them.’’
‘‘Silence doesn’t always mean inaction, though. Ever hear the term ‘cover-up’? And don’t be so quick to dismiss conspiracy theorists. They question authority, and that’s good. You want people doubting government spinmeisters and slick corporate mouthpieces.’’
‘‘The voice crying in the wilderness.’’
‘‘You got it. Peter Wyoming may sound whack, saying anthrax inoculations are part of the devil’s end-game, but don’t take the Pentagon at face value. You really think troops are just being protected against tomorrow’s holy man with a missile launcher and a vial of spores? In the fifties the CIA experimented on GIs with LSD. And the army sprayed bacteria into the air over San Francisco, they said to see how effective biological warfare would be. Right. Warfare by whom, against whom? It was American citizens who got sick.’’ She pursed her lips. ‘‘Pastor Pete didn’t invent Black Ops.’’
She got this streak from her late father, a Marxist professor of politics. No matter how distracted or bereaved she was, I could always count on Nikki to back-hand the conventional wisdom. It was one of her most endearing traits.
‘‘Besides, paranoia gets the blood flowing and lets little people feel larger than life,’’ she said. ‘‘Imagine how important Tabitha must feel—expecting a global cataclysm to detonate, with her new tribe at ground zero.’’
‘‘Armageddon’s a real confidence booster. I never looked at it that way.’’
‘‘The Apocalypse. When you think about it, it’s a thrilling thought.’’
Taken aback, I stopped walking.
She said, ‘‘ ‘The present sky and earth are destined for fire, and are only being reserved until Judgment Day so that all sinners may be destroyed.’ ’’
‘‘Honey, sit down and put your head between your knees.’’
‘‘Therefore . . . ‘What we are waiting for is what he promised: the new heavens and new earth, the place where righteousness will be at home.’ ’’ Sly look. ‘‘My pop wrote a book on concepts of utopia. Destined for Fire . Atheist perspective, but he got the title from the Bible.’’
She turned and walked back toward me. ‘‘Evan, the end of days doesn’t mean the demolition of Earth—it means the overthrow of the world order. The New Jerusalem, that’s a synonym for Up the Revolution, baby. We’re talking about the dawning of an age where justice rules, and where there’s no poverty, no suffering, no death. And that, you’d better believe, is one powerful idea.’’
I waited a beat. ‘‘Presuming you’re a true believer.’’
‘‘When it’s your apocalypse, you’re always the true believer. That’s the point. And everybody you hate is gone, toasted in the cleansing fire.’’
Water licked her ankles and retreated. ‘‘But the Apocalypse isn’t about payback; it’s about hope. It says no matter how rotten things get, God’s gonna win in the end. Good is stronger than evil.’’ She paused, holding her hands out. ‘‘So, what are you afraid of?’’
She had me. But to drive home the point she set hands on hips and said with comic exaggeration, ‘‘Don’t you love Jesus, girl?’’
Her brown eyes pinned me. She expected a serious answer. All my snappy comebacks wilted unsaid, and I looked down at the sand.
After a few seconds she waved a hand dismissively and started walking again. ‘‘Aw, you just can’t see the bright side because you spent so much time creating catastrophes for your book.’’
My novel Lithium Sunset was set in a bleak future after a world war. A totalitarian army had conquered the heroine’s people. Survivors on both sides had suffered flash burns and genetic damage in the thermonuclear exchange. Mutation and ritual suicide were commonplace.
‘‘Mass destruction without purpose—that’s a pop culture apocalypse, Ev.’’
‘‘Oh, cut me to the bone.’’
‘‘Your radioactive prairie has survivors, though. Your
‘‘Silence doesn’t always mean inaction, though. Ever hear the term ‘cover-up’? And don’t be so quick to dismiss conspiracy theorists. They question authority, and that’s good. You want people doubting government spinmeisters and slick corporate mouthpieces.’’
‘‘The voice crying in the wilderness.’’
‘‘You got it. Peter Wyoming may sound whack, saying anthrax inoculations are part of the devil’s end-game, but don’t take the Pentagon at face value. You really think troops are just being protected against tomorrow’s holy man with a missile launcher and a vial of spores? In the fifties the CIA experimented on GIs with LSD. And the army sprayed bacteria into the air over San Francisco, they said to see how effective biological warfare would be. Right. Warfare by whom, against whom? It was American citizens who got sick.’’ She pursed her lips. ‘‘Pastor Pete didn’t invent Black Ops.’’
She got this streak from her late father, a Marxist professor of politics. No matter how distracted or bereaved she was, I could always count on Nikki to back-hand the conventional wisdom. It was one of her most endearing traits.
‘‘Besides, paranoia gets the blood flowing and lets little people feel larger than life,’’ she said. ‘‘Imagine how important Tabitha must feel—expecting a global cataclysm to detonate, with her new tribe at ground zero.’’
‘‘Armageddon’s a real confidence booster. I never looked at it that way.’’
‘‘The Apocalypse. When you think about it, it’s a thrilling thought.’’
Taken aback, I stopped walking.
She said, ‘‘ ‘The present sky and earth are destined for fire, and are only being reserved until Judgment Day so that all sinners may be destroyed.’ ’’
‘‘Honey, sit down and put your head between your knees.’’
‘‘Therefore . . . ‘What we are waiting for is what he promised: the new heavens and new earth, the place where righteousness will be at home.’ ’’ Sly look. ‘‘My pop wrote a book on concepts of utopia. Destined for Fire . Atheist perspective, but he got the title from the Bible.’’
She turned and walked back toward me. ‘‘Evan, the end of days doesn’t mean the demolition of Earth—it means the overthrow of the world order. The New Jerusalem, that’s a synonym for Up the Revolution, baby. We’re talking about the dawning of an age where justice rules, and where there’s no poverty, no suffering, no death. And that, you’d better believe, is one powerful idea.’’
I waited a beat. ‘‘Presuming you’re a true believer.’’
‘‘When it’s your apocalypse, you’re always the true believer. That’s the point. And everybody you hate is gone, toasted in the cleansing fire.’’
Water licked her ankles and retreated. ‘‘But the Apocalypse isn’t about payback; it’s about hope. It says no matter how rotten things get, God’s gonna win in the end. Good is stronger than evil.’’ She paused, holding her hands out. ‘‘So, what are you afraid of?’’
She had me. But to drive home the point she set hands on hips and said with comic exaggeration, ‘‘Don’t you love Jesus, girl?’’
Her brown eyes pinned me. She expected a serious answer. All my snappy comebacks wilted unsaid, and I looked down at the sand.
After a few seconds she waved a hand dismissively and started walking again. ‘‘Aw, you just can’t see the bright side because you spent so much time creating catastrophes for your book.’’
My novel Lithium Sunset was set in a bleak future after a world war. A totalitarian army had conquered the heroine’s people. Survivors on both sides had suffered flash burns and genetic damage in the thermonuclear exchange. Mutation and ritual suicide were commonplace.
‘‘Mass destruction without purpose—that’s a pop culture apocalypse, Ev.’’
‘‘Oh, cut me to the bone.’’
‘‘Your radioactive prairie has survivors, though. Your
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