Chapter Thirty

In which our heroine finally gets to experience the Rapture Ride.

Archie finished his work by ten-thirty. He took a step back and regarded Lorinda, then Stimpy. He nodded in mock respect. “Grandma. Pops.” 

Wilma handed him the same kind of device Lorinda had seen before. Archie quickly took her picture, followed by Stimpy’s. In a half-minute it dispensed two new Citizen Cards. Archie handed one to each of them.

“Whoa,” said Lorinda, “I’m fifty-seven years old!” She thrust her hand toward Stimpy. “I’m Randi Howland from Barronville. Pleased to meet you.”

“Edward Chapman,” Stimpy said. “Sixty-one years young. Odessa’s my hometown. Texas. Not Russia.” They ceremoniously shook hands as Archie printed out two strips of paper and handed them to the newly minted senior citizens.

“Better look those over before you leave,” Wilma said, “if you want to know who you are. Okay, so let’s work on your walks for a few minutes, and then we’re out of here.” 

After a bit of “walk old” coaching, Wilma cautioned them to wait fifteen minutes after she and Archie left, to avoid any possibility of being spotted together. Then she hugged them, said she’d be back in the morning, and left with Archie in tow.

It was a gorgeous day. By the time Lorinda and Stimpy exited the dark hotel lobby, the sun was blasting, momentarily immobilizing them as their eyes adjusted. They looked like a dull, squinty, aging couple, wearing faded jeans, faded plaid shirts, and faded baseball caps. No one gave them a second glance. They were effectively invisible. The only mildly distinctive thing about them was that they were each wearing a big automatic weapon, while most of the others pedestrians toted lighter, more convenient jumbo handguns. Not that the sight of a middle-aged couple packing military-spec people-shredders caused even a ripple of interest. That was one of the great things about living in the CCSA: You could walk down the street brandishing a handheld rocket launcher and no one would say boo. Lorinda and Stimpy were just another older couple — slightly over-armed, perhaps, but understandably so, given the caution or paranoia or dementia that came with their advanced years. 

They put on the boring sunglasses Archie had provided. Arm-in-arm, they walked — Stimpy with a cane — toward the place Archie had told them served a pretty good breakfast. It also happened to be on the way to the Rapture Ride, which was Lorinda’s project for the day. By the time they reached the diner, their old-fogey gaits were synchronized, and convincing.

They were the sole occupants of the place. The teenaged waiter treated them with the condescending respect due to oldsters. The breakfast was better than expected, for which they were grateful.

They left and resumed their slow trudge down the street. As they approached it, an electronic mini-billboard that had been pointing the way to the Rapture Ride abruptly flashed NEWS BULLETIN, followed by USA CAVES TO POWERFUL CCSA. They stopped to watch.

The flashing title cut abruptly to CEO McWeeny at a lectern, apparently in the middle of a speech, saying: “…the USA is begging to be allowed to crawl back to the CCSA. Look what she said just a few minutes ago.” At which point the picture switched to a shot of an attractive, stylishly dressed, fortyish woman with dark, lustrous hair sitting at a big desk, speaking confidently to the camera; it was captioned ANITA FLORES GULDEN PRESIDENT OF THE USA, WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON DC.

“We already have some mutually beneficial commercial relations,” President Gulden said, “but I look forward to more. I hope that one day the CCSA will change its attitude and do what it takes to join us in the United Nations and NATO. I hope our sports teams will one day compete. I hope our citizens will be free to visit their relatives and friends across the border. I can even imagine that one day we’ll get rid of that border. To paraphrase a former occupant of this office: Mr. McWeeny, tear down that wall.”

The picture switched back to McWeeny, now red-faced, jowls glistening, ready to explode. “See? What did I tell you? They’re desperate! Their economy is failing, their citizens are dropping dead as they try to scale the wall — the wall that they built — to take advantage of our freedoms! And she’s saying that we’re the ones that need to change! That bitch has a lot of nerve! God bless y’all, and God bless the Confederation of Conservative States of America.” The screen flashed THANK YOU CEO McWEENY, then switched back to pointing the way to the Rapture Ride.

“That was weird,” Lorinda whispered as they started walking again.

“Every word he said was a lie,” Stimpy spat. “And people eat it up. They actually think the US built the walls. Fucking morons.”

“I mean, you can’t really blame them. It’s what they get taught in school —”

“Please. Okay, if you’re seven years old you can’t be expected to know how to think for yourself. But for fuck’s sake, just watching that bag of shit talk, you can see he’s lying. It just oozes out of his pores —”

“All right.” She didn’t like cutting him off. But sometimes his little rants made her feel … diminished, somehow. Like a naïve child. It wasn’t her fault she had been almost entirely raised with — or maybe indoctrinated in — the CCSA version of things. And she was doing her best, now, to catch up with what kept revealing itself as the truth. Still … She stopped walking and squeezed his arm. “Sorry.”

“Forget it,” he said. “I get carried away. Y—”

“OH MY GOD.” She was suddenly aware of what they were standing in front of. “We’re here!”

Lorinda gazed in wonder at the ride she’d been hearing about since she was a kid. It was enormous, not so much high as endlessly wide. It was like an entire amusement park in a single ride. The grand entrance consisted of a line of glass double-doors, above which stretched a gigantic arched sign of a thousand light bulbs reading THE RAPTURE EXPERIENCE.

“It’s six or seven big rollercoasters the billionaires behind this place bought up from all over the CCSA,” Stimpy said. “They disassembled them, carted them here, and put them back together — with Rapture-ready modifications.”

“Have you ever been on it?”

