Editor: This is a tough act to follow.
The hell of it is that they were right. The Christians, I mean. Jesus came back and raptured his whole damn crew. No, I didn’t see it personally; I was on the toilet when it happened. But it was described to me:
There was a sudden light in the sky, bright like a thousand suns, instantly blinding the billion or so unsaved souls who were unlucky enough to be outside when it happened.
No trumpets, no host of angels—just a supernova flash and a little over an eighth of the population disappeared. Anyone near a Christian said there was a loud pop! —like a cork pulled from a wine bottle—as the air around that person rushed to fill in the suddenly empty space.
The historians call this moment the Great Precipice, as afterward, we all kind of fell off the edge of the world, especially the blind people.
Suicide.
Mass hysteria.
A lot of unnecessary reruns of Dr. Phil.
Eventually, though, we moved on. You wouldn’t think that possible and it wasn’t at first. But time has a way of moving you forward whether you like it or not. We lost our shit for a while, sure, but we still had to get up every morning and feed ourselves.
Eighteen years later and we talk about it like it was another era, a time before now. The rapture is our history. In the meantime, we’ve gone back to our wars and geopolitical disputes, or (if you’re like me) our texting and cheese burritos.
Anyway, what I came here to say was that the rapture saved my life.
Before Jesus showed up with his light show, I worked in retail, selling pay-as-you-go cellphones to assholes. I lived in a shitty apartment and spent my nights drinking boxed wine, watching a lot of reality TV, and worrying about “my purpose in life.” At work, I made lists on customer receipts of things I dreamed of doing, or thought I should be doing, or had heard that other people had done. And then after work I went home and drank and waited for those dreams to happen. Because they had to—destiny happened to you, I thought.
I remember my Uncle Carl, a real douche. The guy used to screw around on his wife. He drank a lot, too, though mostly beer. One time at a family function I walked in on him in my grandmother’s wallpapered bathroom. He was doing a line of coke off the toilet tank, and he looked up at me and said it was “prescribed,” that it was “medication for my nasal congestion.” I believed him. I was nine, but still . . .
So the douche overdoses one night, just about dies.
When my family goes to visit him in the hospital, we find him sitting up in bed reading a Gideon Bible. One of the nurses had snuck it in for him. He held the little thing in his big hands like it might be a small bird and he didn’t know quite what to do with it. But there was this silly smile plastered across his face even larger than the one I saw on him when he looked up at me with his coke mustache at Grandma’s.
That’s when I knew something was up.
Turns out, his brush with death changed his life. He said he saw Jesus in the ambulance sitting next to the paramedic.
Which is fine, I guess. Who am I to dog on someone’s personal beliefs, especially since they turned out to be true? The trouble with my Uncle Carl, though, was that he wouldn’t shut up about it. Once he got out of the hospital, it was Jesus this, Jesus that. He said Jesus was his new best friend, that he had a “personal relationship” with him, that every morning he poured himself a cup a coffee and then poured a second cup and set it across from him. The second cup was for Jesus. I kid you not.
“You do this every morning?” I asked him.
“Of course.”
“And does Jesus show up?”
“Man, he’s never left.”
Uncle Carl had been doing drugs a long time. He didn’t give up coke, by the way. I walked in on him two more times after he found Jesus, only on those occasions he had his little Gideon Bible poking out of his back pocket while he powdered his nose.
And the thing of it is that my Uncle Carl was raptured. I checked, and that jerkoff’s gone. And that kind of gets to me. Carl was not a good person. He was an asshole, like all the other assholes I saw every day, except he never bought a damn phone from me.
So it’s been eighteen years. Since the Great Precipice, there’s been a lot of talk about what happens next. Nobody knows. Me, I don’t really care.
Like I said, the rapture saved my life. I’m thirty-eight now. For the first two decades of my life I woke up each morning wondering what my purpose was. What was my destiny? Who would I become?
Left unanswered, these kinds of questions have a way of weighing on a person. But now I know the answer: I am whoever I want to be. If ever there was a plan for me, it went down the shitter when Jesus marched into town. There are no expectations anymore. Life is just life. I’m free to do and be what and whomever I want.
Which is to say, every morning I wake up and make two cups of coffee. I drink one myself and pour the other down the sink. This is my routine.
Because, really, Jesus can just go to hell.
Holiday
Bruce Golden
Editor: Morality and ethics don’t necessarily equate.
If I was gonna do it, I knew I needed to get dusting. I had been thinking about it for days, and now it was already Holiday Eve. But flies and fleas! I didn't know how I was gonna keep my promise to Gramps, and still do what was right.
