Apocalypso

CHAPTER TWELVE
CONVOCATION

The next day an assembly was announced, and the dazed new recruits joined a parade of soldiers marching up to the State House lawn. They were handed paper scrolls and symbolic scourging rods. Men congratulated Todd and Ray and welcomed them into the family-a euphoric experience after their ordeal.

Entering the capitol grounds, they noticed that all the trees had been cut down for firewood. An artificial grove of X-shaped steel frames had been erected, and dozens of laborers were dismantling old military barricades, building new wooden bleachers, and digging pit latrines around the perimeter. The workers were filthy, exhausted, and demoralized from being jeered at all day and pelted with trash.

“Oh shit,” Todd said. “What is this, a giant hazing? I am definitely not feeling this.”

“More new arrivals?” asked the supervising Adamite, a former Army Ranger named Sheldon Barnstable.

His fellow cleric, a former bank manager named Lester Mead, said, “Yeah-they’re the guys who came in riding bikes.”

“Bikes! Are you for real?”

“I saw it myself.”

“No shit.” To Todd and Ray, he asked, “Where did you guys come from?”

“Fox Point.”

“What were you doing there?”

Todd said, “Talking to Elvis.”

“You should be down on your knees thanking Adam that we found you before the Hellions did.”

“Oh, we are,” said Ray.

Lester Mead said, “I just want to go on the record as saying I think it’s kind of uncool that you guys have special privileges over those of us who have been in the Adams since before the Tribs.”

“We do?”

“Oh yeah. I have your orders right here. No ditches for you boys; you’ve both been bumped up to custodial detail at the hotel. That requires clearance from the top. Looks like you’re even quartered there-sweet gig! Pays to have friends in high places, I guess.”

“That’s great,” Todd said. “Can we go?”

“You’re to report as soon as convocation is dismissed.” The man lowered his voice. “You know, this is not going to make you very popular around here. Little friendly advice? If I were you, I’d request billeting with the other acolytes. The Prophet will be better off having more experienced guys change His sheets, and you’ll have a chance to learn the ropes. It would be a gesture of solidarity.”

“I don’t think so,” Todd said brightly. “But thanks!”

“Your funeral,” said Barnstable.

The men gathered on the hillside under the capitol. At the bottom of the field was a fenced compound containing rows of RVs, a combination trailer park and concentration camp. Laundry lines hung between the trailers, and women young and old could be seen washing clothes in tubs. A few of them were waving or calling to men they knew, their brothers, husbands, fathers, or sons. The men furtively waved or pretended not to hear them-others whistled or mocked.

Todd asked, “I don’t get it. If women are no threat, why are they still being quarantined?”

“They’re an endangered species,” Captain Barnstable explained. “They have to be protected.”

“You mean from Xombies?”

Barnstable looked at him as if he was stupid. “From us. We worked too hard to find these; we can’t take any chances of losing them. Especially the Evians.”

“Evians?”

“Daughters of Eve. Brides of the Prophet.”

Ray started to react, but Todd stepped on his foot.

“What’s with the trailers?” Todd asked. “Aren’t there enough empty buildings to house everybody?”

“Trailers are easier to police and maintain. And transport, of course.”

“Jesus.” Ray erupted. “You’re treating women like animals in a zoo. They’re human beings.”

“Watch your language, punk. I’m letting you off with a warning this time because you’re new, but we don’t blaspheme around here. Next time, the penalty is scourging. And for your information, treating men and women equally is what brought down the whole human race.”

Shaking his head, Ray opened his scroll. It read:

WHO IS THE RISEN PROPHET?

