by Dan Sofer
“What?”
She shrugged. “Check the news if you don’t believe me.”
We’re all going to die. Did Gurion know? Would that make any difference?
“Then why are you still here? You should get as far away as possible.”
“There’s an international embargo. Most countries have pulled their planes and taken our aircraft hostage. Our neighbors have closed their borders, and tsunamis are expected in our waters.”
“Dear Lord. What’s Moshe going to do?”
Galit glanced down a corridor. “He’s… not in a good state. I couldn’t get through to him. I’ve never seen him so depressed.”
“But he always has a plan. He always knows what to do.”
“Not this time.”
“Mommy,” said a youthful voice. Talya padded toward them in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. She saw him, and her eyes widened. “Uncle Avi!”
She ran to him, and he lifted her into his arms. He gave her a great big hug and breathed in her little girl scent. She had called him Aba in the past when Avi had tried to erase every trace of Moshe and take his place. How he had missed her.
“Can’t sleep, sweetie?”
“I had a nightmare,” she said. She opened her eyes wide. “There was a witch.”
“There are no witches,” he told her. “Everything will be OK.”
Her eyes brightened. “Will you put me to bed?”
Avi looked at Galit, and she nodded.
“Yay!”
Avi lowered her to the floor. “Lead the way.”
He tucked her in and waited outside the door until her breathing came slow and regular.
He found Galit at the table of a large kitchen in cream paneling, a glass of red wine before her.
“Want a drink?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She poured a second glass and placed it before him. The dry red had a bitter aftertaste. The second sip was easier on the palate.
“I’m sorry,” Avi said, apropos nothing. “I really screwed everything up.”
“Not everything,” she said. “Despite your best efforts.”
Avi didn’t mind the humor at his expense.
“For what it’s worth,” she said. “I forgive you.” She took another swig of wine.
“You do?”
“Sure. We wouldn’t want to die angry at each other, would we?”
“Do you think Moshe will forgive me too?”
“I think he has it in his heart, but I can’t speak for him. You’ll have to ask him yourself, and good luck with that.”
Avi gulped his wine. Moshe, depressed and stuck in bed—he never thought he’d live to see that. “I think I’ll pass. If you couldn’t get through to him, then I have no chance.”
He topped up his glass from the bottle. They’d need more of those. At least he hadn’t caused this catastrophe. Hanging out with the Karlins in the Prime Minister’s Residence—he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his last hours.
He put down the bottle and opened his mouth to share that thought with Galit, but he didn’t. Instead, he stared at Galit. She held the glass to her lips, frozen, staring into space.
“You OK?”
“We can’t get through to him,” she said.
“OK.”
“But someone else might.”
Avi smiled. He knew who she had in mind. It was worth a shot.
Chapter 62
Moshe Karlin emerged from a deep sleep with a premonition of impending doom. The dawn chorus of birds reached his ears, distant and muffled through the window pane. He lingered in the warm embrace of the soft mattress and silky sheets.
In his dream, he had risen from the dead to become prime minister. He’d create justice and equality—alone if he had to and without the treacherous bureaucracy. Despite his meticulous plans, he suffered defeat and betrayal. None of it mattered. A rogue asteroid sped through outer space to pulverize the State of Israel and snuff out life on Earth.
That was just a dream. What a relief!
Unlike his other nightmares—the rickety bridge over the dark chasm, his father and grandfather on the grassy bank moving further away with his every step forward—this dream had seemed so realistic!
Soon, he’d roll out of bed, have breakfast with Galit, and drop Talya at kindergarten on his way to work. He had big plans. Karlin & Son would expand to Tel Aviv, then north and south, completing the vision of his late father, David Karlin, of blessed memory.
But as the features of the room emerged from the dark, the gloomy premonition returned. This wasn’t his house on Shimshon Street, but the Prime Minister’s Residence on Smolenskin.
His nightmare was a reality, his struggles for naught. He could have spent his time better lazing at home with Galit and Talya. They were the reason he had wanted to make the world a better place.
He should reach out to them now, to hug and console them, but his body had turned to lead. What consolation could he offer? Everything would not be OK. Everything would cease to be. He had failed them. He had failed his father, his grandfather’s legacy, and his nation.
The mound of impossible obstacles cast a dark shadow over him. Had he really thought he could play prime minister? He was completely out of his league.
A Karlin never quits. Moshe hadn’t quit; the cosmos had quit on him. Time had run out; history was ending.
He released a long, defeated breath and discovered that he wasn’t alone in the early morning gloom. On a chair beside the bed sat an old lady.
“Good morning, Moshe,” she said, her eyes large and sad through the thick lenses.
“Savta. Where’s Galit?”
“Outside. She’s worried about you.”
His conscience twinged. While he wallowed in self-pity, Savta Sarah was holding things together, and she had suffered far worse ordeals than him.
“She wants to talk to you but has forgotten how. So she brought me here to speak for her.”
Another sting of guilt. Lately, he’d returned home from work sapped of strength and with little energy for family life. Since their trauma in Mandrake’s warehouse, Galit had lurked in the shadows, and he had not pulled her near. Was he still angry at her? Would they die without working through their complicated history?