The right thing seemed like the wrong thing, and the other way round. It was way too much for a scrawny sprout of only eleven harvests to figure out, so I put my hand in my pocket and grabbed hold of my lucky goldstone. I hoped it would help me think better.
Gramps had given me his goldstone just before he became one with the south field. He said it had come from Faraway. I used to love to fold up on the porch and listen to him tal
k about Faraway, and the things he called cities. Cities, he said, were giant-sized communities with more people than you could count—and I could count all the way to a hundred and beyond.
Of course, Gramps had never actually lived in a city, but he believed what he'd heard about them. He said once upon a time there were thousands of cities, that is until the rainfire destroyed them. I knew all about the rainfire, the swarms of hoppers, and ol’ demon Drought—those things were landstory. They were part of the soil, they were in every seed, every drop of water. But cities? I wasn't sure if I believed in them. Someday, though, I wanted to have a looksee for myself. After one or two more harvests, I was gonna dust a trail to Faraway and see what I could see.
Right now, I had a promise to keep.
The cool wind played with the chaff in the south field. I'd been out there saying Hey to Gramps. That’s what reminded me I couldn’t put off my promise any longer.
So I made a trail back to the hub. On the way I saw a bunch of girls carving up their Holiday jack-o’-hearts. My sister, Heather, was there, and so was my mom, who was showing them how it was done right. They were all giggling and smiling and carrying on strange-like. Heather herself had been acting funny of late. I didn't know if it was ’cause she was older than me or ’cause she was a girl. But she wasn't the same Heather I used to have mud fights with. All I knew was she had her eyes on Billy Wagoner, and that lately she always seemed to smell of honeysuckle.
"Konner!"
My mom waved me over. I didn't want to get too close to them silly girls, so I shuffled my feet as I walked, and let the dirt run up over my toes. I was going so slow, she came over to get me.
"Konner, where are your brothers?"
"Don't know."
"Well, I want you to make sure they're not getting into any trouble. You know how your brothers are."
"Ah, flies and fleas, Mom. I've got better things to do than looking after those sprouts."
"Go on now," she said with a sternness in her voice. "You find out what kind of mischief they're up to, and put a stop to it."
"Yes, ma’am."
Her expression softened then, and so did her voice. "Are you excited about Holiday?"
"Yeah," I said, bundling in my real excitement.
"Well, you be sure to have fun now, okay?"
"Sure, Mom." I noticed she wore the walnut shell pendant Dad had given her a long time ago. She was particular about when she wore it. I liked how when it caught the sunlight, the tiny piece of crystal inside the shell would sparkle all different colors. I think it made her feel special.
"It won't be long, Konner, before you're all grown up, so you have fun while you can."
"Don't you and Dad have fun on Holiday?" I asked, not caring to think about the day when I wouldn't have any fun.
"Sure we do. It's just a different kind of fun. Have you thought about your Holiday wish yet?"
"Yes." I'd known for a long time what I was gonna wish for.
"Well, good. I hope you get your wish. Now you make a trail and find out what Kobey and Kory are up to."
"Okay."
I headed off, meaning to do what she said, but the Trouble Brothers would have to wait. I had something else I had to get done first.
Closer to the hub most of the trees and bushes already wore their Holiday clothes, though some of the final decorating was still going on. Some women were going here and there, putting on hats and belts and scarves, and anything else they could make fit. I knew those clothes would scare Pestilence away for another harvest, but I couldn't figure how. They didn't scare me. Some looked so downright odd, I had to laugh. Maybe that's how they worked. Maybe ol’ Pestilence didn't care for laughter.
As I approached the elders' lodge, Henry Olmstead walked out and cornered me.
"Konner Grainwell, what are you up to?"
"Nothing, Mr. Olmstead," I said, hoping I didn’t look as nervous I felt.
"Shouldn't you be out practicing your cupid bow?"
"I'm not old enough for the shoot, Mr. Olmstead."
"Rainfire, boy! I wasn't any bigger than you when I took my first shoot. Well, anyway, you go have some fun." He reached into a bowl he was carrying and held out his hand.
"Here's a sweetstick for you. Take it now," he urged, "and don't tell Ms. Olmstead I gave you one before the party." He winked and walked off toward the hub where lots of folks were busy getting ready for Holiday.
"Thanks, Mr. Olmstead."
He just waved the back of his hand and kept trailing.
