Caleb knew the quote. It was from Revelation Chapter 3. He’d learned it well over the past few weeks, studied it, contemplated it, and when Caleb’s mother was finished speaking, she grabbed Caleb’s hand and motioned for his father and brother to follow them. They didn’t rise at first, instead sitting there, Jonah’s head buried in his chest, Caleb’s father trembling. But she didn’t wait for them. She pulled Caleb out into the aisle, the church quiet as if all members of the congregation held their collective breath, waiting for what was to come next, and Caleb and his mother strode out into the bright morning sunlight, the heavy wooden doors shutting quietly behind them.
AT HOME, CUPS WERE THROWN. Cupboards slammed. Butter knives pointed. Accusations slung. Caleb’s parents had never been a loving couple. They’d never held hands in public or called each other pet names such as Honey or Dear. They’d always addressed each other by their first names, Evelyn and Earl, as if they were business associates rather than husband and wife. That wasn’t to say they were cold to each other either. They often did small things for the other, Evelyn sometimes picking up a six-pack of Earl’s favorite beer when she knew he’d had a stressful week at work, or Earl might out of the blue get Evelyn a bible, screen-printed with her name. There was love. There were disagreements. Sometimes, they fought.
This, however, was different.
This was something guttural.
This was full of rage.
Caleb watched his parents through a crack in his bedroom door. Their movements were erratic and quick. They jerked and spasmed, spittle flying from their mouths as they accused one another of ruining their lives, brainwashing their children, sabotaging everything they had worked so hard to build.
“You’ve ostracized us, Evelyn. You see that, don’t you? We’re no longer welcome at church. At work I’m treated like a leper. People cross the street when they see us out in public. Our kids don’t have friends anymore. They’re bullied and beaten. Do you not realize this? Do you not see what you’ve done?”
They stood in the kitchen, his father’s chest heaving, his mother’s hands waving. His dad still wore an Oxford shirt and khakis, what he’d worn to church week in and week out for as long as Caleb could remember, the only difference being his shirts were getting tighter, his hair growing thinner. In the past six weeks, it was like his father had aged six years. He now seemed ancient. He seemed like a grandfather. His mother, on the other hand, busied herself. Usually, she spent Sundays preparing for the week, making lunches for Caleb and Jonah, prepping their lesson plans for school, outlining bible studies to prepare for the end of the world. At that moment, she made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Caleb, one of his favorites even though he felt he was getting too old to enjoy them, and she scooped a dollop of creamy Jif onto a butter knife like she was using it as a weapon. Every time Caleb’s father tried to make a point, she’d sling the peanut butter across the room in the direction of her husband.
It was the first time Caleb had ever seen his parents argue like this, and it made him feel heavy, bloated, like he’d eaten to the point his stomach might burst. He felt the air weigh down upon him like a thousand pounds of water. He could feel himself choking. He could feel all his organs collapsing in on themselves.
“You’ve always been too concerned with what others think of you,” Caleb’s mother said. “The only one who can judge us is God, Earl. God. Not man. And this is a family of God.”
“You’re nuts. You are. You need to go see somebody. A shrink. A doctor. Hell, a chiropractor. Whatever. I don’t care.”
“You’re tearing this family apart. You’ve brought blasphemy and sin into this house. You’ve turned Jonah into a skeptic, and don’t even act like I haven’t seen it. He is turning his back on God. You’ve put his soul in jeopardy. You need to pray. That’s what you need to do.”
“Oh god, Evelyn. Do you really think any of this is my fault?”
“If you turn your back on God, he will turn his back on you.”
“Are you even listening to yourself anymore?”
“I will not tolerate wickedness in this house. Do you understand me?”
