Last Supper in Atlanta

I turn the news on my little television box in the kitchen every morning while I brew my coffee, not to pay attention to the world revolving around me, I just need something to break the silence. I am finishing my last few sips when my inner thought is interrupted by the breaking news musical intro and the headline “ Asteroid Aphosis Changes Direction For Atlanta ''.  The newscaster gives a brief description of how scientists initially had a 3% chance it would collide with Earth, however just yesterday the ISS captured film of Asphosis floating into an asteroid belt, making contact with a space rock about the size of Texas, and ricocheted on a course for the peach state.  He concludes the segment with an estimated impact timeline of 192 days from now. 

After vomiting up the coffee I had just drank on an empty stomach, I began to cry profusely standing in front of the window. I wasn’t crying because I was scared or panicked or even depressed, I was pissed off. Pissed off at the fact that it took me twelve years to afford a down payment on a decent two-bedroom bungalow off of Edgewood Ave and was only able to live here two and half years before it is demolished???

I take a few minutes to piece my sanity back together and infer that the next best step is to talk to my insurance company. Tens of thousands in the area must be calling at the same time about the same issue because I listen to over four hours of the same repetitive tropical hold music before I am transferred to a representative. After I explained my name and the situation, the agent asked that I be placed on hold while they pulled up my file and I was transported back to the beaches and coconuts for another 10 minutes. 

“Are you still there Mr. Hughes” a voice crackles through the other line. 

“Yes ma’am” I replied. 

“Mr. Hughes I regret to inform you that your current plan is not covered under our Asteroid impact protection. You have the gold plan that covers floods, hurricanes, fires, tornados, and asteroids under one kilometer in diameter. The NASA data reports show Aphosis measuring in at roughly 1.4 kilometers in diameter and see unfortunately, if you had listened more closely to our agent a few years ago talk about our coverage types, then you would have opted for our Diamond+ Doomsday Prepper plan; it provides protection from nuclear and terrorist attacks, alien invasions, and asteroids of any size.”

“Well, am I able to switch plans to the plus?” I questioned.

“Unfortunately sir, once a catastrophic event is foreseeable, coverage remains locked in the current plan until the event has passed. But I do advise an upgrade to the Diamond+ plan once the account is unlocked”

“Wait, let me get this straight. You mean to tell me that only after a giant space rock levels my home into a pile of rubble, I should give you another call and pay more money for protection from said space rock?”

“No Mr. Hughes, Not protection from Aphosis, but protection from the next asteroid impact. Asteroid impacts tend to happen every 300,000 years or so, but you can never be too cautious when dealing with the safety of your home and belongings.”

“Go fuck yourself!” 

I throw the phone into the back of the sofa cushion without even bothering to hang up first. I check the clock on the microwave and it reads 1:18; too late to work today, and more importantly, what’s the point in working when you’ll have no home in six months? I spend the rest of the afternoon lying on the sofa chair in a catatonic state. The newscaster on the TV hasn’t stopped mentioning the asteroid at least once every ten minutes; no updates, just reminding you in case you forgot. I blankly weave my gaze back and forth around the room, tallying up all of the precious belongings and memories that I’ve acquired over the years and can’t take with me to my next residence. I begin to wonder if I should lay on that couch for the next half a year and accept my fate alongside my belongings.

In the following few months, Atlanta became the biggest party city in the world. Millions flocked to the city for the wildest drug-fueled benders of their lives. The nation’s largest aquarium became the world's largest opium dispensary; The Coca-Cola museum… carried on as The Coke Museum. The state was already pulling its infrastructure in the city and reassigning government workers to nearby towns. The only city services that remain open are one fire station and one hospital, which will evacuate one month before the disaster. Law enforcement was only engaged from the surrounding areas if a murder, rape, or theft of over 100,000 dollars was committed. Emergency services were mainly Narcan Patrols, which would hand out the antidote in bars and attempt to resuscitate overdose victims. Everyone in the city, myself included, traded our boring desk day jobs for high-paying bartending jobs or dope-dealing tour guides amidst the tourism boom. 

