After The Rapture -- NaNoWriMo 2013

Life in the aftermath of a world-wide catastrophe (And those who take advantage of it)

         The Mayan-calendar conspiracy theorists were wrong.



         2012 was a momentous year in many ways, though the ancient Mayans ended up having little to any involvement. It was an election year that saw a major change in how elections were run. That change, the Supreme Court “Citizens United” decision allowing for nearly unlimited campaign donations to third-party political groups by major corporations, was reversed several years later, creating what many called a more equitable election process. Late in the year, just before the elections, a storm that people thought was not possible ravaged the East Coast of the United States. Though it took months, people not only survived but rebuilt and kept on going.



         When January of 2013 arrived, the Mayan-calendar theorists started to say that the calendar had been “misread,” that the pending doom would actually happen in July of 2015. When that date passed and the Earth still rotated in its usual way, the “Target Of Doom” moved to September of 2016. That month saw Hurricane Karl slam into the Texas coast, causing damage that rivaled 2005’s Katrina. The “gloom and doom” soothsayers latched onto this as proof their latest interpretation of the Mayan calendar was correct, that the Rapture was upon the world. But no other storms of that magnitude came that year, and the earthquakes, tsunamis, blizzards and other natural events that did occur lent no credence to the idea that the end was near. As this lack of “world-ending” disasters proceeded through the end of 2019, all but the most fervent doomsday theorists drifted away, realizing that the Mayan calendar had been stopped simply because someone was tired of drawing it out any further.



         Not that the time had been completely calm, mind you. Besides the monstrosity of 2016’s Hurricane Karl, Mother Nature did unleash a good number of hurricanes, tornadoes, blizzards and floods all around the world for several years. And while many acknowledged that global weather patterns had changed in various ways, that “climate change” truly was occurring, the assorted weather events were all things that people had experienced and survived before, and knew that they would at some point again.



         Alongside the “Doomsday” movement, but much quieter, had been a groundswell of Conservative Christians. Their leaders had been preaching about the Rapture, that the End Of Days was coming, but doing so quietly to those who already believed in what was being said from the pulpit. The movement (if it could be called one) had started in the late 1980’s, and had been growing largely by the addition of follow-on generations. Some members (including several televangelists) had been more vocal over time, only to find that many of their blustery firebrand damnation comments had either fallen on deaf ears or drawn backlashes. And some of these ministers ended up getting tripped up by their own words and actions, discrediting (except for the fervently faithful) the words they preached. As time went on and the government was able to enact laws that went directly against their stances (sometimes fueled by the backlashes of the public to the religious messages), the behind-the-scenes leaders decided that the smarter move was to back off and stay in the shadows, moving only when events would be especially in their favor.



         One of those who grew up in this so-called “Concealed Christian” movement was Kevin Baldry. Born in 1975 in southwest Missouri, he had started his political career by gaining an upset win in a county commission race. Baldry had campaigned in that and all successive races as a political Conservative, his only religious references being his and his family’s membership in the Baptist Church. He had even said in debates and press events that among the country’s best beacons were its Constitutional protections of freedom of worship and freedom of speech.



         What no one outside the “Concealed Christian” movement knew was that as Baldry climbed higher in his political career (first winning a U.S. House seat from Southwest Missouri, then upsetting the sitting Missouri governor in the 2016 Republican primary), he was also viewed by the movement as one of its political rising stars. Enough so that several very well-to-do members of the organization found ways to circumvent various election laws and secretly fund both his 2020 re-election as governor and his successful run for the US presidency in 2024. It was during that election that various pundits and opponents (including in the national Republican primary) began raising whispers that Baldry might be connected to the growing “Concealed Christian” movement that itself was becoming more widely known.



         Baldry himself publicly denied any involvement in the “Concealed Christian” movement throughout his campaigns. At times he even decried the organization itself and its ruling concepts. “Are you kidding? I’d never belong to a group like that,” he’d tell reporters. “From the rumors I’ve heard, that sounds like some sort of Christian version of Sharia Law. That kind of theocracy may work in predominantly Islamic nations around the world, yes. But even though our nation is predominantly Christian, the idea of instituting such a ‘Christian Theocracy’ in our country goes against the Freedom of Religion our country has always stood for. Shoot, the religious diversity among our citizens is one of our greatest strengths; why damage it?”



         The leaders and elders of the Concealed Christians weren’t upset by such comments. Indeed, they used similar words in their own public lives to keep the movement hidden. Kevin Baldry’s repudiation of the movement, in fact, was the exact thing they wanted to hear from so public a member of their private group. It was one of the best ways they knew of (since they practiced it themselves) to keep anyone from suspecting their membership.



