The congregation sat outside on the ground. They were all hungry, tired, faces and shoulders sagging, dirty. None had been able to bathe since the storm or eat a proper meal. They were weak and disillusioned. They were searching for help and for answers, wherever they could find them.
“You can see it in our homes even. The godlessness of the youth, of adults possessed by work and toil. They are slaves to the bottle and to the capitalist and to the nightly sitcom. They don’t live by the teachings of Jesus. They don’t heed the warnings of his apostles. They don’t honor their father and their mother. They put other idols before the Lord God.”
“Amen.”
“Praise Jesus.”
Caleb’s mom paced, pointing as she spoke, so animated spit flew from her lips. She didn’t blink. She didn’t stop to take a breath. She was spitfire and exhaust fumes, and she wouldn’t stop for anyone.
“A long time ago, the Lord spoke to me. Going on fifteen years now. God came to me when I was wide awake. I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t hallucinating. I wasn’t drunk or on drugs. I was at my parents’ house. My doctors had told me I was unable to have children, and so I was heartbroken. I didn’t see life as worth living anymore. And so, I went to the most pious man I knew, my stepfather, William. He was praying over me when my vision went white. It was strange. I panicked at first, thinking I might be going blind. I wasn’t dehydrated or seeing stars or about to pass out. I felt fine. Energetic even, with that rush of adrenaline prayer can bring, but I stopped moving. I stopped where I was at, and I was afraid. I was afraid to speak out, thinking if I said it aloud, that I was going blind, I might somehow make it true, but then I heard a voice. It was clear and crystalline and comforting. He said, ‘You will have a son. You will have a special son. You will have my son.’”
“Hallelujah.”
“Thank you, Jesus.”
“God bless you.”
“He said, ‘A time will come when you will meet a man. A godly man. A saintly man. This man you will know as Sam, and he will be John the Lamb, and the Seven Seals will be opened and unleash upon the world the end of times.’ And that time has come. The Third Seal has been broken. The storm has come, and the people are destitute, but the rich don’t come to help. They hide behind their worldly altars, debating the merits of sending aid, of helping their neighbor, lest it hurt their bottom line. ‘But fear not,’ God said, ‘for this will be a blessed event as you, the Lamb, and the Son of God will usher the chosen people from the worldly to unending and infinite bliss.’”
Evelyn’s hands were raised above her head, and the congregation hummed feverish dreams. Every single member of the congregation stood on their feet, clapping, stomping, praying, a complete, vibrating organism, and Caleb rose to his feet and he writhed, and his eyes rolled back into his head and he spoke the tongue of the Lord. It came forth from his core. It spewed. It propelled out of him without forethought. It was out of his control. Hands clasped him around his legs and his torso, the congregation lifting him into the air, and he smelled dust. Dust and sweat and the choking, vast humidity, and they carried him as he seized and spoke in tongues, and there were just so many hands touching him, so many hands, so many hands.
CHAPTER 6
THE TOWN TRIED TO PULL TOGETHER. THEY SOLICITED donations from family living elsewhere, Enid and El Reno and even out of state, wiring in money from cousins in California and old friends from Kansas. The Southern Baptist Convention sent water, food, and books for the kids. The Red Cross shipped in volunteers to clear the roadways, and construction companies from Little Rock and Tulsa brought in heavy machinery to disperse the debris. Habitat for Humanity sent volunteers from Tulsa and Oklahoma City, and they hauled with them concrete, shingles, wood, and brick. It wasn’t much, the town was still in ruins, but it gave the people hope, something to cling to.
When news reached the congregation of the donations, the church volunteered to help. They sent in a contingent of fifteen: Sam, Caleb, his mother, Scoot, Brandon, and their father, as well as a few more able-bodied men. The houses weren’t much, one-room tiny homes with a kitchen nook, two beds, and a single toilet. Their only luxuries a few fans and a wood-burning stove. FEMA still dragged its feet. The state still hadn’t sent help. The electric grid was still down, and the water still didn’t run, but it was enough for the time being. The people needed to get out of the elements. They needed someplace they could call home.
