by James Ryke
“First, he’s sending us out to buy the most outrageous stuff with a sinful amount of money, and now, he thinks he can come in here on a whim and stay? Where is he going to spend the night? What am I going to cook while he’s here? I don’t have any meals planned for the next few days, and I didn’t even have a chance to clean the house.”
Isaac shook his head. “You cleaned the house yesterday, and we don’t even know if he wants to spend the night. He’s my brother, and if we can open our home to so many other people, I’m sure we can do the same for him.”
“We were saving these steaks for Jacob’s graduation; I got a fantastic deal on this meat that I doubt I will ever see again.”
“Keep your voice down; he’s in the next room. We’ll just have to make do,” Isaac said as he left the kitchen area. He walked over to his brother, embracing him warmly. “Rick, it’s been too long. How have you been? Do you want something to drink?”
“Yeah, anything with ice and alcohol. It will most likely be one of my last, so give me the strongest drink you’ve got.”
Isaac turned around as if to head back towards the kitchen, but his wife pushed him down into a chair. “Stay and talk with your brother.”
Rosemary looked at Rick, forcing a smile on her stern face. “How do you like your steak?”
“Still bleeding,” Rick replied.
Isaac smiled broadly. “This is a pleasant surprise but, I must admit, it seems a break of tradition. You usually plan things months in advance. Why the sudden visit? Is everything all right?”
“Depends on how you answer my next question: Did you get all the stuff I asked for?”
Isaac rubbed the back of his neck, “No, not everything, but the stuff I didn’t get, we can get tomorrow.”
Rick leaned forward in his chair. “What did you not get?”
“I couldn’t get any of the cables or the wires, or the medicines. It was a big list. I did get all of the hard goods you wanted—rice, wheat, sugar, salt, powdered milk, dehydrated apples, strawberries, peaches, and whatever other food items you had on the list. One of the recommended stores you had on the email filled most of our order. But why does one person need so much food? Almost all the stuff that you had delivered was food too. Is this just for you, or do you have more people coming to pick it up? I’ve already got half of my basement filled with at least two dozen palettes of stuff.”
Rick looked at the uneven roof for a few moments. “That might work; it’ll have to work.”
“What’s going on?”
“At exactly 10:35 this morning, an EMP exploded somewhere over the state of Tennessee, effectively wiping out the Eastern United States’ electrical grid. Your vehicle does not work—all of your electrical chips are fried. The power grid is down, and it will never work again. Every computer chip east of the Mississippi is completely destroyed.”
Isaac looked at his wife, who had just stepped in from the kitchen. “Take the kids upstairs.”
Rick shook his head. “It’s better they hear this; the sooner each of us comes to grips with the truth, the better off we all are.”
“Rosemary, take the kids upstairs,” Isaac said with more conviction.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jacob said. “Rick’s right. If something is going on, we need to know.”
Isaac looked to his wife for support, but she did not seem to understand.
“All right,” Isaac said, “you two can listen, but you must promise that at any point, I can send you upstairs.”
Both kids agreed.
Rick gave a half-hearted explanation of the events that led to the launch of the EMP. His tone was so even paced and methodical that one would have thought he was reciting out of a dictionary. It was as if he had already explained this situation a dozen times over and that he was utterly bored by the repetition of it. After he finished speaking, Isaac felt he had more questions than answers. Rick was surprised how well Isaac took in the information. He had always assumed his little brother’s religious occupation had somehow made him weak, that his faith had made him unprepared to hear the realities of life.
Isaac picked up the house phone and began dialing a number.
“What are you doing?” Rick asked.
“I need to tell my congregation.”
“Two problems with that,” Rick said. “First, the phones don’t work. And second, the more people you tell, the more people will assume you’ll know what to do. They’ll think that you’ve got some inside information that will help them survive. Before you know it, we’ll have a dozen people in here, all of them looking for us to save them. This new world has different rules than the old: First rule, the more you share, the less you have for yourself. Every spoonful of food you let someone else have is a spoonful you are denying your kids.”
Isaac set the telephone down on the coffee table. “Rick, I have to tell them.”
“I’ll be sure to chisel that on your tombstone—or for that matter, the tombstone of your kids.”
Isaac stood up, stretching up to his full height. He was taller than his older brother and, even though Rick was much more muscular, Isaac’s presence demanded attention. “We all die, and if it is my fate to greet my Maker sooner than later, then I would rather do so with a clear conscience. This is my flock; this is my responsibility.”
Rick felt a little anger rise in his chest. He stood up and met the gaze of his brother. “It’s easy to make life or death decisions now when death is still a metaphor in your vocabulary. Death means nothing until you’re holding your lifeless child in your arms. Make no mistake, every decision you make now will affect your immediate future. And it’s not just death we’re talking about, but the possibility of horrific suffering. I’ve seen what humans are capable of doing to each other, and now that there will be no law and order, there’s no force to stop the cruelty of the world. You and I are the only people that can protect your family.”
Isaac rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “In the book of Mathew, it tells us that, “With God, all things are possible.”
Rick frowned as he pushed his brother’s hand from his shoulder. “All right, fine. You do what you have to do but spare me the sermon. Tell them then, but after that, they’re on their own—all of us are. But let them know soon.”