         The leaders also bided their time because they knew they would need something big, something momentous, to shift the general public to their point of view. Simply coming out and saying, “We are the True Way of God / Morality,” wasn’t enough (as some of their televangelist brethren had learned the hard way over the years). Even Jesus’ own message of “I am the Way, The Truth and The Light, Follow Me,” the group’s leaders knew, had fallen on many skeptical ears in his own day. No, they had decided, wait for events to unfold (as they were certain they would in The Rapture, if not sooner) that would show people the truth of the group’s Christian message.



         That wasn’t all that the movement was waiting for, however. The more shrewd (and some might say more religiously cynical) decided that the best plan was to get some of their members into influential / key positions in the government. One of their brightest stars was the young Missourian, Kevin Baldry. While winning two terms in the House of Representatives was not exactly earth shaking (his southwest Missouri district had long voted Republican), his 2016 upstart win of first the GOP nomination and then the Missouri Governorship had made the movement’s elders take notice. Not only because he was a young and popular face in political circles, but because his political success might move him higher up in their organization as well. (While the thought of having someone like Baldry in a high public position was pleasing, they also saw the young upstart as a threat to their own politico-religious stature, something the old men behind the pulpits weren’t ready to give up just yet.)



         Kevin Baldry’s own long-term plan had been to serve two terms as Missouri Governor (the maximum allowed by the state’s constitution), then run for the U.S. Senate from that state. He figured that somewhere during his first term as Senator he would put out feelers about running for President of the United States, and organize his campaign during his second Senatorial term. His reelection as governor (secretly funded by several members of the Concealed Christian movement) was one of the biggest landslides in Missouri electoral history.



         Everything seemed to be going according to plan until early 2023, when several of Baldry’s major supporters made a new suggestion – run for President now, instead of in 12 years. “Think about, it Kevin. You’ve got great name recognition in the GOP. You’ve got Conservative bona fides, yet you can still draw the moderates and independents to your campaign. You would be the perfect presidential candidate!”



         “Ross, are you crazy? I’m only 48. There’s only been a handful of presidents – especially in the modern era – who were elected under the age of 50. There’s strike one. And my name isn’t as nearly known around the country as say Don Breitlinger or Paul Hobson. Not to mention that Joel Hennman has the backing of Trinity Ministries, which means he automatically gets the Religious Conservative vote.” Or at least the PUBLIC Religious Conservative vote, Baldry thought to himself. “Ross, I know you mean well. But frankly I’ll be better served by winning the senate seat next fall and getting on the national stage that way.”



         “I strongly have to disagree,” Ross Longmire replied. “One, the seat that’s coming up is Richard Gower’s. Let’s be honest – unless he suddenly announces he’s not running or keels over and dies, Dick Gower could be aligned with the Communist Party or even the Nazis and still win election in this state. He’s just that entrenched. No one’s mounted even a half successful campaign against him, either in a Democratic Primary or a general election, in over 30 years. I hear this time no Democrats are even challenging him. Which gives Dick Gower time to find out everything he can about his Republican opposition.” Longmire nodded to the pin on the left lapel of his suit jacket – the golden cross and crown that Baldry also wore, one of the few overt symbols of / references to the Concealed Christian movement. Both men knew that it was not yet time for the existence of the movement to become public. “And even if Gower did suddenly die, he might get re-elected anyway. Remember, this is the state that elected Mel Carnahan to the U. S. Senate in 2000 three weeks after he was killed in a plane crash. And he defeated a sitting Republican senator in doing that.”



         “Okay, Ross. You make a good set of points for waiting for the other Senate seat to come open in 2026. But why stress the Presidency now? My name isn’t that big of one outside of the Midwest yet. What chance do I have of winning?”



         “Okay, let’s take your tack for a second. Say you don’t win. If you run a smart campaign, you’ve still gotten your name out there among the masses. Which means you’ll be in good shape for the 2028 campaign, as well as for the 2026 Senate race. Yes, you may not be that well known in the general public. But you do have something going for you.” Longmire again nodded down to his lapel pin. “If needed, the movement can do a lot of stuff for you behind the scenes to get your name known around the country. The one thing you can’t do, however, is run a circus-act campaign like our fellow Republicans did in 2012.”