Caleb, Evelyn, and Sam worked on a home for the Fourkillers, a family whose father had lost his job when the Shangri-La Resort ran into money troubles, so he’d made ends meet by doing odd jobs around town, painting and fixing lawnmowers, basically anything he could. That had meant cuts had to be made, and insurance was one of those things, a luxury poor people often did without, a safety net many took for granted. Then, when the storm had hit, they lost everything, house blown away in the winds, what belongings hadn’t disappeared soaked beyond repair by the rains.
It felt good to help, to be outside, stretching underneath the long spring sun, working their muscles and getting exercise. To be a part of something good after so much had gone wrong. Caleb welcomed the change in routine, and he could see it was helping the other members of the congregation. People smiled again. They laughed. They shared stories over a bottle of water, Scoot teasing Brandon about only being able to carry a single two-by-four at a time. It filled Caleb with hope. Maybe more of the chosen were out there. Maybe it wasn’t just the congregation who would be saved. Good still permeated the world, its fissures filled with life-giving water, but that was when it started. It wasn’t much at first, just whispers and furtive glances from the other volunteers’ peripheral. They were from other churches and organizations throughout the community: The Bank of Grand Lake and Warming Dove Baptist and the local PTA. It was the latter who Caleb first noticed staring, like they were hoping the congregation had decided not to show. It was the look that came over their faces, something akin to disappointment but mixed with a certain degree of disgust.
At first Caleb was confused. What had they done to them? But the realization seeped in slowly: news had travelled fast about his mother’s warnings. Her sermons to the congregation. They’d heard rumors his mother had preached the end of the world, that her son was the Second Coming of Christ. Caleb knew those looks well, laced with fear and confusion and distrust. He tried to ignore them, but they were ever-present. North, south, east, west, no matter the direction Caleb looked, sideways glances greeted him, whispers, the slight point from a child.
Other members of the congregation soon noticed. Scoot, Brandon, and Catherine were helping unload two-by-fours for the frame, and the other teenagers would go out of their way to avoid them, scared as if the congregation had leprosy. There was no telling what lies their parents had told them. They’d probably called the congregation crazy, whackos, some cult out in the woods who performed animal sacrifice and devil worship. It ate away at Caleb’s friends, Brandon especially. He walked with his head buried in his chest, his shoulders sunken, face red not just from the blazing sun. Catherine appeared confused more than anything, trying to strike up conversations with kids she’d known since diapers, but they only offered one-word answers—yes, no, maybe, thanks—before walking away. Scoot, more than anything, was angry. He threw down the lumber with a bang, stomped back to the truck to carry more, picking up two, three, even four two-by-fours at a time, the parents whisking away small children lest he come near.
The adults were aware, too. Sam helped some other men nail the frame together, a long bead of sweat running down his forehead. While the other men chatted away, complaining about the governor and the legislature for their lack of response, FEMA for its bureaucratic mess, Sam was ostracized. They didn’t ask for his opinion, and Sam didn’t offer one. Instead, he seemed content to toil away. Caleb’s mother, of course, wasn’t surprised. She smiled a pugnacious smile, making eye contact with anyone who dared come near her, hoping they’d make a snide remark, show their true, sinful se
lves.
“See how scared they are of the truth,” she told Caleb while they were eating lunch. “See how they won’t open their eyes to see what’s around them.”
She and Caleb handed out bottles of water to the volunteers, Caleb carrying the box, his mother grabbing one or two at a time, giving them away to the thirsty, each time with the prayer, “May God have mercy on your soul.” No one said anything in return. They just stared at her, confused, or avoided eye contact, not even muttering thanks, and his mother would get closer to the next person, then closer still, to the point she got right in their faces, her eyes mere inches from theirs. “Pray,” she said, “or you will regret it.”