Caleb’s father screamed. Head thrown back, body convulsing. It was something animalistic, out of his control, birthed from rage and frustration and shame. He jumped up and down. He grabbed a drawer and ripped it from the cabinetry, spoons and forks slinging across the kitchen. Afterward he stood there with the drawer hanging from his fingers, and Caleb’s mother smiled, vindicated, standing amid all the cutlery. Caleb just wanted it to stop. He prayed for their anger to quell, for them to soften, for their rigid muscles to relax. He willed it to be so. He asked God directly, as his Son, as the Second Coming of Christ, for his will to materialize, and it did. His mother grabbed a broom and swept the tiled floor, and his father picked up the cutlery, their demeanors changed. They were quieter now, still cold to each other, the wounds still festering, but they were exhausted and unable to fight even if they wanted to. Caleb was at least happy for that. His prayer had been answered.
THAT NIGHT, HIS FATHER SLEPT on the couch. He could tell without even seeing him, his snores rattling close. Caleb’s father had always been a deep sleeper, oftentimes sleeping straight through a spring thunderstorm, the plains wracked with thunder and lightning and wind that could send a piece of hay straight through a century-old oak. Sometimes he’d crack a joke that if anyone ever broke into the house, he’d sleep through it, and he’d wake up the next morning with their TV and DVD player and their video games all gone. The family might’ve even been tied up, put in their closets, duct tape stuck over their mouths, and he wouldn’t even have a clue, dreaming away about winning the Super Bowl and smoking the perfect ribs. Caleb had never found the joke funny, but he imagined his father dreaming away right then, all six feet, two inches and 200 pounds of him curled up, a blanket much too small for him pulled to his chin, and couldn’t help but get a little pleasure out of him being so uncomfortable.
Caleb’s door opened. It was his mother. She was dressed and had her car keys in her hand.
“Pack a bag,” she said.
“What?”
“Get up. Get your suitcase out of your closet. Grab enough clothes to last awhile.”
“Where are we going? We going on a trip?”
“Don’t ask questions. Just pack.”
And so he did. He went to his closet, and he grabbed a duffel bag he usually used for gym class and packed a few long-sleeved T-shirts, a couple pairs of jeans, some underwear. He packed enough for three days, like maybe they were going on a trip to Kansas City or something, like they had a few years back to go see a Royals game.
“Grab your heavy coat. Some shorts. Your other shoes, too,” his mother said. She had a backpack slung over her shoulders, another bag strapped across her chest. “Hurry. Before your father and brother wake.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” she said. “Just meet me in the truck.” She pulled the straps tighter around her shoulders and readjusted the bag. The weight was so heavy she slouched and strained to hold her bags up. “Hurry.”
“But what about Dad? What about Jonah?”
“There’s no time.”
Caleb started to cry. He didn’t want to. He was embarrassed, but he couldn’t help it. He was scared and confused, and it felt like his stomach might crawl right up his throat. His mother knelt down to him and grabbed him by the shoulders.
“The Second Seal. It’s been opened.”
“It has?”
She nodded. “The physical attack against you. Our banishment from the community. From the Second Seal will advance a red horse, ‘and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.’ People will begin to die soon. There will be anarchy. Violence. We must go someplace safe.”
Caleb stopped crying. He was still scared, but he felt calmer for some reason. He felt all his organs retur
n to their original places.
“When?” he asked.
“Now.”
“And Dad and Jonah can’t come?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
“You know the answer to that.”
He did, but he didn’t want to admit it. “They’ve lost their faith.”
She nodded. “There’s nothing we can do to save them now.”
When they pulled out of the driveway, Mom headed for Frank Phillips Boulevard and then east toward the edge of town. Even though he hadn’t been out much that winter, the town looked the same. The moon was high in the sky, the night clear, thousands of tiny stars shining down upon them from light-years away. They passed the two water towers in the middle of town, one branded Hot, the other Cold. They passed Swanson Chevrolet, new Z-71s looking ominous, their metallic paint jobs brilliant underneath the sharp white security lights. Tomorrow, Caleb knew, the entire town would wake up. They’d stretch and have their morning coffees and take their morning showers and everything to them would be like it was yesterday, their unmuted lives transposing themselves against the world in a recurrent time loop. They would go about their business without regard to Caleb’s and his mother’s actions, and Caleb felt sorry for them—no matter what he said and did, he wouldn’t be able to save them all.
