“They’re just a doomsday cult.”
“All across the country?”
“They're planted to cause chaos. They’re no better than terrorists.”
“Mass insanity.”
“Maybe they're telling the truth.” This one was ruled out too quickly. By that point, Margaret was out of her seat and leaning against the front of her desk. Suggestions were offered to round up the “prophets” and send them to an island or even jail. More than a few agreed. Like a concert fan stuck in the midst of a crowd pressing closer to the stadium doors, Margaret watched the atmosphere change. Those against the “prophets” spoke louder. Those more compassionate grew quieter. Carl Jorgenson, she noticed, was doing more listening, looking with unbridled interest to both sides of the discussion. Weighing his options, or waiting for a chance at a good joke.
Then someone said, “My parents said that anyone who claims God talked to them is nuts, or a new kind of extremist, or just plain jerks with nothing better to do than scare kids.”
“Or they're your science teacher,” Margaret said. Her breath raced out of her. Dear Lord, did I just say that?
“What was that supposed to mean?”
Everyone in the room shut up and looked at their science teacher. Smiling, waiting for the punch line. Carl wasn't smiling. He looked stunned, probably remembering the parking lot incident earlier in the week. It was his face that Margaret locked onto. Carl's eyes softened, but did not look away, brows raised in an unspoken plea.
She wondered for a moment if David the angel had something to do with this unexpected admission. She thought of his anger. Get off your ass, wasn’t that what he'd said? This was really happening. She was falling, having stepped too far off the ledge.
She looked away from Carl and scanned the room. Half the group still smiled; the rest waited with neutral expressions. Waiting for her to laugh, say April Fool’s. Anything.
Margaret took a deep breath, and said, “God has spoken to me through his angel David and told me to build an ark. Fifty-five days from now, the flood will come. I don't know how. Those who don’t take a place on one of the ships, built by the people He has chosen to do so, will not survive.” Some of the words she'd improvised from listening to callers on the radio, but the point was the same. She felt dizzy, in a mental free-fall.
A few of the teens began to sob. Others laughed. The rest brought the volume of the classroom to ten times its loudest point in the day. Words, some supportive, but most spiteful, flew at her. Too many at once to hear. Margaret moved unsteadily behind her desk, collected her purse and briefcase, then left the room without turning back.
It was only one-fifty in the afternoon. She didn’t know what to do. By the time she got to her car, having seen two of her students in the hall run in the direction of the main office, Margaret knew she needed to collect her daughters from school before word got to them or, worse, their teachers.
* * *
She closed the bedroom door, careful not to let the click of the latch wake the girls. It took a while for them to fall to sleep, even at this late hour. Little Robin had asked the bulk of the questions, sweet, innocent curiosity about her mother's visions and God's warning to the world. Katie was able to ask a few of her own, but for the most part simply cried out her fear - of what Margaret told them after supper and the fact that her mother was actually saying these things at all.
The world to a seven year-old is frightening enough to a little girl, without her mother saying the world was about to be destroyed. Margaret had played out the day mostly as a ruse, explaining that she wanted to surprise the girls with a short school day and take them to McDonald's, then the latest Disney flick. This she did. In truth, she was hiding, not wanting to face anyone from school in person or on the phone. She’d turned off her cell after leaving work and it remained off. As the day wore on, she became increasingly uncertain. How was she supposed to sit her children down and explain that God had chosen her for such a frightening thing? Maybe she really was insane.
They’d been sitting at home watching Wheel of Fortune, Margaret wondering how to talk with the girls, not wanting to begin at all, when the evening's false calm was shattered by a phone call from Robert Kaufman, the high school principal
“Margaret, what was that all about today? I had two girls come into my office crying, saying Mrs. Carboneau is telling everyone that they’re going to die.”
“I'm sorry, Bob. I really am.” Again, she felt on the edge of some abyss, waiting to see if she'd have the guts to step off, to see how much she trusted herself.
“And?” Margaret wondered if the principal had waited to call until now to let some of this anger dissipate. She glanced over at the answering machine - something she'd avoided doing all evening. The red light was flashing, and above that the number '12'. Since the chip had a storage limit, she guessed the number of unrecorded calls was even higher.
He continued, “Is what they said true? Not that I didn't try to find this out as soon as the girls came in. No, ma’am. I called you into the office, and you know what?”
Margaret didn't think he was done, so she remained quiet.
“I'll tell you what. I found out from Irene that Mrs. Carboneau had left the school. That you left your students alone, in an emotional mess. A lot of them were crying when I showed up, Margaret. Some weren't scared about what you'd told them, just that you said it at all. 'Is Mrs. Carboneau having a nervous breakdown?' they asked me. Margaret are you there?”
“I'm here. Are you done?” Her voice was stronger than she'd expected, a tone that meant she'd already taken that last fateful step into whatever chasm these dreams had laid in front of her.
“Yes, for now. I apologize for shouting. It's been a rough day and I haven't been able to reach you.” He didn't sound sorry. Kaufman was simply trying a new tact.
“I took the girls out of school early,” she said. “I needed to let some of the heat blow over.”
“You mean you wanted to let me take all the....” He sighed. “Listen, how much of what they said is true? What happened?”
She felt lightheaded. “The other day,” she began, “I had a dream. But it wasn't a dream after all. An angel informed me that the world will be flooded in two months, and everyone will die, unless I and others receiving these visions build a boat – he actually used the word ark -- and bring on board thirty people. No animals, just people. Everyone aboard the boats, wherever they might me, will be spared, and the rest will not.” She said all this calmly, like giving directions to a wandering motorist.
Silence on the other end of the phone.
She leaned one hand against the door jamb between the kitchen and the living room. “I've had more than one dream, and now I know that it wasn't just me. A lot of others have been given this warning as well. We don't have a lot of time - “
“Are you completely insane? I heard something like that on the radio, and assumed it was just a few psychopaths. Are you telling me one of them was you?”
“No, I haven't called anyone.”
“You decided to spread this mania to your students instead!” Now he was shouting.
“I had to make a decision, Bob. What if it's not a dream? What if I do nothing? I've only been given the right to save thirty people, and yes, maybe I am having a nervous breakdown, but it doesn't feel like that. It feels right!” Now she was yelling. She stopped, closed her eyes. Why was she wasting her breath with this man? She should be -