“Nobody thought they’d live,” Savta Sarah said, slipping, as she did, into the past. “At first we did. But after a few weeks, we learned the truth—the only way out of the camp was through the chimneys.” She stared at the ghosts in the dim light of the bedroom.
Moshe knew Savta’s stories by heart. The SS men who took her father. The cattle train to Auschwitz. Her ballsy survival antics in the nascent Jewish State. But she had never spoken of life inside the death camp. Until now.
“Some lost their will to live. Others became animals, stealing crusts of bread and snitching to the guards—anything to survive another day. But some people chose the third option. They helped others, if only with a kind word. They held prayer groups in secret even though discovery would mean certain death.”
She shook her head. “They didn’t do those things so that God would save them. We heard no news of the war. Nobody left that place alive, and as far as we knew, no one ever would. They did those things because, in their final moments, they wanted to live well.”
The twinge of guilt became a stab of shame, and he turned away.
“We all die,” she continued. “We can’t control that. The only thing we can control is how we live.”
Chapter 63
The click of a closing door woke Avi. Early morning sunlight seeped through blinds on the kitchen windows. He leaned over the kitchen table, three empty wine bottles at his head. His chin ached from the pressure of the tabletop, his forehead from leaning on his plaster cast.
He had fallen into a drunken slumber. Heels clicked over the corridor tiles as Savta Sarah approached the kitchen. She’d entered Moshe’s room hours ago, and Avi tried to divine the success of her visit from
her expression.
Galit stirred on the living room couch. “What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“That took a long time,” Avi said.
Last night, Galit had tried to call Savta, but the cellular networks were still down. Despite Gurion’s misinformation, millions of Israelis were trying to finagle a way off the sinking ship. Moshe had dispersed the staff of the Prime Minister’s Residence, each returning home, so Galit had found a bunch of car keys and placed them in Avi’s hand.
After failing to locate Savta Sarah at the Knesset, the Prime Minister’s Office, and the Dry Bones Society, he visited her small apartment in Katamon. Savta had answered the door wearing an apron. The world might be ending, but Savta was cooking.
Galit and Avi had waited outside the bedroom door. After fifteen minutes, they had retired to the kitchen. Another fifteen minutes later, they’d opened the second bottle of wine.
Savta shrugged. “I let him sleep. He needed his rest, and he’ll need all his strength today.”
“Does he have a plan?” Avi asked.
“Time will tell.”
Avi jumped as a door burst open, and Moshe strode down the corridor, wearing a suit and knotting his tie. “Morning,” he said.
Galit launched from the couch and converged with Moshe at the kitchen. He pecked her on the cheek. “Coffee?”
“Sure. I’m making.” She put on the kettle.
Moshe whipped his phone from a pocket and dialed. “Sivan,” he said. “Yes, I’m at the Residence.”
The networks were up again. Either the panic had subsided or most people had already left.
“Yes,” Moshe continued. “Get the ambassadors on the phone. Both of them. No, not the ambassadors—get the presidents! And bring in Professor Stein. Whatever it takes. I’m on my way.” He ended the call.
Galit handed him a coffee mug, and he took a sip. “Excellent.” He drew her near, and she gasped as he gave her a long, hard kiss. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re a lifesaver. I’m nothing without you.” She blushed, and tears streaked down her smiling cheeks.
He turned to her grandmother. “Savta, what do you say we pass some legislation?”
“Great idea.”
Avi wanted to ask what was going on. An asteroid was about to blast them to smithereens and Moshe wanted to sign new laws?
Moshe’s eyes turned to Avi. “What’s he doing here?”
“He found Savta,” Galit said. “And helped put Talya to bed.”
The Prime Minister looked Avi over as if for the first time and nodded. “Thanks, buddy.”
“Moshe,” Avi blurted. “Gurion’s gone mad. He wants to kill you.”
“Then tell him to get in line. We’ve got a planet to save.”
Yes! Avi was back at Karlin & Son, at Moshe’s side. They were a team again, working together to meet a common goal.
“How can I help? I can drive you.”
“No.”
The word nipped Avi’s enthusiasm in the bud. He doesn’t trust you. Why should he?
Moshe stepped forward and tapped him on the shoulder. “I need you to hold the fort.” He leaned in to whisper. “Take care of Galit and Talya, in case anything should happen to me. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Great.” He took another gulp of coffee, put down the mug, and pulled Galit in for another kiss.
She teared up in his arms again. “Ready to conquer the world?”
“Ready or not, here we come.”
She straightened his tie, stepped back, glanced at the floor, and didn’t seem to know where to put her hands. “Be careful,” she said. “Come back to me.”
“I’ll do my best.”
With a final wave goodbye, he and Savta Sarah walked out the front door.
“He’ll come back,” Avi said. The words were designed to comfort Galit, but he clung to them too. “He always does.”
Chapter 64
Moshe sat upright in the command chair of the Knesset’s War Room and prepared for the negotiation of his life. The results would determine the length of that life, the lives of his citizens, and all life on the planet. No pressure.
