“He’ll need plenty of rest. Clean water, if you have it. Lots of it. Try to keep the fever down as best you can. Cool washrag on the forehead. If you have any medicine left, use it. Tylenol. Aspirin. Anything that can break the fever. Keep him away from the elderly and the young. Quarantine him as much as possible if you can. Implement strict sanitation protocols.”
“Are you not going to come?”
“I wish I had some antibiotics to give you. I wish I had anything. But I don’t.”
“Are you not going to come?” Scoot’s father asked again.
“I have so many patients here.”
“You’re not going to come?” he asked again.
The doctor sighed. It wasn’t one of exasperation but of dismay. He wanted to help. Caleb could tell by the way his shoulders slumped, the look of defeat etched into his face. He’d taken an oath, after all, but he was just one man.
“I’ll try,” the doctor said. “In a few days, I’ll try.”
When they returned to the community, they found Scoot’s mother sitting by his bedside. She wetted a washcloth and read from the Bible.
“‘So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous hand.’”
It was from Isaiah, the Helper of Israel.
“‘All who rage against you will surely be ashamed and disgraced; those who oppose you will be as nothing and perish. Though you search for your enemies, you will not find them. Those who wage war against you will be as nothing at all. For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.’”
THEY TRIED TO GO ABOUT their lives as usual. In the morning, the children went to school. Caleb struggled to pay attention during social studies class, and so did all the other kids, too. Sam lectured, but there was a noticeable change in his demeanor, his voice timid, his gaze lingering above the classroom full of children, daring not fixate on the empty seat in the third row, glaring in Scoot’s absence. Caleb and the other kids played soccer and attended church and flirted with the opposite sex like they knew what they were doing. They prayed for themselves and for others, and they ate what they could fish, what they could hunt in the woods, whitetail and rabbit and squirrel, and they laughed, but all of it was just a well-orchestrated charade. They were acting, going through the motions, pretending like the world continued to move on as it always had, with Scoot in it, healthy and laughing and pranking kids smaller than him, when the impending apocalypse wasn’t just a few moments beyond the horizon.
On a Thursday morning, Caleb and Catherine were fetching water from the well at the edge of the property when they stopped by the lake’s edge. It was sweltering out, and a stiff wind flew up from the south and rustled the oak branches behind them. Everything was bright, and the air was wet and thick. It filled Caleb’s nostrils and clogged his throat. He feared he, too, might be getting sick, but he didn’t say anything. He hoped if he ignored it, if he boiled his water enough and cleaned his food the best he could, it would go away on its own.
He and Catherine stared out over the water, taking refuge in the moment, when they didn’t have to think about Scoot locked up in his room suffering. She leaned in and kissed him. It took Caleb by surprise, and he jerked back, but she kissed him again, softer this time, letting her lips linger. He’d long thought of what it would be like to kiss a girl, fantasizing about it like it was some sort of magical thing, soft and mysterious and the most pleasurable thing in the world, like falling into a never-ending pillow, but it wasn’t exciting at all. It just was. It came quickly and unexpectedly and was over before he knew it. She then stood up and walked away.
Two days later, Scoot’s mother began to vomit. She’d been Scoot’s primary caregiver since he’d become ill, feeding him, bathing him, providing him comfort and prayer. Ruth was her name, and she was the tallest woman Caleb knew. She was also the most giving and caring. Before the storm, she’d drop off some banana muffins at the community’s school for the children, or pick up a toy or two at the Dollar Store for the smaller kids, little plastic slingshots and Marvel action figures, Captain America and Thor. She smiled incessantly and laughed with her entire body, her skin turning pink and her mouth wide. She was one person Caleb could spend every single day with and not grow tired of her presence. She just had that way with people—she always made everyone feel welcome. That afternoon, though, it was difficult to look at her. She’d been crying, and her cheeks and eyes were puffy and purple. Caleb could tell she was in pain, both physically and emotionally, seeing her boy suffer, not knowing exactly what to do to help him, knowing that she, too, was growing sick.
More followed. It always started with stomach pain. Then came the loss of appetite. Weight dripped off the ill like melting ice cream, then came the diarrhea. Aches in their muscles, their bones throbbing, gnawing at them until it felt like their bodies were disintegrating. Their fevers ballooned until their skin turned pink, then red, and was hot to the touch. They’d be bedridden, moaning under sweat-stained sheets. Most faced it bravely, not allowing themselves to complain, to place a burden on their caretakers, but their agony was apparent. They wore it on their faces like Halloween masks. It was the only way Caleb could think of them without crippling under immense sadness and helplessness. His prayers he uttered with as much fervor as he could muster, but he knew there would be no recompense in this life, only in the next, after Revelation had come.
“Unyielding faith is important,” his mother said. The healthy had congregated at the church. Their numbers had started to dwindle, from thirty-six to thirty to twenty-five, now more than a dozen sick and at home, struggling to sleep. “It’s something noble. It’s something rewarded both here and in the afterlife. And you have it. I know it. I know it as I know the sun is yellow and the grass is green and that God looks down upon us and smiles. And in the coming days, in the coming weeks, in the coming months, you will need to remember that. You’ll need to remember your faith. You’ll need to remember your God, because the end of times is upon us.”
