A Premature Apocalypse

by Dan Sofer

  Moshe plowed on. “Dust clouds won’t interfere with these weapons. They don’t need food or sleep. By our projections, within a month, only one superpower will remain.” Moshe paused for dramatic effect. “The Dead.”

  The presidents of the world powers shouted together, their pleas and promises forming an unintelligible ruckus.

  Moshe raised his hands for silence, and the leaders obeyed. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  Chapter 65

  That morning, Yosef opened and closed his mouth like a stunned fish. His wife had asked a simple question, but he had no idea how to respond. It was all so confusing.

  Last night, Moshe had addressed the nation on TV. An asteroid would hit Jerusalem at noon. Then the news channel had switched to Isaac Gurion, who explained with an angelic calm that there was no need to worry, the world was not ending, and the Prime Minister’s fear tactics would not distract anyone from his corruption charges.

  Having no television, Yosef’s children knew nothing of this, and their blissful ignorance made his decision only harder.

  “Yosef,” Rocheleh repeated, “is there school today or not?”

  He had shared the news with his wife. “I don’t know.”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “Well, if the Minister of Education doesn’t know, who does?”

  Yesterday evening, Yosef had tried to reach Moshe on the phone, or Sivan or anyone on the cabinet. Every time, he received a “network unavailable” message. This morning, the networks had resumed service, but his calls went straight to voicemail. On Emek Refaim Street, stores opened, buses zoomed, and commuters rushed to work as usual. What was going on?

  “I don’t know,” he repeated. He had not issued an order to close the schools today.

  “Well, if they’re not going to school, you keep them occupied.”

  That settled it. “OK,” he said. “Take them. Just check that the teachers are there too.”

  Rocheleh shook her head at his dillydallying and made for the front door. “Come on, boys. Let’s go.”

  Yosef kissed them goodbye and wished them a fun day. He hoped he’d see them again.

  He tried Moshe’s number for the twentieth time. Voicemail.

  Where was everyone, and why was Yosef out of the loop? Moshe wouldn’t have invented an asteroid threat. But if it was real, how could the country carry on, business as usual?

  He dialed another number. “When choosing between an uncertain outcome and a certain one,” the Sages of the Talmud instructed, “prefer the certain one.” Following their advice, Yosef focused his energy on another imminent catastrophe.

  “Thank you for calling the Israel Police Service,” the now familiar recorded female voice said. “Our operators are busy with other calls. Please wait or dial nine to leave a message.”

  Yosef exhaled a puff of frustration. Did the operators expect citizens caught in the middle of a terror attack to hold the line as well?

  As usual, Yosef waited. He needed answers. Certainty. Elijah the Prophet. But Elijah was last seen disappearing into the heavens in a fiery chariot. The prophet dropped by Passover meals and circumcision ceremonies around the globe yet remained invisible. He was not the sort of person Yosef could call on the phone. At the right time, Elijah would appear out of nowhere in a cloud of smoke.

  But now time was running out.

  Elijah, where are you?

  Chapter 66

  Eli blinked his eyes open. He lay on a metal gurney in a tent. His bones were sore, and a tube yanked at the crook of his arm. Last he remembered before passing out, Noga’s blood pressure had dropped as her body’s systems collapsed. Had she survived?

  He turned his head away from her, afraid of what he might see. A long plastic line ran from a suspended pouch to Eli’s other arm. An infusion. He had lost a lot of liquid.

  Beyond the transparent pouch, the doctor hunched over a desk. Eli tried to divine Noga’s fate from the doctor’s posture.

  Then the chair swiveled, and the doctor hurried over to him, a steaming paper cup in hand.

  “Have some tea,” he said. “And there’s a six-pack of mineral water in the corner.”

  “Is she…?” Eli began.

  Dr. Stern smiled. “Her vitals are back to normal. I disconnected the transfusion a half hour ago.”

  Oh, thank God!

  Eli rolled over, and there she was. Her chest rose as she breathed, but the eyes above the oxygen mask remained closed. “Did she wake up?”