I was right there then—right outside the elders' lodge. All I had to do was sneak in, grab the right marker, and sneak back out. It was all I had to do to keep my promise to Gramps. I put my hand in my pocket and grabbed my goldstone. I told myself it was okay, that nobody would be hurt by it. But I stood there way too long, trying to make myself believe it, and picking at my courage.
"Konner?"
It was Grams with little Hazel in tow.
"Konner, I need you to take Hazel home. She's tired and I still have lots to do."
Flies and fleas! I’d been so close.
It wasn't that I didn't like my little sister. In fact, she was my favorite—not much trouble usually, not like Kobey and Kory. She was only five, and not mooning after boys like Heather. I thought Hazel was just the cutest little thing, with her big, wide-open blue eyes and cornsilk hair. Right now though, I had something more important to do than play with my little sister.
"Do you hear me, Konner?"
"Yes, Grams." I knew there was no way round taking Hazel home. I'd just have to sneak back later.
"That's a good boy, Konner. Your Gramps used to say, 'We can always count on Konner.'"
That made me feel good, and it also reminded me of my promise. It was funny Grams said that, ’cause she didn't know anything about the promise. That was just between Gramps and me.
I liked Grams well enough. She was a nice old lady, but she spent most of her time smoking weed and talking with the other elders. Whenever I saw her, it made me think of Gramps. Before he became one with the south field, Gramps would spend a lot of time with me, telling me stories and singing old songs. I missed him. I wouldn't forget my promise to him. After he was chosen, he asked me to be sure and take care of Grams when he was gone. He made me promise when her time came, I’d make sure she was with him. I promised I would, and I always try to keep my promises.
* * *
The sun had fallen to that point where the sky takes on a more serious attitude—you know, beautiful and grim at the same time. I could never figure out how it changed itself. One moment it’s this soft, friendly blue, then the next time you look up it’s got these angry streaks of red and orange. I figured it was like a warning. Here comes the black night—beware! I didn't waste much time looking at it though, ’cause Holiday Eve was in full bloom.
I heard the music long before I dusted off for the hub. Anyone with any kind of instrument would be playing tonight. When I got there the dancing had already started. I thought dancing was for girls, though I saw some older boys trying to step with the music. Of course I'd seen older boys do crazier things where girls were concerned.
My eyes went right to the tables, where all manner of good stuff was laid out. I saw sweet breads and pies, jams and tater crisps, and enough spiced cider to drown ol’ demon Drought himself. I couldn't wait to stuff my belly, but I had to make a careful trail. Those darn jack-o'-hearts were strung up all over the place, candles burning inside them so they were aglow. I saw some girls lingering under their carvings, hoping for a kiss. They reminded me of trapdoor spiders, just waiting to pounce.
I wasn't planning on kissing anyone, except maybe my mom or little Hazel, so I avoided those orange gourds like they were Pestilence himself. I told myself I'd have a little snackdo first, then I'd sneak back to the elders' lodge when it was dark. With a taste of sweet bread in my mouth I spied Kobey and Kory under another table. They had their peashooters and were popping girls in the head when t
hey weren't looking.
It might have been funny if I wasn't sure I'd be the one who'd suffer for their mischief. So I dusted over, grabbed the two of them, and relieved them of their shooters. Both were filthy-looking. Kory stood there scratching his butt as usual. Kobey tried to look defiant.
"You two cause any trouble and you're gonna be at one with your sister, Henna, in the east field." I didn't like to think about my dead baby sister, Henna, but I knew it would scare the seed right out of those two sprouts. "Now both of you go wash up, or I'm gonna find Dad and tell him what you've been up to, and that'll be the end of your Holiday."
I let go of them and they dusted off like a couple of field mice. I figured chances were about even they'd actually get clean. I thought I'd better take care of what I had to take care of then. Afterwards, I could—
Darned if I wasn't standing there thinking when all of a sudden this girl swoops in like a red-tailed hawk and kisses me! Her lips were pressing against mine before I could even see who she was.
Now, the truth is, except for the shock of it all, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, it was the first time any girl not family had kissed me. When she pulled away I saw it was Dandy. I should have known. Even though she had seen only one more harvest than me, Dandy had been making eyes in my direction for some time. Now she just stood there grinning.
I looked up and there it was. A big ol’ jack-o'-hearts, smiling down at me just like Dandy was doing—like I was a rooster, all plucked and stuffed and ready for mealtime. Darn those sprouts! Trying to keep them out of trouble had landed me square in Dandy's trap.
Enter the Rebirth (Enter the... Book 3) Page 10