As an acolyte of the RISEN PROPHET JIM SANDOVAL, you may well wonder, “Who is this PROPHET of OUR LORD?” The answer is simple: Born of a virgin, the PROPHET witnessed his mother’s struggles in the face of creeping socialism and the decline of American values. Early on, He developed an interest in politics, believing the System could be changed from within… but He soon learned the System was Rigged. Witnessing the corruption in Washington, the PROPHET realized it was impossible to run for higher office and remain Pure, so He quit the gutter of politics and devoted His attention to the Mogul Foundation, a nonprofit organization dedicated to supporting Real American Values. The PROPHET’s wisdom was revealed in the choice of His first APOSTLE, CHACE DIXON, as the Voice of MoFo. The CHACE formula of high-energy talk and Apocalyptic prediction was a hit with millions of listeners worldwide, and CHACE’s interfaith ministry quickly expanded to include a publishing wing, a high-traffic Web site, and a cable TV show broadcast in over twenty countries, with corresponding outreach programs and affiliated churches, all dedicated to the Bible’s teachings that all ailments can be cured by prayer, and that atheists, witches, socialists, and homosexuals are abominations in the eyes of the LORD. There were many who called CHACE a crackpot, who derided his prophesies as nothing more than the ravings of a “shock jock.” Soon the world would learn that CHASE DIXON was a LIVING SAINT, whose words were all too true… but for most it would be too late. They would join THE ACCURSED, possessed by Miska and damned to roam the land for eternity. As followers of OUR LORD ADAM, we have been spared this fate! ADAM has shown us His favor by bestowing upon us the RISEN PROPHET JIM and the APOSTLE CHACE, hallowed be Their names. Thanks to these LIVING SAINTS, we need not fear either DEATH or UNDEATH, knowing that when that glorious day comes, our bodies will return to the Earth, and our Souls will be released to HEAVEN’S EVERLASTING PEACE. GLORY, GLORY, HALLELUJAH!

“Anything good?” Todd asked.

“Same old, same old,” said Ray.

Suddenly a voice yelled, “The Prophet! Prophet on deck!”

“Holy shit, here we go,” muttered Barnstable.

The disciples jostled each other into loose ranks. From around the hill, a large group of bicycles appeared, their riders humming Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” They all wore gray robes and tall, cylindrical helmets. Gliding in their midst was a dramatic figure on a gold-ornamented chariot. With his boots and riding breeches and trailing white scarf, he looked like an old-time aviator. The flying motif extended to his electric scooter, which sported a figurehead of an angel with spread wings.

He was the Prophet James Sandoval.

Ray remembered his reaction when Sandoval first told him and Todd the news of his holy title:

“You?”

“Absolutely. Don’t act so surprised-it’s not as if I haven’t performed my share of miracles.”

“What miracles?”

“Saving all these people, for one thing. Before I came along they were like you, hiding out in ships and underground bunkers and sewers-you name it. Enter the Prophet James Sandoval, patron saint of radical Fundamentalist militias, and now the world is their oyster. Yours, too, for that matter. You may be aware of my considerable public holdings, including that submarine plant that was so dear to all of us. I actually have much bigger stakes in more obscure commodities, and the connections to move them. It’s an industry that thrives the more society breaks down-my partners and I call it our rainy-day fund. Women have always been a staple of this black market, but their value dropped to nothing after Agent X. Any that didn’t become Xombies were killed by fearful men, and the few that survive are still shunned or shot on sight. But not by us-not anymore. Thanks to me, we have no more Xombie problem, and thus no more need to hate or fear women. In fact, women are now our most precious resource, so we are gathering as many as we can find.”

Ray asked, “How many have you found?”

“Not nearly enough. Maenads are incredibly hard to catch now that we’re immune to them, so the women we have are mostly elderly survivors or very young girls. The girls at least offer some hope for the future, but in the meantime, they’re a logistical nightmare. Part of the problem is I’m dealing with a lot of men who are still reliving the Xombie Apocalypse. A lot of these guys probably never liked women to begin with, and now all they want to do is kill them. I thought with a little forward progress we could start toning down the macho bullshit, but it hasn’t worked out that way. God’s approval has only made them more fanatical.”

Todd asked, “Excuse me, Mr. Sandoval, but I don’t understand how you survived in the first place. I could have sworn I saw you get killed at Thule. Weren’t you run over by a tank?”