She looked tired, more tired than Caleb ever remembered seeing her. Her hair was streaked gray, and her skin sagged and pruned as if soaked with lake water.
“The Fourth Seal has broken,” she said. “‘And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.’
“Our own are sick. Scoot Finch. A young boy. A strong boy. He’s been afflicted. His mother. Several others. And they’re going to die. There’s nothing we can do to stop it. We may be sad. We may be angry. We may be confused. But we should not be afraid, for this is God’s plan. He has chosen us.
“‘Then I looked, and behold, on Mount Zion stood the Lamb, and with him 144,000 who had his name and his Father’s name written on their foreheads. And I heard a voice from heaven like the roar of many waters and like the sound of loud thunder. The voice I heard was like the sound of harpists playing on their harps, and they were singing a new song before the throne and before the four living creatures and before the elders. No one could learn that song except the 144,000 who had been redeemed from the earth. It is these who have not defiled themselves with women, for they are virgins. It is these who follow the Lamb wherever he goes. These have been redeemed from mankind as first fruits for God and the Lamb, and in their mouth no lie was found, for they are blameless.’”
Caleb’s mother walked from the pulpit. She walked down the aisle through the middle of the congregation, and she left the worship hall. The remaining congregants didn’t move. They sat in the pews as if they were awaiting further instructions. For several minutes they sat like that, preparing themselves, each in their own individual way, for they all, deep down, knew Caleb’s mother was correct. The end was coming. Death was upon them. They were powerless to stop it. Even if they wanted t
o, death and destruction and the end of times were near. It was a strange moment for Caleb, realizing this, that the world was going to end and he would be there to see it. He had to make peace with it. And he had to face it head-on.
Eventually, a few got up to leave, one or two or three at a time. No one said a word as they did so. They didn’t have to. It was all imprinted on their faces: a sweet mixture of fear and glee, for they would see the world burn.
CHAPTER 8
LARGE TRUCKS RUMBLED DOWN THE HIGHWAY, helicopters soared overhead, and National Guard troops clad in heavy boots and assault rifles marched toward town. Caleb heard them before he saw them. They were louder than he would have expected, a pulse that he could feel just as much as he could hear. There were three helicopters that first morning. He and Brandon were digging an irrigation ditch along the west side of the property when they flew overhead. Caleb had never seen a helicopter so close. The blades thrummed in his eardrums a staccato beat, oscillating like a giant ceiling fan. They were so close he thought he could reach out and touch them. Neither Caleb nor Brandon said a word. Caleb was in too much shock to say anything. It was the oddest thing he’d ever seen. He would’ve been less surprised to see the sky tear open and for all the angels of heaven to come pouring out.
Then came the trucks. Rows and rows of them. Humvees painted Vallejo green and eighteen-wheelers carrying what Caleb could only assume was food, water, and medicine. It wasn’t just soldiers filling the trucks. There were also aid workers, doctors, and volunteers. They wore plainclothes, white-collared shirts, dark denim jeans, and work boots instead of the long-sleeved camouflage and black combat boots of the National Guardsmen. Caleb felt an immediate sense of relief when he saw them. Perhaps, he thought, the end of the world might not be coming. Perhaps Scoot and his mother and the rest of the congregation wouldn’t die. Perhaps they’d be saved, and all would return to normal in a few weeks. Fall would return, and with it the turning of the leaves, maybe the hum of motorboats, the laughter of families out on the water, sunburnt and happy. Perhaps his mother was wrong.
Caleb dropped his shovel and raced back toward home. He found his mother there, washing dishes. Her arms were soaked, bubbles up to her elbows from soap they’d made from lard. Sam had taught them how to do it, melting the fat into a large pot, pouring in lye, and stirring hard to a creamy mixture. The smell was something awful, and it made Caleb nauseated just thinking about it, the mixture of innards and chemical curdling his stomach.
He and Brandon told his mother what they’d seen.
“What was on them?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“The helicopters, did they have paintings on them?”
“Paintings? They were dark green.”
“A logo. A red cross in a white circle. The flag. Anything.”
“I don’t remember.”
She stopped washing a coffee mug, letting it float in the basin before it filled with water and sank below the surface. She dried her hands with an old towel full of holes and loose threads.
“Were they filled with soldiers?”
“The trucks were,” Brandon said.
“But there were others, too,” Caleb said. “Doctors possibly. Volunteers. We could be saved.”
“Saved from what?” she asked. “From God?”
“They could come to help. Maybe they have medicine for Scoot. For his mom. The others. Food. Water. Things could go back to normal.”
“Normal?” she asked. “What’s normal about this? A disaster. Plague. Soldiers marching into town. What seems normal about this to you, son?”
“I don’t understand. I thought this was a good thing.”
“Think about it, Caleb. You’re smarter than this.”
He knew his mother was testing him. He hated when she did this. He always felt like he disappointed her when he couldn’t find the right answer, and this gnawed at him, turned his brain into sandpaper and jagged edges, but then it came to him. “The Fifth Seal?” he asked, like answering a question on a game show they’d used to watch together after school in Bartlesville. Jeopardy!, Caleb remembered. That seemed so long ago.