  “Not yet. We need to be patient.”

  Eli followed the doctor’s orders. He drank his sugared tea and guzzled water. Noga’s improving health gave him strength. Her body was recovering. But what of her mind? We need to be patient.

  Eli flopped on the chair beside the gurney.

  “Is there another laptop? Internet?”

  Dr. Stern glanced at the jumble of medical apparatus on the desk. “Here, use this.” He handed Eli an iPad.

  Eli logged into the analytics portal for TheTenLostTribes.org. Visitor statistics had climbed yesterday morning, a sign that the Facebook campaign was working, but then, in the afternoon, the hits dropped off.

  The earthquake. A natural disaster of that size must have caused havoc. Researching the Ten Lost Tribes would no longer appear on the average citizen’s list of priorities.

  He searched for news of the earthquake in Jerusalem and clicked through to an article on the Ynet news site. The front page covered the aftermath of the earthquake: electricity and water outages, gas explosions. Downtown Jerusalem looked like a war zone, with soldiers on every street corner holding up their hands to turn away reporters. Were those Russian uniforms?

  A more recent editorial called for the Prime Minister’s immediate resignation and ranted against his cynical use of natural disasters for political ends, such as the earthquake and the… the asteroid scare?

  The earthquake had been real enough—Eli could vouch for that—but was Karlin stupid enough to invent an asteroid strike out of whole cloth?

  He tapped back to the front page and the breaking news ticker. The headline sent cold shivers down his spine.

  “What the hell?”

  A man in a suit spoke into a bouquet of press microphones. Eli recognized him. He had first sighted the oily politician at Zion Square on a stage beside three imposter kings. The Earth had devoured the stage, but the ringleader had survived to make another speech.

  Eli read the quotation and shook with righteous indignation. The lying creep was trying to usurp Eli’s destiny.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, his voice a growl.

  “What’s that?” Dr. Stern asked, without looking up from his laptop.

  “The news. This Isaac Gurion thinks he’s Elijah the Prophet.”

  Dr. Stern smirked. “I thought that job was taken. He must be delusional.”

  Eli’s fingers tightened over the iPad. “I know his kind. I’ve hunted them all my life. He’s not delusional; he’s a false prophet.”

  Chapter 67

  Yosef dashed into the Talpiot Police Station to find the reception desk empty. He had arrived before the secretaries. After a few seconds of frustration, he realized this might work to his advantage.

  He charged down the corridor to the sounds of ringing phones and muffled conversations, expecting at any moment to hear authoritative voices challenge his right to wander around the station.

  Yosef would demand immediate action from the Commissioner. He was an elected minister of the State of Israel. That counted for something, didn’t it? Yosef had never made a threat in his life, but if it came to that, he would. A governmental committee appointed police commissioners. Yosef could use his sway to put the fear of the Lord into the civil servant and galvanize him to avert the imminent tragedy. And if Yosef’s intuition proved wrong, he’d live with it.

  The corridor ended, and he reached his destination without objection. Yosef knocked twice on the Commissioner’s door, then tried the handle. The door was locke
d. The Commissioner was getting a late start as well.

  Yosef returned to the reception area. He perched on the edge of the hard, plastic seat, then got up and paced the room. Last night he had become familiar with every floor tile, every crack.

  He halted. Had the police changed their minds about Moshe’s announcement? Had they gone home to spend their last hours with their families? The murmurs of telephone chatter disproved that theory. He followed the sounds, determined to ask the first officer he encountered when the doors opened, when the twin receptionists strolled into the station.

  Yawning and bleary-eyed, they dropped their handbags behind the desk. Yosef approached the counter. “I need to see the Commissioner. When will he be in?”

  The women glanced at him, and without a word, they turned their backs on him and disappeared around a corner. Yosef drummed his fingers on the counter. He heard their idle chatter and the whistle of an electric kettle. Another long minute passed before the women returned, each nursing a mug of coffee. They took their time sitting down and arranging their desk equipment before one of them registered his presence.