An Asteroid Disaster Relief Plan was passed through the House and Congress in an unprecedented rate of time… six weeks. The plan siphoned funds from local, state, and federal funding amounting to over sixty-four billion dollars. All of this funding was not given directly to Atlanta residents but used to buy two hundred square miles of unusable farmland about a two-hour drive south of the city. This vacant farmland will be the proposed “New Atlanta” and the will have an assortment of condominiums in different sizes to house the nearly half a million evacuees. With a development project this large, the infantry of construction workers would only be able to finish in time if every unit could at least accommodate over ten thousand occupants each. 

Atlanta residents were pissed about the relocation plan but everyone was also blinded by the thousands of dollars you could make off of tourists each day if you played your cards right. Providing tours and the right substances could give vacationers a memorable but forgettable first and last grand experience in the Big Peach City before it becomes the Great Crater of Georgia. 

The first time I heard the voice of Reverend Daniel Jenkins eighty-seven days before Aphosis’s landfall,  on my car’s radio while driving to the bar I worked at called “Space Hunk”. Every business in town was changing its name and decor to fit the asteroid and space theme that the city was marketing to tourists,  like some sort of twisted amusement park. Over the crackled airwaves, I hear an exaggerated southern twangy accent divulge into the story of his dream, or prophecy as he calls it. He proceeds to say that God informed him of this prophecy that his son will return in the form of a falling purple mountain, but I turn off the volume dial in the middle of his revelations, and continue the drive in silence.

The first time I saw Rev. Jenkins was a few days later when I was having connection issues with my cable and was flipping around TV stations as a test. I instantly recognized his voice, stood still, and curiously turned up the audio. 

“As I have told you recently, God has shown me the way to carry out his goodwill. As  I am his shepherd,  it is my obligation that I must bring his sheep to him. My friends, we are about to embark on the holiest of pilgrimages into the kingdom of heaven; and the city of Atlanta shall be our gateway.  Thirty days before impact, I ask that the true believers in Christ make their way to this divine portal, and unite in fellowship. We will not deliver ourselves to God, God will deliver himself to us,  as our hands are bonded into a perfect circle. “

“Holy Shit” I exclaim as my eyes widen and coarse my fingers slowly from the front to the back of my hair. “Do not have any fear, but take pride that you can be one of the honored chosen….” The screen flashes white, and then the audio and video cut out as I rip the power cord out of the wall outlet. I walk the television outside the front door and drop it from chest level on the sidewalk in front of my lawn, cracking the glass and sending plastic components flying. 

“Hey Trevor, Uhh… you okay there pal?

I turned my head and my neighbor Gerald was standing in front of a parked Uhaul truck in his driveway holding a cardboard box in his hand. Fucking prick hasn’t said more than ten words to me in almost three years, but all it really takes is a major catastrophe to become “pals” in his eyes. 

“I’m fine Gerald, just needed some silence.”

“Whatever you say partner,” Gerald remarks as he continues to load the box into the truck. As he is walking back down the truck ramp I ask “Hey Gerald, what's up with the moving truck? We still have 6 weeks until the final evacuation, and “New Atlanta” isn’t even remotely close to finishing construction. 

“That's because we're not heading to New Atlanta, We're going to Vermont to buy a dairy farm and live on the land.” 

“How can you even afford to do that Gerald?” I ask. 

“The damndest thing happened to me last Saturday. I hear a ring at the door, and to my amazement, a polygamist protestant family is standing on the other side of the door frame. The man with his three wives and eleven children are all dressed in formal silk gowns, all identical except the man wearing a black tie, and his four boys wearing black bowties. They explain their situation and how they are divine followers of the great prophet Reverend Jenkins. How they had arrived in Atlanta a few days prior, and upon passing my house on a bus, two of the wives took a particular liking to my house’s exterior garden and large panel windows so much that they insisted the husband acquire the property to be their final mortal resting place.  He offered me $120,000 to buy my property and move out in under 10 days. I asked if that's all they had to offer and the man told me that's his entire life’s savings minus a little bit for essentials and rations for his family until the second coming takes place. So I ended up agreeing to the family’s offer, and now me, the wife, and kids are on our way to dairy country.” 