         “You mean Mitt ‘poster boy for the rich’ Romney and the clown car of Republican candidates that careened down the nomination highway? Trust me, I’ve had those lessons drummed into me by you and plenty other people. I think anyone who’s tried to get the GOP nomination from 2016 on has been told to avoid repeating that wreck of a race!” After twiddling his thumbs for a few minutes, Baldry told his chief political strategist that he’d consider it.



         As the time to choose a campaign path drew near, Baldry turned to the two things he’d felt had never let him down – his faith and his father. Nathan Baldry had tried his hand at politics when Kevin was a child. Not finding much success, the elder Baldry decided to devote his time to his family and his law practice… and to the movement. His elder son’s success at politics came as a surprise (Nathan had expected Kevin to follow him in a legal career and keep the family firm going). Seeing the way Kevin’s political star was rising (and knowing how important it could be to the movement), Nathan both fostered the political career and tried to stay attached to his son’s coattails. Kevin welcomed the support of his father, not fully realizing his father’s own goals in doing so.



         “From what you say Ross told you, I’d have to agree with him,” the elder Baldry said when the subject was broached. “That man has always had a good sense of where the political bones lie, and what the future holds. And he’s dead-on right about Gower; he’ll leave the Senate in a body bag after he dies at his desk from old age. Definitely not the person to run against if you want a Senate seat from the Show Me State.”



         “But, dad… Ross is talking bout the Presidency of the United States! I’m… I’m not sure I’m ready for either the campaign or the position should I win it.”



         “I’m glad to see these misgivings, son. It shows me you’re not letting ego get in the way, like some other contenders we’ve seen over the years.” As his son tried to say something, Nathan Baldry put his hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “Remember, son – God only gives us what we can handle, even though we may not realize it at the time. If it’s meant to happen, God WILL make it happen. And you know that we are part of God’s Chosen,” he added while tapping on his son’s cross-and-crown lapel pin. With that, father and son walked into the assembly hall for another meeting of the Concealed Christians in their part of Missouri.



         Several weeks later, Kevin Baldry stunned the political establishment and media alike by declaring his candidacy for the Republican nomination for President of the United States. Several big name politicians (both Republican and Democrat) openly scoffed at the news. They either said he was too young or too inexperienced. GOP Vice Chairman David Pullman went so far as to say that Baldry wasn’t worthy because “he hasn’t paid the political dues necessary to be considered for such a lofty position. While I welcome a vibrant, young candidate like Kevin Baldry, and I think he will do good things for our party and our country in years to come, he’s not the man we need now.”



         “I appreciate David Pullman’s comments,” Baldy told reporters the next day. “But I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t feel I was ready for the challenges of the job. And we have many challenges ahead, some of them made by people in our own party. What we need to do now is buckle down and find solutions instead of pointing fingers…” Baldry spent months working along such themes, campaigning his way through the various primaries and caucuses. By the halfway point of the primary season, three supposed “more serious” contenders had left the race after losing to Baldry in successive elections. But the nomination was by no means assured, as he was in the middle of the remaining five contenders.



         As the convention approached, Baldry had moved up to number two in the delegate count. And it was no token second place, either; the front runner, Elisa Ramirez of Arizona, had a projected lead of only 20 delegates over Baldry, and neither of them had enough on their own to secure the nomination. Baldry gave the honor of placing his name in nomination to his father, doing so after Ramirez had her mother do so for her. As the convention progressed, both front-runners tried to make delegate-for-cabinet post deals with the other nominees, all to no avail. Each of them had demanded something too much, such as the vice presidential nomination (both had already made their picks for that slot) or such high-profile posts as Secretary of State or Secretary of Defense. The result on the third night was what the candidates feared and the news media and pundits salivated over – no clear winner on the first roll call vote, which meant the delegates were no longer bound to carry out the primary or caucus results of their respective states. It would be a wide-open, brokered convention, won by whichever candidate could get the most votes out of the milling crowd.



         “I think we’ve got a good shot at this,” Ross Longmire told his candidate. Before Kevin Baldry could ask, his senior strategist was nodding at the lapel pin for the Concealed Christian movement. “The thing is, we’re also going to pull in a lot of non-Christian votes here. You’ve done especially well in the Jewish community, Kevin. Far more successful than any Republican outside the Northeastern U.S. could dream of.”



         Leaning close, Kevin said, “If the Elders of the movement find out –”



         “They’ll congratulate you on winning the presidency, Kevin. They’re pragmatic dogmatists,” Kevin assured him. “And for certain they’re not Nazis or anything like that. Not to mention that Jesus himself was Jewish; the first Christians were his followers. Now, just relax and let your campaign staff – and the movement – do what you need them to.”