  “How may I help you?”

  “Same as yesterday. I need to speak with the Commissioner.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but we spoke last night. He knows what this is about.”

  That seemed to satisfy her. She put a phone receiver to her ear and sipped her coffee.

  She put down the phone. “He’s not in yet. Please wait.”

  Yosef wanted to pull out his hair. “When will he be in?”

  The secretary shrugged.

  He forced a smile and returned to his seat.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, another four officers arrived, greeted the twins, and moseyed along the corridor to their offices. So far, no commissioner.

  The relaxed atmosphere at the police station indicated that Moshe was losing the PR battle. Was the asteroid a hoax? Sivan had used many creative ploys to herd public opinion in the desired direction, but the end-of-world scenario sounded extreme even for her.

  After millennia of human suffering and struggle, of hopeful waiting, would God destroy his Chosen People in one fell swoop? What of the Messianic Era? Even the prophecies of doom ended with the eternal rule of Heaven. The story of humanity had to have a happy ending.

  Yosef approached the reception desk again and received the same answer, topped up with a “Please be patient.” Yosef returned to his seat, and the receptionists returned to their nail polish.

  Be patient.

  Yosef had been patient. The Jewish People had been extremely patient. While they waited for their Messiah and the shofar blast of Elijah the Prophet, they had endured persecution and genocide. When would the waiting end?

  Yosef wrung his hands. Right now, hundreds of men and women gathered on the Temple Mount, unaware of the danger.

  This was Yosef’s fault, in part. He had brushed Tom Levi off. But Tom Levi was no idiot and he had stopped waiting.

  Yosef blinked. When madmen acted, how can the rest of humanity sit and wait?

  A sudden gust of determination lifted him to his feet, and he charged at the reception desk.

  “This can wait no longer,” he said. “Where is the Commissioner? You must have a way of reaching him.” Both twins opened their mouths to object, but Yosef cut them off. “Try his home number and his mobile. This is a matter of life and death!”

  The raised eyebrows told him that the women seriously doubted his claims, but the one on the left raised the phone again. This time, she spoke to someone.

  After a short conversation of monosyllables, she put the phone back down. “The Commissioner has taken the day off. Please come back tomorrow.”

  Yosef snapped. “You have got to be kidding me! Then get me somebody else. There will be an attack on the Temple Mount today! A bomb!” The women stared at him as though he was insane. “I’m the freaking Vice Prime Minister! Do something!”

  More plastic smiles.

  “I’m sorry,” Lefty said. “You’ll have to speak with the Commissioner. Tomorrow.”

  He huffed and puffed and stormed off. What a colossal waste of time!

  Baruch, with his flannel fedora and perfect pencil mustache, leaned against the black Audi on the curb. He swung the back door open for Yosef, then hurried around to the driver’s seat.

  “Where to, sir?”

  “The Old City,” Yosef said. He had stopped waiting.

  Chapter 68

  Moshe rounded up his broadcast and glanced at the camera in the Prime Minister’s press office for the last time.

  “And so,” he said, “my fellow citizens, our plan is in motion—our only hope to save our nation from destruction. I urge you all to gather your loved ones, go home, and wait in your reinforced rooms. Those without such rooms must move to the nearest public bomb shelter. Within the next hour, we’ll learn our fate. May God be with us. Um Israel chai!” Long live the People of Israel!

  The red dot above the camera blinked out, and the operator gave the thumbs-up. An assistant removed the microphone from Moshe’s lapel and shook his hand. “It’s been an honor,” she said.

  “Here too. I hope we meet again. Now go home.”

  He drew a deep breath and exhaled. Things were out of his hands now.

  Sivan met him at the door. They speed-walked down the corridor toward their waiting cars. “The broadcast went out?”

  Sivan tapped at the screen of her phone. “Yes, and posted on all government sites and social media accounts. There’s a breaking news bulletin starting soon on Channel Ten. Radio too.”