THE BOOK OF JUDGES
CHAPTER 1
THEY HEADED EAST ON HIGHWAY 60. THIS PART of the state was called Green Country, but now it was all brown and gray. They drove through rolling hills, the plains brittle with dead Indian grass, hardened fields cracked dry from the harsh winter. Woods sprawled in every direction, spread out for miles and miles, farther than Caleb could see when they peaked the apex of a hill, and then everything would turn dark as they bottomed out in the trough, towering oaks blocking out the sun. He’d left Bartlesville before, but he never really took time to look at the landscape. It truly was breathtaking. The world was just so large, in every direction, the highway stretching out for miles in front of them. It was a two-lane road. Eighteen wheelers, F-250 super diesels, and decades-old minivans all rumbled past them heading back the way they’d come. Old men in trucks zoomed by, cowboy hats shadowing their features, their cattle and horse trailers stinking of hay and manure. Caleb had no idea where they were going, or why, but he was excited. They had an infinite amount of choices. Head north, head south, continue east. It didn’t even matter. It was like they were on an adventure, just the two of them, and anything could happen when they got there. They were explorers on a mission to discover new worlds. He was Columbus, or Magellan, or Juan Ponce de León, searching for riches and the secret of never-ending youth in distant lands.
When they reached Grand Lake, they stopped. They parked at a scenic outlook off the highway that overlooked the lake, and got out of the car. The lake was dark, murky, and whitecapping from the wind barreling in from the north. There were no boats this time of year, though he could see some bobbing in the marina, their hulls covered in thick tarpaulin. Caleb couldn’t see the shore on the other side, only had to have faith it was out there. It was the biggest thing Caleb had ever seen in his life. To him, it was as big as the ocean he’d only read about. As big as any city he’d ever been to. As big as all the heavens and the earth. He was convinced if he were to go swimming in that lake, it would just swallow him up whole, and he’d never be seen or heard from again.
“Here,” his mother said. “This is where we’re supposed to be.”
Caleb didn’t argue. He felt it too, deep down. This place was their new home.
THE FIRST COUPLE OF NIGHTS, Caleb and his mother slept in the Bronco. They found an old dirt road outside of town, parked in the ditch, and kept the windows rolled up. It was so cold out Caleb had a hard time breathing, and the sounds kept him from sleeping. It was probably the wind, rustling the tree branches, whistling as it bounced off the lake, but Caleb couldn’t help his imagination from running wild. He thought it might be werewolves out there, hunting for a bloody meal before the sun rose, or maybe it was a demon sent from hell to take him and his mother down to the devil for execution. He knew he had to keep vigilant, and so he didn’t sleep. He didn’t sleep for two days, until his head felt heavy and his eyes burned and everything smelled of trouble.
In the morning they ate donuts from a truck stop, and his mom traded cigarettes for shower tickets. The fourth morning was the first time Caleb ever tasted coffee. His mom took it black, and she got a large cup along with her bear claw. Because he hadn’t really slept the night before, he asked if he could have a drink. She stared at him for a bit like she was considering the notion, but then handed him the cup. It scalded his tongue and tasted bitter and he wanted to spit it out, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t want to ever show his mom he was weak.
“Good, right?” she asked, and he nodded because he didn’t know what else to do.
He tried and failed to hide the aftertaste with a bite of his maple bar, then wiped his mouth of the crumbs, watching them fall to his lap. They were in the Bronco outside the truck stop watching a few big, denim-clad men checking out their rigs before taking off for their morning jaunt. It wasn’t quite yet 7:00 a.m., and it was still below freezing. It was late February. Soon the winds would change direction, and the southern jet stream would bring warmer weather. Thunderstorms would drench the earth, flowers would bloom, and the lake would be filled with sunburnt teenagers riding Jet Skis and sneaking beers out on the water, but for now Caleb wrapped his coat tighter around himself and tried to steady his shivering body.