She nodded. “‘And when he had opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held.’”
They found Sam at his house praying, and together they rounded up the healthy members of the congregation. They met in the worship hall, and most of them had heard and seen the helicopters and the trucks themselves. Rumors had already spread. Some thought they only came to help, that they would cure the sick, feed the hungry, and shelter the cold. Others still thought they were demons incarnate, sent from the devil himself, there to wage the final battle between heaven and hell. One by one they spoke, all of them uncertain, despondent, unsure of themselves and what to do next.
“We should send a few into town,” Scoot’s father said. “See why they’ve come. See for ourselves what they intend to do.”
A few of the others agreed, younger members with small children in tow, locked on their mothers’ hips. All of them were tired, hungry, and afraid. Caleb could tell by the way they collapsed in on themselves, their eyes desperate, their hands wringing and bleeding. It was like he could even read their thoughts. What if they were the next to get sick? Their children? What, exactly, would they do then?
“They could harm us,” Caleb’s mother said. “Imprison us. Kill us. It’s too big of a risk.”
“We have to do something,” Scoot’s father said. “People are sick, Evelyn. They could die. My wife might die. My son. I’ll lose everything.”
“You’re not losing anything. You’re gaining eternal bliss. Can’t you see that? We’re being tested. God is testing us. Now is not the time to lose our faith.”
“I am not losing my faith. Do not question my faith. I just don’t want to see my family die.”
“It’s the end of times. We’re all going to die.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t look out for each other. We are the chosen, right? The faithful are to help the least amongst us.”
“Do you remember how they treated us?” she asked, pointing in the direction of town. “Do you remember being ridiculed and mocked? Do you remember when they set fire to my home? They’ve already tried to kill us. What makes you think they won’t shoot you down on the spot?”
Caleb’s mother spoke with a fervor and passion Caleb had grown to expect from her. She’d always had it, but it had hardened in the past few months, its edges sharpened, charged with static electricity. It was impossible to argue with her, though some tried and failed because of her hot moral outrage. It seethed from her, escaped from her pores, attacked everyone within earshot. It both frightened and excited Caleb to be her offspring, her golden child. It made him teem with pride but also shake with fear he’d never live up to her expectations.
“I have to go,” Scoot’s father said. “Whether you like it or not.”
“Maybe he’s right,” Sam said. “Maybe it’s worth checking out.”
She sighed, threw up her hands. “Fine,” she said. “But I’m coming with you.”
Caleb’s mother didn’t allow him to go into town with the rest. She said he was too important to risk, that he had to stay there with the sick and the frightened and comfort them, and so he did. While he waited, he visited Scoot. Both he and his mother were in bed, their breaths raspy and weak. Scoot had lost perhaps twenty pounds since falling ill, his skin turning the color of an infected sore. He was conscious of his surroundings maybe only an hour or two a day. During that time, his father tried to make him eat, but he refused, citing nausea and pain. Scoot was giving up, and Caleb didn’t blame him. Faced with the same symptoms, Caleb would more than likely do the same, waste away until he was nothing but a bag of bones.
Dr. Cox had told them he’d been lobbying for help from the state and the federal government. Maybe they’d finally heeded his warnings. Maybe they brought with them IVs to
replenish fluids, clean water, and antibiotics. Maybe they’d cure the sick and rebuild the town. Maybe in a few days they’d eat fresh fruit again, an apple or a banana or even a pineapple. He could taste its tartness now, feel its juices spilling over his tongue, feel his belly full, his muscles regaining their strength. Natural disasters happened. They had since the beginning of time. There were earthquakes and fires and volcanos and hurricanes and tsunamis. Every day they occurred. Eventually, though, the devastation would subside, and the victims would band together to grieve the departed and relish the chance to start anew. God could be testing them, but maybe the Seals hadn’t been broken.
Caleb passed the time by repeating a bedtime prayer over and over. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. For if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. For if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. For if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” He didn’t know what else he could do. He wished he could comfort Scoot, but Caleb didn’t have any pain medication, any antibiotics. All he had was his words, and they did no good in this world. Only in the next.
When his mother returned, she gathered the congregation in the worship hall and told them what they’d seen.
“It’s worse than we thought,” she said. She reported the town had been overrun with National Guardsmen and was suffering under martial law. Soldiers patrolled the streets with assault rifles and riot gear, and the sick had been quarantined in the middle of the city, imprisoned in a makeshift jail. No one went in or out. No one cared for them. Even though they’d perched hidden more than a hundred yards away, they could hear the sick wailing. It had been the most terrible thing she’d ever heard in her life. It was worse than when she’d been a kid and her father took her to a slaughterhouse. She remembered the cows screaming as they were bludgeoned to death. Corralled in steel pens, they’d moved in a single-file line to the killing floor, where a man with a sledgehammer waited. Sometimes it took more than one swing. Three, maybe four, the man rearing back, bringing the hammer down between the eyes. It wasn’t unlike that, she said. Men, women, children, all of them treated like animals.
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