  “Great. Join us at the Prime Minister’s Residence. We’ve got a bunker and the best popcorn in town.” He had invited his cabinet to join him too.

  “I’ll take you up on that,” she said. “But first I have to pick up Cleopatra.”

  Moshe gave her a quizzical glance. He hadn’t heard of any ancient Egyptian queens turning up at the Dry Bones Society.

  “From the cat parlor.”

  “Oh, right. She’s welcome too.”

  “Thanks!” At the ping of a notification, she looked at her phone. “Oh, crap!”

  She stopped in her tracks, and Moshe glanced at her phone too. The Channel Two news displayed the face of Isaac Gurion. This would not be good.

  Sivan turned up the volume. Gurion smiled at the camera, his face radiating calm. “Do not let the asteroid scare deceive you. Join us now one and all at the Sultan’s Pool and behold your Redeemer! Prime Minister Karlin himself will be in attendance.”

  “What?” Moshe said. “Avi was right. He’s gone insane.”

  The newsreader said, “Thousands have gathered around the Messiah Coronation Center at the Sultan’s Pool outside Jerusalem’s Old City.” On the screen, a bird’s-eye view of the narrow valley was displayed. Thick crowds of people flowed toward an immense black rectangular structure in a grassy knoll below a short bridge. “Unnamed sources claim that the Messiah may already be inside the building.”

  Sivan said, “The bastard is going to crown himself the Messiah.”

  Moshe looked at the thousands of innocent bystanders. Even Professor Stein’s most favorable projections predicted widespread damage and destruction in Jerusalem.

  He said, “And all those people are going to die.”

  Chapter 69

  “More tape!” Irina yelled.

  She had spent all night putting a lid on the pandemonium of their simian ancestors, when this morning, a video clip had appeared on the official Facebook page of the Prime Minister’s Office, and the Dry Bones Society once again exploded with activity.

  Volunteers stuck cardboard and plastic bags over the windows to prevent shattering. They toppled desks to create reinforced crawl spaces. Not designed as a residential complex, the meager bomb shelter beneath Clal Center could not house the entire dormitory of the Dry Bones Society. They had to improvise.

  “Here!” Samira called from across the Call Center,
and she tossed Irina another roll of duct tape. They had an hour to secure the site, and Irina had to fit in secret plans of her own. The asteroid was real. Moshe had dispelled the confusion and given them the instructions they needed to survive. All the cardboard and overturned desks in the world would not protect them from a direct hit, but Moshe’s ballsy plan gave them hope for survival.

  A handful of volunteers ran for the front door, little backpacks on their shoulders. “Hey, where are you going?”

  Ben gave her a guilty look, then continued out the door.

  “Where are they going?”

  “The Sultan’s Pool,” Samira said. “The Messiah Coronation.”

  “The what?” Moshe had not mentioned that in his address and he had warned against staying outdoors.

  “It’s Gurion’s work,” Samira said. “Let them go.”

  How people could believe a word that slimy politician excreted, Irina could not understand.

  She completed blocking her current window, then paused. Alex stood at the front door.

  “We’re out of time,” he whispered when she came near. “We have to go now.”

  “But the whole country is in chaos. The asteroid—”

  “We can worry about that later. If we don’t disappear now, we’re dead anyway.”

  Irina cast one last glance at the Call Center. Samira kneeled on the floor and sliced cardboard sheets into window-sized squares with a box cutter. Others shifted desks and boarded windows. There was no way to explain her sudden need to leave without exposing her friends to the criminal world.

  “OK,” she said.

  Alex took her hand in his and led her outside and down the corridor. They passed the Absorption Center, her job. The Dry Bones Society had been a temporary home. Now she must build her own home, with her man.

  Alex had parked his car on the pavement behind Clal Center.

  “Did you bring my bag?” Irina said.

  “Which bag?”

  “The things I left at your place.” Irina’s bag contained clothes and toiletries to get her through their first week on the run.