“OK,” he said. “Put them on.”
The world came into sharp focus. The scent of destiny wafted in the air, and Moshe’s body tingled. Every experience since the day of his birth had been preparing him for this moment. Every deal he had sealed, every challenge he had overcome, even his failures. Everything rode on these next few minutes.
In the gloomy depression of his bed that morning, he had gained an insight. He’d been doing things wrong. Alone, he’d never achieve justice and equality, never mind save the world. He needed help. Lots of it.
He glanced around the polished table, looking each friend and cabinet member in the eye, sending silent messages of faith and gratitude. Only Rabbi Yosef was missing. Efforts at contacting him had failed and they could delay the call no longer.
Many great men and women had sat around this table and other tables throughout history. Many had given their lives for this two-thousand-year-old hope. Moshe had reached this day thanks to them, and he would honor their memory. He would not let them down. And if he failed, he’d go fighting.
“Here we go,” Sivan said, as the conference call connected.
Two rectangles displayed on the large mounted television screen. A grandfatherly statesman in a blue suit and red power tie grinned at them on the left. A bald eagle spread its wings over the circular seal of the President of the United States of America on the wall behind him. On the right, a stony face frowned at the camera. A double-headed eagle struck a symmetrical pose on the Russian Federation coat of arms. The Russian wore a similar suit of blue and red. The leaders of the world’s two superpowers seemed to employ the same fashion stylist.
“Mr. President,” Moshe said. “Finally, we speak face-to-face.”
“Mr. Prime Minister.” The American’s head wobbled in a gesture of mocking self-satisfaction. “Or should I say, the last Prime Minister of Israel. You should have accepted our offer while you could.”
The Russian’s visage reddened with rage. “How dare you! A joint conference call—and without warning!”
“My apologies to you both, but I could see no better way to prove my point.”
“This had better be good!”
Moshe turned to the Russian. “As you must have noticed, Mr. President, we have no agreement with the United States. And,” he turned to the American, “from your counterpart’s reaction, as well as the lack of Russian assistance in this time of desperate need, you can see that we’ve made no pact with them either.”
The Russian leaned in and growled. “Do you think I’m an idiot? The two of you could have staged this.”
“And why would we do that?”
“Because you are liars! The Americans are embarrassed by their inability to save you, their new fifty-first state, and now you need our help.”
Reading between the lines, Moshe glimpsed confirmation of what Professor Stein had explained only minutes ago—that, in an ideal world, there was something they could do to avert the demise of the Jewish State.
He’d have to appeal to the best within the heart of each leader.
“You’re right,” he said. “I need your help. Seven million Jews, Muslims, Christians, and others need your help. With prompt action, you can save us. History will remember you as heroes. Do nothing, however, and our blood will be on your hands.”
The American wobbled his head again. “I’d say your blood is on God’s hands. We didn’t send that asteroid your way. Who are we to second-guess the Almighty or sabotage His plans?”
Both presidents chuckled. And they think we’re the monsters.
“As you know,” Moshe said, “the asteroid will not destroy Israel alone. The dust cloud will suffocate all life on Earth. By helping us, you’re helping yourselves and saving millions of your own people.”
The Russian shrugged. “We’ll take our chanc
es. Your tiny country will absorb the main thrust of the impact, but our mighty nations will survive.”
“I’m inclined to agree with my Russian counterpart,” the American said. “Besides, thanks to all those zombie apocalypse movies, half our citizens already have bunkers and stockpiles—you name it! Many will perish, but the American people will endure. Considering the threat of your new weapons of mass destruction, we call that an acceptable loss. Oh, and don’t bother appealing to the sympathy of our citizens. We’ve blocked news of the asteroid from the media. Consider NASA’s notification of your space agency a personal courtesy.”
In Moshe’s periphery vision, the cabinet members shifted in their seats. The superpowers had partnered up against the Jewish State. Moshe’s appeals to virtue and self-interest had fallen flat, and it was time for Plan C. When desire fails, use fear.
“You’re right,” he said. The change in tone subdued the laughter. “I lied to you.” Now he had their attention. Suspicion flashed in their eyes, the concern that they had miscalculated and fallen into a trap.
“I told you that we had not weaponized the undead. The truth is, we have. Zombie super-soldiers. Unkillable. Unstoppable.”
The Russian slammed his hand onto his desk. “I knew it!”
Moshe continued, “We’ve been amassing our zombie armies for months. I expected you to reject our plea for help, so I’ve already unleashed the undead on the world.”
“You’re bluffing,” the American president said. “Our satellite footage shows that the troop buildup on the Gazan border has dissipated, not increased.”
“That’s because we’ve deployed them in subterranean tunnels. Until now we used the tunnels to hide the buildup of undead warriors, but this morning I gave them their marching orders. Tens of thousands of zombie soldiers are on their way to you as we speak. They only respond to my command, and unless I call them back, they’ll be arriving at your capitals two days from now.”
“Dear Mother of God,” the American President said. He slapped his palm to his forehead. “What have we done?”
The Russian’s skin turned paper white. “Turn them back at once!”
