What the Hand: A Novel About the End of the World and Beyond

by Stockwell, Todd

  recent loans I’d closed. He also needed someone with a broker’s license. Since I already had my real estate license, he told me, I only needed to pass a simple test. I was being sold again.

  ***

  Justin and I were different in many ways, but when it came to self-destruction, we were little less than twins separated at birth. We shook hands and celebrated our new partnership with more drinks and a few lines of cocaine. I called my wife and told her I would be working late again. It was the beginning of an ugly friendship and the beginning of the end of my marriage.

  12

  Nothing much had changed about him, except he was sitting at a bigger desk in a bigger office, and he bore the Mark. After he hung up the phone, he took a large gulp of coffee from an oversized Miami Hurricanes mug.

  “Put that down. Coffee is for closers,” I said.

  He looked up, startled, but only for a second, and laughed.

  “Oh my God, George Somerset! And you remember that!” Justin said.

  The coffee line was from the movie, Glengarry Glen Ross, about a struggling sales office, which had been required viewing in Justin’s loan officer training course. “Of course, I remember everything you taught me, though I’d like to forget most of it,” I half joked.

  I walked toward his desk. He met me halfway, giving me an awkward, still friendly hug. “Man, I knew I would see you again, but I didn’t know when. You don’t hate me anymore?”

  “I never hated you. I never even blamed you…my life was so messed up…I needed a break…and Renee...”

  He just smiled and closed the door. “Sit down, sit down. It’s good to see you, pal.”

  We both sat. “It’s good to see you, too.” And it was. It was good to see any familiar face since the Rapture.

  “I’m sorry about Renee and Sophie.”

  I knew where this would lead. Motioning to his mug, I tried to change the subject. “Still following the Hurricanes?”

  “Always,” he said. “Too bad they lost most of their best players because of those damn aliens.”

  It was no use, and I couldn’t ignore it; the alien cover-up upset me too much. “Yeah, those damn rogue aliens. You’re not buying any of that nonsense, are you?” I said.

  His look told me I had crossed a line. He glanced at my wrist from across his desk and punched the button on his intercom. “Kelly, can you prep surgery for me?”

  “What?” the receptionist said over the intercom.

  He was laughing now. I wasn’t. “Hilarious,” I said.

  He became serious again. “Never mind, Kelly….What are you doing, George?”

  “I need your help.”

  “I’ve been helping you. Why do you think you haven’t been dragged downtown? We know all about you.”

  “You know all about me?” I said.

  “We know you’re preparing to run. Do you know what happens to runners? Why do you want to run, George?”

  “You know why.”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

  “Why are you here, Justin?”

  “This is my job.”

  “What? Harassing people like poor Mary Hammond?” I said.

  “Harassing her? I was trying to help the stupid woman!”

  “Was she another close for you?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “I know you think I’m a jerk, but I’ve helped a lot of my friends.”

  “Your job is to get people to volunteer for the surgery. She is just a number to you. Just like getting people into a bad loan.”

  “I like Mary. She’s making a big mistake…just like you are!”

  “So, you kill two birds with one stone. You hit on her like you did before at our office and make your quota at the same time.”

  “So what? I was being nice to her.”

  “You mean you want to sleep with her and take her soul,” I said.

  He scoffed at me. “Take her soul. What are you talking about? You believe all that nonsense? You’re blowing it, George. What are you going to do? Are you going to starve? Get your head kicked in? Go to prison? They’ll break you.”

  “Better than eternal damnation.”

  He laughed. “Have you talked to God personally? Have you seen the devil? Millions of people are going about their business, and they’ve got food on their tables and a roof over their heads. It’s not so bad out there if you play ball.”

  “It won’t last.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I read the Bible…I read the prophets….”

  “Hocus pocus—for every one of your books, I can show you fifty others that say differently.”

  “You can’t sell me, Justin.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I need your help.”

  “I told you—I’ve already been helping you. I can’t do anything else for you. You’ve got to get the surgery, my friend. You don’t want to miss another appointment.”

  “I’m not taking the Mark.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “I’m not taking the Mark, Justin.”

  “I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself. Isn’t that what the Bible says?”

  “Please don’t quote the Bible—it’s not one of your rebuttal lists. Just help me. I need travel papers.”

  Justin smiled and shook his head. Then he put his hands over his face and didn’t move for some time. Finally, he put his hands down. “I can’t.”

  “I need your help.”

  “Do you know what happens to me if they find out?”

  “Aren’t you the Compliance Minister? How many of you have offices this nice? You’ve got some juice around here.”

  “I still bleed the same.”

  “You can pull it off.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking, George.”

  “You owe me.”

  “I owe you?” he asked without conviction.

  “You spent everything you earned on yourself. I put all the money I had into the business, and I lost everything. I believed in you. I put you before my own family, and I lost them for it.”

  He looked angry, but he didn’t say anything for a long time. He softened his expression and shook his head some more. “You’re killing me,” he said finally.

  I smiled. Now I knew that he could help me, that he would help me.