Sandoval sighed. “It’s a long story, son. Suffice it to say I had unfinished business, and I never shirk when it comes to business.”

“What kind of business?”

“What kind of business do you think? I’m here to save the world.”

As the Prophet’s entourage approached the clearing, a larger group swept in from the street on the opposite side, chanting and spreading incense. The chant sounded like Coolio’s “Gangsta’s Paradise.” These men were not on bicycles but on in-line skates, identical with their scythe-bladed hockey sticks and black hooded sweatshirts-a mob of street hockey Grim Reapers. Rolling among them was another vehicle liberated from mall security, an electric cart with a small freight bed, on which a huge gold crucifix stood like an uprooted tree. Ray recognized its driver as the Apostle Chace Dixon. The Living Saint.

After his recent encounter with Dixon, Ray had ransacked his memory for what he knew about the man. There wasn’t much. He knew Dixon had been incredibly wealthy-which his followers took as the surest sign of God’s approval. His success had drawn the mighty to him, particularly those who were less interested in the meek inheriting the Earth than in Congress repealing the inheritance tax. Oh, they had tithed richly for that gospel, and Dixon was only too happy to give it to them. His pulpit had aimed squarely at a certain breed of militantly prosperous Christian who was ready to ditch fuddy-duddy traditions of charity for a dose of stronger dope-and Chace was just the doctor to write the prescription.

The two groups met in the middle.

“Welcome, Your Greatness, welcome,” Dixon said grandly, assuming the role of host as he bowed before Sandoval.

Sandoval impatiently gestured for him to rise, saying, “Thanks, Dix.”

Hopping lightly up to the microphone, Dixon said, “Thank you, O Holy One.” Was there perhaps just the slightest tinge of sarcasm in his voice? Gesturing toward the marble dome of the State House, he indicated the gold statue on its summit and addressed the assembly: “Divine Providence! Since the founder of this city was a clergyman, I feel that at long last it is time to raise a cross atop our capitol. The glorious unification of church and state has finally been achieved-hallelujah!”

Sandoval said, “What about the statue that’s already up there?”

“Hah! The Independent Man?”

“The Independent Man, yes.”

“What a monstrosity. That’s what you want representing your state: a big gold sociopath with a spear.”

“As opposed to a big fat sociopath with a cross?”

Turning red, Chace pretended he hadn’t heard, saying, “I always hated that thing; it looks like a kitschy lamp. Not to mention, it’s a contradiction in terms: an iconic iconoclast. So absurd! Most human beings are dependent by nature-it’s not a bad thing. Hey, that’s why civilization was invented, folks, in case you didn’t know. Let’s have everybody be a loner, good idea. See how many bridges and tunnels that gets you. But that’s exactly the kind of liberal thinking that brought down the whole country, the whole world.”

Facing the crowd, Chace shouted, “Hey, gang! How we all doin’?” This was one of his most popular catchphrases, and the audience responded with customary enthusiasm. When the noise abated, he said, “Everybody doing good? Fantastic. Nice day. Speaking of which, has anybody noticed anything… unusual?”

He was answered by cheers and applause.

“That’s right. We are standing in the open, under the clear blue sky. Can you believe this? Barely a month ago, we were desperate scavengers, barricaded inside that mall. Then we were visited by an Angel of our Lord Adam, who told us to go north and seek the Prophet Jim. Now we return from our journey in triumph, the Prophet at our side, to stand outdoors in the light of day! With no high walls protecting us, no armored convoys, no weapons. And listen! What do you hear? Nothing. Nothing but sweet, sweet silence.” He paused. “Ladies and gentlemen. I am here to tell you that this land… is our land!”

Someone handed him a guitar and he broke into a slightly pitchy rendition of the Woody Guthrie song. But the crowd went wild. Everyone sang along, even Todd and Ray, and when it was over, the cheering and victory chants went on for ten minutes.

Finally, Chace called for quiet. Grave-faced, he said, “But there is a threat.”