Eventually, Dr. Cox stopped them. He was a tall man, long-faced, smelling of soil and sweat. Caleb knew who he was—he’d come to the park a couple times during the winter on house calls, checking on elderly patients who had a hard time coming into town. Caleb had liked him then—he’d given Caleb a Capri Sun and asked about him and his mother, if he liked it in their little community so far. He also served in the state legislature, working on behalf of the people to get further aid from the state and the federal government, struggling against powers greater than himself, and when he stopped Caleb’s mother, he did so with a warm smile, a reassuring hand on her forearm.
“You’re scaring people, Evelyn.”
“They should be scared, Doctor.”
“This isn’t the time or the place.”
“It’s always the right time. It’s always the right place. Tell me, Doctor. Do you believe in God?”
“These people are tired. They’re scared. They’ve been through a lot. They don’t need this on top of it.”
“Then this is the best time for them to hear the word of God. It’s coming soon. Whether you believe or not. God doesn’t care.”
“I think it might be best if you leave now.”
“The devil is coming. He will come for you. He will come for you all. When the final war is fought, you will all be doomed.”
“Please, Evelyn. I must insist.”
When he ordered them to leave, Caleb was hurt, but he wasn’t surprised. Neither were his mother or Sam. It was like they’d been expecting this, waiting for the inevitability, their banishment from the regular goings-on of the community. But their hurt wasn’t because of the banishment itself, of being marginalized as outcasts. They’d grown accustomed to that. They hurt because they knew the others didn’t realize what they were doing. There’d be the chosen, and then there’d be everyone else. The congregation would be ushered into heaven, and the rest would be destined for an eternity in hellfire. It was just a matter of time. His mother and Sam weren’t hurt because the townsfolk didn’t accept them. They were hurt because there was nothing they could do to save them.
THE CONGREGATION SECLUDED THEMSELVES FROM the rest of town. They spent more time at home, at the church. When they were forced to go into town, they pooled together their resources, went in groups of ten or twelve to ask for food for the entire congregation. Whatever they had to do in the community, whether it was get medicine or supplies, tools or clothing, they always did it in groups. No one was ever alone, not man, woman, or child, until they could determine their members were safely at home in their beds, deadbolts locked in place and lights turned dark. It was easier that way. They weren’t so exposed.
The community didn’t react with violence. Most of the time they were cordial enough, shaking hands and having a friendly chat about the latest from the capitol or FEMA, how they kept dragging their feet, how things were getting worse as opposed to better. A few townsfolk were getting sick. They coughed and hacked up phlegm, ran a fever. Their appetites had deteriorated, and they were growing weaker. Doctor Cox did what he could, but they weren’t getting better, and the congregation would offer their thoughts and their prayers. What Caleb noticed more, though, was that the conversations were stilted, their gazes no longer teeming with the intimacy of communion and knowledge but rather replaced with suspicion and judgment. The town didn’t trust the congregation. They feared them, not understanding their convictions. If they were crazy, what, exactly, were they capable of? And that’s what worried the congregation the most—this fear. A man gripped with fear was capable of many a monstrous thing.
Other things returned to a semblance of normalcy. After a few weeks, the children of the congregation resumed their schoolwork. They met at Sam’s house in the mornings, and Caleb’s mom and a few of the other parents would teach subjects they were most learned in, Caleb’s mother tackling math and science, and Sam history and English. The curriculum was the same as before the storm. In English, they read the classics, Great Expectations by Charles Dickens and Lord of the Flies. What books Sam had the children shared, taking turns to read by firelight at dusk. They discussed themes such as mob rule, anarchy, affection, loyalty, and conscience. They related it to the community at large and their smaller church family. They wrote essays and debated the merits of democracy, republicanism, oligarchy, and monarchy in social studies. In biology, they touched on the subject of evolution.