“It would be better if they heard it from you,” Isaac said.
Rick growled slightly. “They’re not my congregation. They don’t know me.”
“But you have answers,” Isaac answered, “and they know who you are.”
Rick clenched his jaw. “If I tell them, I won’t sugar coat it.”
“Exactly,” Isaac replied. “That’s something that I think I would subconsciously do. You have to be the one that talks to them.”
“Lunch is ready,” Rosemary said, her voice cutting into the tension.
Isaac turned to his wife, “Sweetie, I don’t have time for food right now, but can you cut up the largest steak into three portions and put each portion on a different plate. Rick likes to eat alone. Can you serve all three plates to him in my study?”
Rick looked at his brother, surprise evident on his face. “Thank you.”
Isaac turned towards his son. “Jacob, get your running shoes. Like in 1 Corinthians 15:58, we’ve got the Lord’s work to do.”
Rick rolled his eyes.
***
Each minute that ticked by was like another stick of dynamite being added to Rick’s explosive temper. The tough and grisly steak had done little to assuage his mood. More and more people began showing up at Isaac’s chapel—each one chatting cheerfully with each other as if they were all on some grand adventure. Weak, naïve. Most won’t survive the next several days—let alone the next few months.
Rick sat in a small choir chair that faced the congregation. He felt like a rebellious kid during a Sunday sermon—his face was red, his expression threatening. The sweltering heat permeated everything, turning even the most dedicated ha
irstyles into a mess of sweat and fly-aways. The humidity was so thick that one could almost see it sapping the life out of the congregation. Children draped themselves over empty benches or sprawled themselves onto the floor. Women and men alike made fans from random sheets of paper to little avail. Initially, Rick preferred to be indoors, because at least he was sheltered from the sun; but now, as the room filled with heat-generating bodies that stifled his breathing, he wished he was outside.
Isaac’s congregation was much bigger than Rick remembered. Last time he visited, there had only been around one hundred people in attendance—and a few of those left halfway through the sermon; now, it looked like there were well over two hundred. In a clear break from tradition, the chapel filled up from the front to back. The first several rows were teaming with a mess of people, each one leaning eagerly forward as if they were paid to do it.
Rick shook his head. No one seems to think much of God until a disaster, then that’s all people can think about.
The chapel consisted of three sections of benches: two smaller rows on either side of the chapel with the largest section in the middle. The benches were built at a time when people were generally smaller, and now with obesity being a major problem in America, the seats seemed wholly inadequate. The benches squeaked and moaned as each member of the congregation sat down. When the church was first built in 1919, the Pastor regularly reported attendance of three hundred or so people but, now, fitting that many people in this structure seemed like an impossibility. People had developed comfort bubbles and naturally sat apart from each other. It was not until the room completely filled up before people hesitantly slid down the benches to make room for those still looking for seats.
Despite the heat, despite the crowded conditions, people seemed to be in good spirits—even more so than usual. Women and men spoke warmly with each other, as if this gathering was the beginning of a long-overdue family reunion. Rick overheard several people explaining what they were doing when the power of their home or vehicle had abruptly stopped. Children ran around the chapel, dodging parents that were hunting them down. One woman complained loudly that she had just loaded the dishwasher when the power went out and that she ended up washing the plates by hand.
“I just knew…just knew…” the lady said, “that the moment I washed my last dish, the power would come back on....”
Isaac walked through the chapel door, his face gleaming with sweat. People came towards him, greeting him warmly and shaking his hand. It took him several minutes to wade through the people and make it to the front pew. When Isaac stood at the pulpit, the congregation instantly fell silent—even the children seemed strangely subdued.
“Brothers and Sisters, let us pray.” Isaac waited as the congregation folded their arms and bowed their heads. “Oh, dear Lord, Father and Creator of this earth and all that’s in it, we humbly address you this day in faith….”
Rick could not help but fidget in his chair. He folded his arms, but failed to bow his head or close his eyes. He was not religious, even less so at a time like this—at a time when action was needed, not faith.
“…We say these things, with an eye single to thy glory, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen,” Isaac finished.
The congregation let out a resounding ‘Amen.’
“Brothers and sisters, you have never known me to speak of the Last Days, because I believed it was never pertinent to your salvation. But now, even though it still is not pertinent to your salvation, it is pertinent to your temporal survival, and for that reason, I speak of it today.” Several members of the congregation gasped. “But, I caution you, that whatever you may hear, whatever challenge you may face, you must embrace the faith you have in the Lord. For death comes to us all, but Eternal Life is reserved for only those who can suffer, bleed, and even die with their faith in the Lord unshaken. My brother, Rick Savage, who many of you know, is here to tell you what has happened—why everything has died.”
These few sentences seemed to release a series of whispers that spread throughout the congregation.
All eyes turned towards Rick, who approached the podium at an apathetic pace. He was not nearly as eloquent as Isaac, nor did he even make an attempt to compete with his brother. He started from the beginning, explaining in an even, calm voice the events that took them to the present. At times, random individuals would interrupt with questions or rebuttals, which were always cut short by Rick, whose hot temper was starting to show in his words. Rick would have leaped into the crowd to shake sense into one particular man had Isaac not pulled him back. By the end of it, when Rick asked if there were any questions, the congregation only echoed with whispers.