“Wow Gerald, I am really happy for you,” I say while trying to force the fakest smile by raising my cheeks. I go back in the house and put on my astronaut suit for a late shift as my head is still processing that interaction. As the following days and weeks pass, the tourists start funneling slowly out of the city, back to their mundane routines, as the small speck in the sky gets larger and larger with each passing day. The clubs and bars shut down and a wave of calmness was felt on the street. I felt so at peace that I didn’t leave the house for another three weeks.

There were only 39 days until the apocalypse in Atlanta, and a full evacuation was in effect. I pack up two suitcases; one for a few wardrobe changes and money I withdrew from a bank in Alpharetta a while back, the other has my hygiene products, laptop, and sentimental keepsakes. I load the luggage in my trunk and turn around to take one last glance at my home and reflect on the memories. I don't know where I am going, but I sure as shit know it won’t be the new Capital of Georgia.

As I am exiting the end of my block, I see a billboard with Rev. Jenkins in a bright purple sequined suit with the caption “Welcome Brothers and Sisters in Christ to the Deliverance!” As I am driving another few blocks, I realize I’ve only seen a handful of cars, but have encountered dozens of school and Greyhound buses that are old and rusted. Another Rev. Jenkins billboard comes into focus… 

"And in those days people will seek death and will not find it. They will long to die, but death will flee from them." Revelation 9:6

I grab my phone to look at a digital map because I have no destination in mind. Several minutes pass by as the loading circle in the GPS app spins around and around.  No matter where I hold the phone in the car or how many miles pass, the cell bars with a slash running through them still remain dark. I look up at the black hole in the sky, as it casts a shadow so monumental, that I cannot make out where it ends. With cell service blocked, and every store for dozens of miles closed, I have no choice but to turn back around and retrieve my state map sitting in the nightstand drawer. After 20 minutes of backtracking, I pull into the driveway and hear talking and laughter coming from the interior of my house. I slowly proceed up the stairs and open the front door.

A family of five in tattered, dirty clothes is looking around the living room at my pictures, artwork, and a cactus. 

“Why are you in my home?’ I ask.

“I apologize sir, we saw you drivin’ away and thought you weren’t coming back,” the man says. 

“We ain’t no thieves or nothing, just good Samaritans of the Reverend’s church” the woman adds. “Please sir, let us stay, we have money”. 

The man interjects “We can pay you $50,000 cash if you let us inhabit your residence until we meet with our maker”. 

“No no, that's too much, You have kids you need to support” I reply while gesturing to the floor, at a girl dressing up a doll with a homemade dress made with dishwashing clothes. 

“Mommy?” the girl asks.

“Yes Honey?” the mother replies,

“Do they have Barbie dolls in heaven?”

Without missing a beat, like the mother didn’t have to think of an answer, she says “Why yes dear, they have more dolls in heaven than you could imagine”. 

One of the boys no older than eleven must have overheard the commotion because he came running into the room yelling “Mommy, Mommy!!! Do they have McDonalds in Heaven? I need two more Happy Meal toys to complete my collection”

“Yes sweetie, they have Mcdonalds on every street corner in Heaven”, the mother replies with the same tone and expression as when the girl had asked the question before. 

“Pardon us sir, as I was saying before we will give you the $50,000 to let us use your home as our gravesite. We have enough to survive until our lord arrives and we can’t take any of our possessions into the kingdom, including money. Besides, we will have the fortune and eternal wealth that no being could have even thought was imaginable on Earth. Please take this money so that we can be absolved for the sin of trespassing before the holy cleansing of our souls.”

I don’t say a word, I take the wad of wrinkled-up bills from his dirty calloused hands, get my map from the bedroom, and walk out the door without trying to look at anything but my feet. 

Once I get in the car, I take the complete opposite direction I had taken before. I didn’t want to be reminded of the billboards… or Asphosis… but most importantly I don’t want to ruminate on the children I’ve left to die in my house thinking they can get anything they want in Heaven.