A chill swept the audience. He nodded slowly, panning his cold gaze across the crowd.

When the suspense had built enough, he continued, “Yes, it has just come to my attention that there is a threat to our mission of salvation and purification. Eighteen days ago we received transmissions from a substantial party of survivors in Washington, DC.” The crowd gasped. “Yes. Apparently they have established a Godless, socialistic society called Xanadu. And they are recruiting more heathens by the minute!”

This caused a tremendous stir.

Breaking through the hubbub, he bellowed, “Should we tolerate this new Gomorrah in the heart of our nation’s capital?”

Amid the confusion, a number of voices cried, “No!”

“No? Not even if it means committing ourselves fully to an attack against entrenched human beings-not just demons?”

A smaller number, harder to hear over the growing opposition: “No!”

“Then that is what I propose we do!”

The majority turned against him, roaring their displeasure. Dixon shouted them down: “Not just because I believe we have superior firepower and the Lord on our side, but because we have reason to believe that this other group has already invaded our lines and is engaged in a campaign of spying and subversion!”

Now any stray sounds of protest were buried in an avalanche of gung ho fury. Dixon bellowed, “I’m speaking of the disappearances! I am speaking of the mysterious thefts and sabotage! This may be the Enemy we have been waiting for-the secular army of Satan! Yes, we must engage them, not to destroy them but to save their souls! And once we have conquered them, we will add their arms to our Lord’s arsenal. At long last we will be able to put an end to the corruption of our land by socialists and subversives and the so-called liberal elite! At long last we will avenge the victims of Waco and Ruby Ridge and Oklahoma City and 9/11-all precursors to the ultimate atrocity of Agent X! It’s time to end the terror, once and for all! It’s time to send a message to Mecca and Moscow and Washington, DC! Hallelujah! Thank you, Adam! Amen!”

Standing on the sidelines, James Sandoval raised his hands, and the crowd immediately fell silent, urgently shushing each other. Voices whispered, “Let the Prophet speak!”

In a soft voice, he said, “Greetings, my friends. So nice to see you all here. I would like to welcome the new recruits among you, but first I must make a special announcement. This is important.” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “I blame myself for this, for allowing things to go so far. It shouldn’t have happened; I’m sorry. Chace, I apologize to you most of all, since I obviously should have been more clear with you from the beginning. I wasn’t, and now I have no choice but to do this in front of all these good folks. Here it is:

“There will be no crusade against our fellow man. Not happening. Not now, not next week or next year, not ever. That’s not what we’re here for. Chace, these people don’t need an Ayatollah, they need a Gandhi, and you’re not it. You’re not even close. I only wish I could have prevented you from burning all those poor women. Believe me, I’m sorry as hell about that-the thought of it makes me physically sick. But I failed them, I failed you, and most of all I failed God… and for my sins I died. But the Lord gave me a second chance. He raised me from the dead, and He said, ‘Hold on a minute, Jim. I have a job for you.’ That doesn’t make me Jesus, and it doesn’t make you the Pope, okay? You’re just a guy who used to work for me, but now you’re fired. You understand? You’re fired.”

Before Sandoval even finished speaking, Chace yelled, “I don’t have to listen to this! You wouldn’t even be alive if not for me! You’d still be a half-frozen Xombie up in fucking Canada! You’re no prophet! You don’t speak for Adam; I don’t think you even believe in Him! I renounce you!” To the crowd, he shouted, “Attention everyone! This man has just revealed himself as a false prophet, a phony! He must be one of them! Yes, he is a spy, sent to infiltrate and corrupt us! Do not believe him! Do not obey him!”

The assembly dissolved into a riot of accusations and counteraccusations. The extremists of both sides wanted to fight it out then and there, but since most of the troops weren’t sure which side they were on, the brawl was postponed. Dixon and Sandoval stormed from the field, followed by their core supporters. Dixon had clearly gained a few.

Todd, Ray, and the other disciples were dismissed.