Slowly but surely, the congregation rebuilt. They built new homes, small ones that went up one or two at a time, never really with an overreaching goal in mind. Caleb’s and his mom’s was nice. A simple one-room home featuring two beds, a sink and shower, a little stovetop to cook. It didn’t have luxuries such as a TV, but Caleb didn’t mind. Really, he only went there to sleep. The rest of his days he filled studying, working with the community, hunting with Sam and Scoot and Brandon, and attending service. They built a large fence around the community, the gate at the entrance perpetually locked. They built a worship hall, large and unadorned, out of simple oak. It didn’t have windows or a large, towering steeple, but it was enough. What they built served a purpose, and Caleb enjoyed their new homes. They would provide shade during the heat of the summer and warmth in the cold of winter. The elderly and the young could better brave the elements, the sun and the wind and the rain. The worship hall was a place they could all congregate, support one another, and worship together. It was a practical thing. That was all, more or less.
Next came a small one-room schoolhouse. It also wasn’t anything grand or special. It had a fireplace, and desks bolted to the ground. Sam opted for a regular green chalkboard instead of a whiteboard. It worked well enough, but the problem, they soon realized, was the students were of all different ages, some in middle school, a few high-schoolers, and several small children, anywhere between kindergarten and fifth grade. They used sheets to separate the grades as best they could and tried to keep their lessons quiet lest they disturbed their neighbors.
They built a barn and planted a garden. They built sheds to store tools: rakes and saws and tillers, hammers and wood screws and drills. They built several outhouses and dug a well. More and more they spent their time there, and though needs arose that took them to town, they mostly stayed home, happy with their few belongings. Each day that passed, they became more self-sufficient, having to travel out less and less. They had water. They had food. They had rifles to hunt and tackle to fish. Before Caleb even realized it, spring spilled into summer, and it had been weeks since he’d been to town. News of the townsfolks’ well-being became scant. He knew it couldn’t be good. On the highway leading to town, he never saw National Guard or FEMA trucks going in to help, bringing in large supplies. The sky was devoid of airplanes or helicopters. They, like the congregation, had been mostly left to fend for themselves. At first, he worried about them. He prayed for them. But after a while it got easier not to.
But then the townsfolk came to them. It was late when it occurred, the last week of June. That particular night was just like any other. Caleb couldn’t get cool, and so he couldn’t sleep. He tried to shut off his mind, but he couldn’t. He thought about hunting with Scoot earlier in the day, the doe he’d had in his crosshairs but missed. He thought about what they’d learned in school that afternoon, lessons on Nehemiah and the Seven Seals. He stared up at t
he ceiling, counting his mother’s breaths in the dark like a bomb counting down, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, when he first heard something off in the distance. It was just a low murmur, like a dog’s growl, which wasn’t all that unusual in the day, but this was about two in the morning. Despite the howl of the wind and the distant sounds of waves crashing against the lakeshore, the night typically was calm.
At first, he just ignored the noise. It could be any number of things. It could’ve been a coyote, growling at his shadow, or even the GRDA, patrolling the lake because of an anonymous tip of some teenagers partying on a dock somewhere. It could’ve even been a crazy neighbor, revving up his chainsaw in order to cut down another neighbor’s tree in the middle of the night because the limbs hung over his property line. For a while, it just stayed at the same level, this low hum, so Caleb ignored it, but then it grew louder until he could make out what it was: a truck.
This was about as strange a noise as could be heard at this time of night. They lived off a seldom-used county road. To make it this far out, they had to have a reason. It was doubtful someone who was lost would wind up at their property. When the road narrowed and the pavement turned to gravel and then to dirt, most people turned around, knowing they’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. If they made it out this far, whoever they were had to know where they were going.
Caleb sat up in bed, careful not to wake his mom, and made his way to the window. Outside, it was dark. There were no streetlights or lampposts on their land. The moonlight wasn’t strong enough for him to see anything with any type of definition. It just looked black out there, the landscape dotted with shadows and the strange, rhythmic movement of the forest canopy. Despite willing himself not to be, he was still, if he was honest with himself, scared of the dark. It petrified him. He was ashamed of this fact and fought it with as much courage as he could muster, but the gnawing fear something lurked out there, monster or demon, perpetually grated his good sense. Soon, the truck’s headlights came into view, illuminating a narrow swath of land. The truck approached the gate, but the lights were too bright for Caleb to make out the make or model. He checked to see if the sound of the truck had woken his mother, but it hadn’t.
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