  “No, you know I can really be killed for this. This isn’t going to be easy. You’re a known potential runner,” he said.

  “You can sell it,” I said. He got up then and walked around his desk. I stood and we hugged, and it felt for a moment like before it all went to crap.

  “Come with me Justin. It’s not too late for any of us.”

  He put his marked wrist in my face. “What, cut off my own arm? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  ***

  Among the other goodies, the chip under his skin contained a homing device connected to a satellite, which could pinpoint its exact location at all times. Running with the implant was not an option.

  ***

  “I’ll cut it off for you,” I said, again only half joking. “It says in the Bible, ‘Whatever makes you sin, cut it off’. You know all this stuff—you were raised more Christian than I was. Baptist, wasn’t it?” He didn’t answer; he seemed to be contemplating. I took another shot. “Turn back, Justin—you have nothing to lose.”

  “You can’t sell me, either.”

  “I know,” I said. He had that look on his face. He was back in work mode. It was pointless.

  “Give me a few days. I think I can get you some papers.”

  “You never took no for an answer before.”

  “The papers won’t guarantee anything,” he added.

  “I know you’ll do your best—thanks, friend,” I said, and turned to leave.

  “Wait,” he said and he looked at me for a moment. Then he laughed a little. “If you do make it—tell the big guy what I did for you.”

  I looked back at him. He wasn’t laughing anymore;
he wasn’t even smiling. “I will, Justin. I will.”

  ***

  A few days later, true to his word, I received Justin’s package. I had my travel papers and an appointment with a doctor he knew for the following day. The papers were good for the weekend. I wouldn’t be reported missing till the following Monday. After that, I would be a hunted man.

  ***

  I packed the SUV with a weekend’s worth of clothing and snacks, just as I had always planned so as not to draw suspicion at the checkpoint. My cover story about driving up to San Francisco to bring back my aunt, whose home had been destroyed in World War III, was Justin’s idea. The story would be believable, he said, because lots of people were driving up to various crippled cities to gather displaced relatives and friends back to the Los Angeles area.

  ***

  World War III was not so much a world war as it was a series of rebellions by different countries against the establishment of the New World Order. It was the Antichrist’s idea to call it World War III to give his victory over the rebellions some prestige and credibility. But it was God who had been the real victor. If He hadn’t intervened to prevent most of the nuclear missiles from being launched, the initial strikes, the fallout, and all other residual effects would have destroyed much of the world’s population. Since God was all about giving people lots and lots of chances, this wouldn’t do at all.

  God also encouraged the aliens, with their advanced technologies, to clean up the fallout and nuclear waste floating around from the bombs that did fall. What they used was essentially a giant vacuum cleaner, which sucked up all the bad air, cleaned it, and spit it out again. The aliens were made to believe they would be helping the Antichrist. The Antichrist couldn’t have cared less about the environment, but he was on board with the cleanup anyway. He didn’t want a bunch of radiation-poisoned people turning to Christ at the last second. He took all the credit for saving the world.

  ***

  Twenty-six cities across the globe had been hit by nuclear weapons during World War III. Besides San Francisco, New Orleans and Denver were the other American cities destroyed. And worldwide, the New World Order could add Vancouver, Mexico City, Paris, and Madrid to the list. The rebels got the worst of it, however, losing—among others—Moscow, Saint Petersburg, Tokyo, Cairo, Manila, Johannesburg, Lima, Rio de Janeiro, Delhi, Karachi, Istanbul, Tehran, and Damascus.

  ***

  I read about the city of Damascus at the Hall of Knowledge. It was once the capitol of Syria. It had been conquered many times but never destroyed. It was the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. Syria was known for its hatred of Israel. The prophet Isaiah had predicted that the city would end up a “heap of ruins” in the last days. He was right. It was the first city destroyed in World War III.

  ***

  Driving out of the city toward the checkpoint, I was freaking out. It wasn’t my San Francisco cover story I was worried about, but getting out of the city without the Mark. I didn’t know until Justin informed me, but no one without the Mark was allowed a travel pass. He said my only chance was the letter he provided stating that my body had rejected the implant the first time, so I had been rescheduled for the surgery. The story was that my travel papers were issued before my body rejected the implant.

  To make it believable, I had to have my wrist cut and stitched by a doctor Justin bribed. The final touch was a henna tattoo mimicking the partial and broken row of sixes across a coin-like image of the Antichrist tattooed on all the Mark-bearers.

  Still, even with all the subterfuge, Justin said my chances were less than fifty percent. The checkpoint Minions were under strict orders not to let anyone through without the Mark.

  ***

  One mile from the checkpoint, the traffic turned bumper to bumper, fanning out to four separate exits, barricaded and manned by armed Minions in black jumpsuits. I closed my eyes and prayed, then moved the SUV toward the checkpoint farthest right.

  The cars ahead were moving at a fair pace. At the checkpoints drivers would stop, rolling down their windows to hold their marked wrists out for the Minion’s portable scanners. A Minion would then examine the driver’s travel permit before circling the vehicle to scan the marks of any passengers. Meanwhile, other Minions would search for contraband and stowaways.