“Nah,” said Stimpy, pretending he wasn’t at all interested. “But I’m glad we’re doing it,” he said. “It’ll be good research.”

“Research my ass,” Lorinda said. They both laughed, then approached the ticket machine. Stimpy paid $2,500 for two tickets and they passed through the turnstile and — remembering to walk old — lined up behind a few dozen eager, mostly middle-aged, people. A big electronic sign on the wall flashed:

GET READY FOR

THE CREATION OF ISRAEL AND SIGNS OF THE END TIMES

THE RAPTURE

RISE OF THE ANTI-CHRIST

THE SEVEN SEALS

THE THIRD TEMPLE

WAR

FAMINE

THE TWO WITNESSES

DEATH

THE TRIBULATION MARTYRS CRY OUT IN HEAVEN

EARTHQUAKE

THE SUN BECOMES BLACK

THE STARS FALL TO EARTH

144,000 JEWISH VIRGINS PROSELYTIZE FOR CHRIST

And there was more. “Holy shit,” said Lorinda. “I never heard of any of this. Except the Rapture.”

“You’re not stupid. Just ignorant.”

“Don’t forget uneducated”

“Yeah,” laughed Stimpy, “that too. And a bad Christian.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The little roller-coaster train trundled up and squealed to a halt at the start-finish line. The passengers getting off — again, mostly middle-aged, with a sprinkling of kids and fogies — were clearly shaken-up and exhilarated by the ride. They climbed and shimmied and clambered away, loudly laughing off the terror they’d felt at the top of the big drops, praising the ride, and speculating about when they would be Raptured up to heaven for real. The gate opened once the train was empty and the new load scrambled in — Stimpy and Lorinda remembering to walk old and struggle a bit to fit themselves into their seats. They gently set their weapons, along with Stimpy’s cane, on the floor.

As Lorinda and Stimpy clicked the security bar in place across their laps, a voice said, “I bet you two have been here before.” It took Lorinda a moment to realize that the young woman sitting in the car in front of them had turned around and was addressing them.

“No,” Lorinda said. “Actually, this is our first time.”

“We live way out west,” Stimpy said. “We never get this far east.”

“We’re on vacation,” Lorinda added unnecessarily. “Driving around Texas.”

“Texas is real big,” said the woman, whose hair was like a huge, bright yellow, fuzzy bubble. “Usually the old people — older people — on the ride have been coming here, like, every year since the place opened. Not that you’re old.”

“How long is the ride?” Lorinda asked.

“Oh,” said the woman, “maybe forty-five minutes. Or an hour.”

“Or eternity,” said the woman’s husband, who had turned to face them. He was rather short, and all they could see of him was his heavily bearded face and his tall black cowboy hat. Lorinda briefly entertained the hope that the hat wouldn’t obscure her view of what was to come. The little train started moving. “We’re lucky,” he said. “We live right here in Revelation. Well,” he said as he turned to face forward, “God bless.”

“This is our thirty-seventh time on this ride, and we see new things every time,” the woman said. “Have fun. You’ll love it.” As she turned around to face the front, Lorinda heard her say, “Now hold onto that stupid hat. You don’t want it blowing off like last time.”

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NEXT: Chapter Thirty-One. In which our heroine’s long-awaited Rapture Ride experience is interrupted by some unwelcome visitors.

PREVIOUSLY in THE SPLIT!

Chapter One. In which we meet our heroine and her dainty little gun.

Chapter Two. In which Lorinda demonstrates her bartending virtuosity.

Chapter Three. In which our heroine receives a promotion and prepares to celebrate.

Chapter Four. In which our heroine proves herself an immoral citizen of the CCSA.

Chapter Five. In which our heroine goes to church.

Chapter Six. In which Lorinda contemplates her future, ignores Pastor Doug, and gets something unexpected from Emmie.

Chapter Seven. In which Lorinda learns something that threatens her big dream.

Chapter Eight. In which our heroine freaks out.

Chapter Nine. In which our heroine says the forbidden word as an unwelcome visitor arrives.

Chapter Ten. In which two unpleasant men perturb our heroine.

Chapter Eleven. In which our heroine seems to have found a solution to her problem.

Chapter Twelve. In which that black truck follows our heroine all the way to Austin.

Chapter Thirteen. In which Lorinda lashes out.

Chapter Fourteen. In which our heroine gets a taste of life in the big city.

Chapter Fifteen. In which our heroine meets a fellow bartender and has a drink.

Chapter Sixteen. In which Lorinda once again takes a swing with her little pink gun.

Chapter Seventeen. In which our heroine prepares to escape.

Chapter Eighteen. In which our heroine gets in a truck with a couple of slightly scary strangers.

Chapter Nineteen. In which our heroine learns that she’s got a long way to go.

Chapter Twenty. In which our heroine spends a night in a gas station.

Chapter Twenty-One. In which our heroine learns about the enclaves of the CCSA.

Chapter Twenty-Two. In which our heroine learns way too much about the enclaves of the CCSA.

Chapter Twenty-Three. In which our heroine experiences liberty run amok.

Chapter Twenty-Four. In which our heroine’s escape is disastrously derailed.

Chapter Twenty-Five. In which our heroine finds herself back at the gas station.

Chapter Twenty-Six. In which Stimpy, on the road to Revelation, reveals Ren’s real name.

Chapter Twenty-Seven. In which our heroine manages not to crash the car as she learns more about CCSA enclaves.

Chapter Twenty-Eight. In which Lorinda and Stimpy enter Revelation.

Chapter Twenty-Nine. In which our heroine has pizza for the first time and readies herself to be an old fogie.

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