The Everything Box by Richard Kadrey Page B

holding a full-grown boar in a thunderstorm. Everything is wet and slippery. You can’t see your hand in front of your face. I cut myself with the damned knife. It just happened. I’m sorry.”
    A grumbling went through the group. A couple of people muttered “Dipshit” and “Clueless.” The priest sighed.
    â€œI don’t know what to do here. You buy some off-brand potato chip . . .”
    â€œBlue corn chips . . . so they’d be the right color.”
    â€œPoints for you, Jerry. You try to slip corn chips past us like maybe Caleximus, who’s a goddamned god, wouldn’t notice. And now you say you lost our boar. Do you know how much boars cost these days?”
    Jerry shook his head.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œA lot,” someone shouted.
    The priest said, “A boar would be the equivalent of a metric ass-ton of corn chips. Did you buy a metric ass-ton of corn chips?”
    â€œNo. Just the one bag.”
    â€œHere we are, sending up smoke signals to Caleximus to give him good news, and now there’s none to give him.”
    Jerry looked around the room at the other robed figures.
    â€œI’m really sorry.”
    Steve, the priest, pushed back his hood. Like the boy’s, his hair was red, but he was older, his face lined and creased. “I don’t know what to do here, son. It’s like you don’t even take the Apocalypse seriously.”
    â€œBut I do.”
    â€œDo you want those Abaddonian shitbags in Burbank to invoke their false god and set off their Apocalypse first?”
    â€œNo, sir,” said Jerry. “I hate those pricks.”
    â€œGood boy. Because our Apocalypse is the only real Apocalypse and no one gets to offer up the Earth and its nonbelievers but us. Right?”
    â€œFuck the Abaddonians,” shouted a woman from the back of the room.
    The group nodded and mumbled. “Fuck the Abaddonians.”
    â€œAll right. Quiet,” said Steve. “The old-folks’ home has a spaghetti dinner going next door. No need to ruin the codgers’ appetites.”
    People laughed. Steve Sallis, the priest, turned back to the boy and shook his head.
    â€œOkay, Jerry. You’ve got a lot to make up for.”
    â€œI know.”
    Steve looked out at the other worshippers. “For those of you who got here late and missed it, the good news is this: we think we’ve got a line on the Vessel of Invocation, meaning we can finally bring Caleximus to Earth—right here, right now—to us.”
    Another murmur, a happier one this time.
    â€œIt’ll be a dangerous task to retrieve it, though. I’m looking for volunteers,” said Steve.
    Someone shouted, “I volunteer Jerry.”
    Jerry looked around.
    â€œFuck you, Tommy.”
    But Steve was looking at the boy.
    â€œWhat do you say, Jerry? Are you ready to make up for this Crunchero fiasco?”
    â€œI guess,” he said sullenly.
    â€œDamn right you guess.”
    Steve pointed at the group.
    â€œThe boy can’t do it alone. Any other volunteers?”
    Not a single hand went up.
    â€œNice, everybody. Really nice. Caleximus is very proud of each and every one of you pussies, pardon my French. That’s it, then. Everybody goes. Got it?”
    Whispers of “Oh man” and “You pay for the damned sitter” could be heard.
    Steve unzipped his robe. On the back was a sequined lightningbolt and eagle with a boar’s head. Susie had made it for him on their third wedding anniversary.
    â€œI think we can officially call the invocation over for the night. Someone hit the lights.”
    Fluorescents flickered on in the double-wide trailer parked on a construction site in Glendale. The desks and filing cabinets had been pushed back against the walls to make room for the ceremony.
    As Steve folded his robe he said, “Jerry.”
    â€œYes, Dad?”
    Steve upended a couple of hard hats and poured in the rest of the