  At the farthest checkpoint, a commotion broke out, and I could see someone being pulled from the back of a small van. Several Minions surrounded the vehicle, dragged everyone out, and shot each one of them by the side of the road. What a world it was.

  ***

  During World War II, Nazis were always shooting people at checkpoints. It was one of their favorite things to do—right up there with gassing Jews.

  ***

  I surprised myself by not going into a deeper panic; instead, the incident was oddly calming. I kept thinking it wasn’t such a bad way to go, all things considered. It sure beat the heck out of being dragged downtown to be beaten and tortured, and who knew what else.

  Now it was my turn. I rolled down the window, showed my sewn wrist to the clean-cut Minion, offering him the medical papers and the letter. “My body rejected the implant. I’m rescheduled in a couple weeks,” I said, perhaps in a manner too rehearsed.

  The Minion opened the folded papers, examining them for a moment. “Pull the vehicle over to the side,” he commanded.

  I moved the vehicle to the shoulder, watching through my side mirror as the Minion showed my papers to a lanky fellow with a lieutenant’s bar on his sleeve. I realized he was in charge after he began yelling at a group of Minions who were standing around. The next thing I knew, my vehicle was surrounded. Three of them dragged me out and threw me to the ground. “What the hell are you guys doing? I’ve got my permit!” I pleaded, attempting to rise.

  A Minion stepped on my back with a heavy boot, flattening me again. “Stay down!” he said.

  “Hey man, what did I do?” I said.

  “Shut up!”

  I turned my head sideways so that my mouth wasn’t in the gravel any longer, and watched, with one eye, the lanky Minion with the red bar saunter over to where I lay, surrounded by his chuckling, gun-wielding subordinates. He stared down at me for a long while before he spoke. “Shoot him,” was all he said.

  I heard the chamber of a rifle being pulled back, and I closed both eyes and prayed. That’s when I heard a familiar, high pitched voice I couldn’t quite place. “Let that man up…What in the world!” shouted the voice.

  That was my line, I thought, and I opened an eye to see the Minion with the rifle pointed at my head looking in the opposite direction.

  “I know him. That’s Mr. Somerset! Let him up!” said the one with the high voice.

  He must have had some authority because two Minions immediately pulled me to my feet to meet my savior, whose red hair and light, freckled face could not be mistaken. It was Kevin Shockley, or Major Shockley now, from the rank on his shoulders, the skinny computer whiz who often cleaned my clock in chess back at Douglas High in Los Angeles, where I taught a lifetime ago.

  Shockley’s parents had both carried the albino gene, a tough inheritance for any adolescent, but for a black kid in an all-black school, it was a nightmare. He’d beg me for a game almost every day during lunch just to avoid the students in the general population, who picked on him mercilessly because of his unusual appearance.

  “Mr. Somerset. Do you remember saying that all the time?”

  Of course I remembered. I used the phrase in class often, mostly as a buffer to my foul mouth. “Shockley—my gosh—yes I do. Wow, look at you!” I had never been so glad to see anyone.

  Shockley was in the black jumpsuit bearing a purple leaf on each shoulder and strapped with two holstered pistols like General Patton, but he looked like the same nerdy kid to me. He turned to his subordinates grinning. “This is my old teacher—he’s all right—let him be.”

  The lieutenant who ordered me shot spoke up, “This man doesn’t have the Mark, sir.”


  “Let me see those papers.” All the sudden he sounded like a major and not the scared kid I once knew. He took the papers from the lieutenant, looked at them for a moment, grabbing my wrist at the same time to look at the sew job and forged tattoo. “Well, can’t you see he’s had to have it removed? There’s an official letter here from the Compliance Ministry, and you were about to shoot the man.”

  The lieutenant only shrugged, apparently content with the possibility of shooting an innocent person.

  Shockley pulled me aside. “You know I’m doing you a favor here?”

  “I know, Major,” I said.

  “You saved my ass back in high school,” he said.

  “You look like you can take care of yourself.”

  He smiled. “They will find you, and it won’t be pretty.”

  “Probably,” I said. “But I have to try.”

  “You were always a little crazy, Mr. Somerset.”

  I wanted to tell him, to warn him about what was coming, but I was afraid he might change his mind. “Thanks,” was all I said.

  “Get out of here, Mr. Somerset.”

  I casually saluted my old student and turned away. I felt sorry for him, but I saw only the scared student hiding in my classroom, not the murderer he had become. I jumped in my SUV and pulled out slowly, my back cringing—half expecting a bullet, until the highway opened up, and I was finally away from Los Angeles, and for the last time.

  13

  So I began my days as a caveman, eating the goods I had stored, hunting and fishing and stealing where I could. I read and I prayed, listening to the New World Order propaganda and the occasional pirated reports on the radio, alone for over a year, until Danny and her group happened upon me.

  They all looked unhealthy and so afraid when they arrived. As dirty and scary as I must have looked to them, I conveyed something they admired, something they did not yet possess but would soon share. Be it only a cave—I was a man with a home.