After several long moments, an older man in the back raised his hand. “What proof do you have of these claims? Why should we believe you?”
Rick shook his head. “I’m not looking to convince anybody—I couldn’t care less if you did. I’m here because my brother asked me to explain the situation.”
More voices echoed with disbelief.
Isaac grabbed Rick by the shoulder and pulled him slightly back. “Brother Blake Stephenson has a good question. None of you here have known me to be an alarmist. I’m the last one anyone would think to make prophecies or predictions—that’s for the Lord’s prophets to do and, so, believe me when I say that this is the truth. The proof is in the thousands of dead cars on the streets, the sudden stop of your digital watches, the end to all communication, and power. I’m afraid Brothers and Sisters that the most likely explanation is the one that Rick just presented.”
A skinny woman with haphazardly frizzy hair stood up. “What’s going to happen?”
Rick stepped up to the podium. “I’ve studied your city, Norwich, and I know its limitations. A while back, a friend of mine created a program that could take a city’s population, it’s available resources—including distance from water, current infrastructure, the efficiency of your local government, existing gangs, and illegal activity in your area, the education level of the average citizen, and the number of public servants that are currently employed—and figure out how they would fare in a disaster. When I plugged Norwich into the equation, the program estimated that you’ve got seven days.”
“Seven days,” yelled a skinny man. “Seven days before what?”
“Before things completely fall apart,” Rick replied evenly. “Before anarchy.”
These words sent a ripple of noise through the crowd. People turned to their neighbors, talking loudly between each other. A verbose group of individuals in the back of the chapel soon became the loudest and most persistent sound.
A large man with a hefty belly raised his hands in the air. “Ok, all right. These scare tactics have gone on long enough. No one here knows if a word of what this ‘conspiracy theorist’ is saying is accurate. We are a society of order. We need evidence before we believe something so drastic.” As he spoke, the man walked towards the front of the room, his hands now spread out in a peaceful gesture. “Our government has not yet made any official announcements or statements—for heaven’s sake, the power has been out for only a few hours. We have no idea if this is a terrorist attack or something as simple as a blown transformer that can be easily repaired. Yes, maybe the chips are fried in all of our cars, but who’s to say that the government can’t send out replacements in a day or two. It’s probably an easy fix. It might suck between now and then, but panic can cause far greater damage.” The man was standing just below the podium when he finished speaking.
Rick shook his head. “This is not an easy fix. The amount of infrastructure damage is beyond repair. Even if we had a robust economy, a huge tax base, and a functional Federal Government, it would still be doubtful if we could recover.”
He turned his attention back towards the congregation, “We don’t even know how many cities are affected—maybe it’s just our city and already the President and his advisors are aware of our situation and are sending out aid. I suggest that we all go
back to our homes and relax. This crisis will be over before the week is out.”
Rick’s eyes narrowed. The anger bubbling through his veins had started to boil over. “Are you calling me a liar? There’s no one riding to our rescue. They’ve got their own problems to deal with. And you can’t isolate an aerial EMP just to a certain city—that’s impossible.”
The man shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe you’re not a liar, but you’re just misinformed. People are often overly dramatic in times of crisis—I’ve seen it dozens of times. Here are the facts: The Government is still in control; law and order still exist in the streets; and we’re much more civilized than what this man gives us credit for.” The man pointed at Rick, “My name is Anthony Simmons—all of you know me but, besides preachy Isaac, who really knows anything about Rick? I suggest we find out more about this newcomer before we start purchasing any of the bullshit he’s trying to sell. Who’s to say that he isn’t part of some terrorist sect, bent on the destruction of our—”
Mid-sentence, the man was punched in the jaw, his body thrown backwards into the nearby organ. His back struck the keys, making a dramatic mix of notes that filled the air. His head then hit the hardwood, leaving a large gash above the eyebrow. He tried to stand, but his legs would not support his weight, and he crumbled back down. His eyes were wide with panic, a surreal surprise fixed to his face. Several men stood to break up the fight, but they soon realized that there was no fight to break up. Rick stepped over the man, his jaw clenched. The man began to swing his hands wildly in his defense, hoping to stave off more blows. But none came.
Rick looked at the congregation, which held as still as an oil painting, “There’s no time not to believe me. Each second you spend here with me is another second that could be spent in bettering your situation. Already the grocery stores will be jam-packed with individuals who are attempting to get their hands on everything they can. By tomorrow, there will be some looting and perhaps violence.”
A lady in the back of the church stood up on one of the benches. “I don’t know what to do. What am I supposed to do with my kids! I don’t have a husband. I don’t know what to—” She was interrupted by her own sobs, which suddenly burst from her body. The thick tension in the air turned into panic. Half thought-out questions filled the air; a group of older ladies began shouting at Rick; several people approached Isaac and began to talk to him with increasingly louder voices. A dozen or so individuals stood up and made for the doors, knocking anyone down who stood in the way. More screams followed. Somewhere in the room, glass broke.