“First thing we got to do is find me a job,” she said before taking another sip of her coffee, the steam from her Styrofoam cup fogging her glasses. “Then we got to find a place to live. Then we need to find Sam.”
“What about school?” Caleb asked.
His mom took a bite of her donut. It was the last one, and glaze stuck to her fingertips.
“Never mind that.”
Caleb wanted to ask what she meant, but he didn’t know how.
“Things are going to be good,” his mom said, nodding her head as if answering a question nobody asked. “From here on out, things are going to be tough, but they’ll be good in the end.”
That whole day was spent filling out applications at bait shops and souvenir shops and convenience stores. His mom filled them out, left the address and phone number line blank, and handed them to assistant managers who didn’t even glance at them. They said they’d call, but even Caleb knew they were lying. There wasn’t a phone number they could call. They did this for three days, and each time, she asked if they knew a man by the name of Sam Jenkins. Caleb had never heard the name before, but he didn’t dare ask who he was. He figured his mother would tell him when he was ready to know, and it was at a gas station on the edge of town where they caught a break. The guy behind the counter knew Sam Jenkins, said he worked at a retirement village down the road called Sunset Acres.
They drove straight there. It was a long, gray cinderblock building with a warped roof and dead ivy snaking across its windows. The concrete was littered with last summer’s mulch, and old men in wheelchairs waited outside, smoking, blankets wrapped around their legs, not talking to anyone, not even acknowledging the others’ presence. Inside, the receptionist called Sam over the intercom, and he sauntered up a few minutes later, wiping his hands with a red handkerchief, a look of incredulity plastered on his face. He was a large guy. Pear shaped. Balding. Had breath that smelled of onions and thousand island dressing. He was the head of maintenance, and it was his job to make sure the HVAC was working, the halls were clear of spilled Dr Pepper, and the toilets weren’t overflowing. This was Sam, and he took to Caleb right away.
“Praise God,” he said when he saw Caleb’s mother. “How long has it been? Twenty years?”
“It’s been a long time, Sam.”
They hugged for a while, Caleb’s mother somehow melting into Sam, her body relaxed, her whole weight bearing down in his warmth.
“It’s good to see you,” he said.
“You have no idea,” Caleb’s mother said.
They broke away, still holding each other’s hands. Caleb hadn’t seen his mother this happy in months, perhaps even years.
“This is Caleb,” she said. “My son.”
“Caleb,” the man said. His voice was a warm pillow. “I’ve heard of you. Knew I’d get to meet you one of these days.”
His presence comforted Caleb. It was like he’d known Sam for years, a permanent fixture in his life like an old baseball glove that formed perfectly to his hand.
“You like peanut butter cups?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Caleb said. “Of course.”
Sam winked at Caleb’s mother. “Think I might have a couple in my office if you want one. If that’s okay?” he asked Caleb’s mom.
His office wasn’t really an office. It was a closet, full of bleach bottles and Ajax cleaner. An old mop and basin cluttered the corner, and a television and VCR rested on a wire shelf. Beside it were movies Caleb had never heard of: Clegg, After Dark My Sweet, and Swingtown. Off to one side was a metal chair next to a folding table. There wasn’t much there, no pictures of family, no computer, just a couple of pieces of paper, order forms for more cleaning products.
Caleb stuck the whole peanut butter cup in his mouth. He wished he had a glass of milk, but he didn’t complain. The taste of milk chocolate tickled his taste buds—he hadn’t had anything this good since leaving home.
“You two just visiting?” Sam asked Caleb’s mom.
“No, no,” Caleb’s mother said. “Not just visiting.”
“Thought as much.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You don’t have that look.” He gestured toward the tiled ceiling. “Lake town and such. The tourists. They always have this look about them. Carefree. Careless.”
Into Captivity They Will Go Page 7