“I don’t care about that,” says Simon. “I want to know what you think.”
The Prophet nods. He turns to look out the window and is silent for some time.
“I believe the world lives on the edge between magic and science,” he says finally. “And that it tips back and forth, depending on what we believe.”
“So because more people believe in Bigfoot, then Bigfoot is more—real?”
The Prophet finishes his Twizzler, takes out the flip phone. “In the original Greek, the term apocalypse is translated as an unveiling. It describes a moment in time when something long hidden is finally revealed.”
Simon thinks about that, how it’s interesting and all, but also a diversion.
The Prophet studies his face. “Javier,” he says, “is the key to the Wizard’s castle. Our way in. To rescue the dragon and start our exodus.”
“Rescue the dragon,” Simon says.
The Prophet nods.
“And exodus to where?” says Simon, feeling like he’s taking a quiz. “Utopia?”
“Yes. First we find the boy who is not lost.”
The Prophet slips the phone from the ziplock bag. He presses number one on the speed dial. Seven musical notes chirp from the speaker as it connects. Hearing them, Duane asks, “Is this it?” turning his head. “Are we doing it?”
Next to him Louise is still asleep, her feet up on the dash.
On the radio Black Sabbath sings.
Close the city and tell the people that something’s coming to call
Death and darkness are rushing forward to take a bite from the wall, oh
As the phone rings, Simon leans forward, staring into the worn fabric of Duane’s bucket seat back.
Then a click.
“You’ve reached the Fort Stockton Walmart,” says a voice. “We are currently closed. We will be open again at nine a.m. tomorrow. Please visit us then.”
There is a beep, as if inviting them to leave a message, but no directory is offered—no for Javier press one. The Prophet hangs up, lost in thought. In the front seat, Louise stirs, sits up. She can feel the tension in the van.
“What?” she says. “Did something happen?”
Duane checks the rearview, changes lanes. “The Prophet dialed the number.”
“And?”
“And it’s a Walmart,” says Simon.
“And?”
“And it’s closed,” says Duane.
Louise squints into the headlights of an oncoming semi. “Wait. What’s the number supposed to do?”
“Javier,” says Duane. “It’s supposed to be his number.”
“So he works at Walmart. Duh. What’s the issue?”
“They’re closed.”
“Not, like, forever,” she says. “So we go in the morning.”
The Prophet stirs, shakes his head. He snaps the phone in half, throws the pieces out the window one at a time.
“No,” he says, “Randall said once we call, we won’t have much time.”
Simon looks out the back window. He sees Cyclops riding his dirt bike, lit red by the taillights.
“Time before what?” he asks.
“Before they find us. Before they find Javier.”
“Wait,” says Louise. “Who’s they?”
The Prophet doesn’t answer.
Louise smacks Duane’s arm. “Dude, who’s they?”
Duane frowns. “Them,” he says. “The forces of darkness.”
Simon blinks. In his mind he hears, Two-thirds of Americans believe that angels and demons are active in the world. His thumbs start to itch. What does he believe? God? The devil? No. He has always been more of an agnostic. A scientific method acolyte—theory, experiment, proof. But that was before the experiment he calls his life landed him in an anxiety center with no shoelaces, before the children of the world began to murder themselves. Even now he wants to be rational, but nothing in his life makes sense. He is a fifteen-year-old boy from a wealthy family with a dead sister and parents so corrupt they believe the only point in life is to make and spend small pieces of paper, even though every dollar they make seems to be killing someone. Angels and demons.
By the year 2100 half of all species on Earth will be extinct.
Just Do it.
Fifteen percent of greenhouse gas emissions caused by humans are due to deforestation.
Think Different.
He lives in a world where clear evidence the human race will go extinct is met with government ambivalence and consumer tie-ins. Maybe this insistence on rationality is the problem. His problem. Facts, logic, science. Wanting things to make sense. Wanting things to happen for a reason.