The Trinity Game

“That’s right. In a sermon two weeks ago, Trinity predicted that a billboard on 403 would collapse tonight— exactly twenty-three minutes after midnight—blocking two northbound lanes, but with no fatalities. Now, the fascinating thing about this prediction is that we know about it ahead of time, so it’s testable. I’ve been in contact with the Georgia Department of Transportation, and they sent structural engineers to check it out.”

“And?”

“And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the support structure. So, barring a massive earthquake, the sign should still be standing at 12:24.” Julia slid an envelope across the desk. “They asked me not to reveal the location—they’re concerned about spectators blocking the highway—but I’ve written the exact mile marker down, and the date of Trinity’s prediction, so you can verify it after we’re off the air. Whatever happens—or more likely doesn’t—I’ll be there to see it.”

In a sermon two weeks ago… Daniel reached into his briefcase, pulled out the file folder, and started flipping through the tabs, looking for the transcript that would give him the billboard’s location.

A Georgia State Police cruiser stood in the median. A state trooper leaned back against the fender, looking bored. A few yards ahead, Julia stood talking to a young man with a video camera perched on his shoulder.

As Daniel got out of the car, Julia approached and gave him a warm, platonic hug.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Guess I’m not clear on the definition of ‘off the record,’” said Daniel.

“What’s the problem? I kept you out of it.” Julia brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Danny, what did you expect me to do? This story is important.”

“You showed somewhat less interest before a hundred people died.”

Her chestnut eyes flashed fire. “Thanks for reminding me, it’s been at least five minutes since I beat myself up about that. Look, I didn’t believe you. OK? I-I thought you’d gone crazy. And my inaction cost lives, and that’s something I will have to carry for the rest of my life.”

She drew a sharp breath and looked away, and now Daniel could see the guilt she was carrying, the pain, and the effort to tamp it all down. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that wasn’t fair of me. You’re right, it was a crazy story.”

“Still, I should’ve checked it out,” she said.

“It’s not your fault, Julia. Anyone would’ve thought the same thing.”

“Regardless, I’m not about to make that mistake again. So I’m sorry for your hurt feelings, but this isn’t about you. Neither one of us has the right to suppress this thing.”

She was right about that too, and Daniel knew he was doing the same thing he’d done earlier at his uncle’s house: transferring anger at himself into anger at another. He had been the one with foreknowledge, and it was he who should’ve done more to stop the explosion. There was no dodging that responsibility.

He looked across four lanes of northbound traffic to the white van with a red CNN logo on its side, parked on the shoulder. He glanced at his watch, said, “Five minutes.”

“Shooter says this is the best angle,” said Julia, pointing up the median.

They walked past the police cruiser to where the camera guy stood mounting the video camera on a tripod. He secured the camera, aimed it at the lighted billboard standing across the northbound lanes, to the right of the highway, about fifty yards ahead.

At the left edge of the billboard was a giant peach, with the words GEORGIA LOTTERY in front. Next to the logo was a hip young white guy wearing a jean jacket. He had a Photoshop-stretched smile, and his face was comically distorted by a wide-angle lens. Across the billboard, a black woman with short gray hair held her hands to her cheeks and flashed a similarly impossible grin. Between them, dollar bills rained down from the sky.

The tag line read:

TODAY COULD BE THE DAY

Julia said, “Structure’s far from new, but the engineer said there’s nothing wrong with it. So we’re really not expecting anything, and…”

Daniel watched her face as she spoke. The same deep brown eyes, still sparkling with passionate intelligence. The same luxurious lips that used to take him to the edge of paradise. Gentle laugh lines now framed her mouth and ran from the corners of her eyes. And a vertical worry line creased the space between her eyes. They transformed her face from something merely beautiful into something seriously beautiful. The pretty girl was now a woman in full bloom, with a woman’s body to match. He felt an erection growing.

“Hello, Danny? You there?”

“What? Right, sorry, you were saying?”

Julia smiled. He knew that smile.

You’ve been busted, he thought.

She glanced at her watch, turned to the camera guy. “We rolling, Shooter?”

“Yup.” Then Shooter jerked his head back from the camera and flicked a toggle switch back and forth. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Chip just blew.”

“Goddamnit,” said Julia. “We’re ninety seconds away.”

Shooter snatched a ring of keys from his pocket. “Got another camera in the truck.” He grinned. “College state champion, two hundred meters. Time me.” He turned to the road and took off.

Daniel glanced to the right as Shooter sprinted out across the empty northbound lanes. The headlights of a car swept fast around the curve in the far lane, an eighteen-wheeler just behind it in the second lane.

“Wait!” he yelled, but the kid was already committed, didn’t stop.

The car jerked to the left, tires squealing.

The semi’s air-brakes locked up its massive wheels.

The truck veered, blasting its horn, missing the car by inches.

The car veered into the third lane, straightened out, flew past.

The big rig skidded, jackknifed, and went over on its side, showering sparks, slewing—right through Shooter —off the road, and slammed into the billboard structure.

Silence. Then the billboard groaned, shuddered, and came crashing down. Blocking two northbound lanes of Highway 403.

The state trooper jumped into his cruiser and took off across the highway, siren wailing, roof lights flashing blue and red. Daniel and Julia followed in his car and skidded to a stop beside the overturned truck. The trooper was out of his car and peering through the windshield of the truck’s cab. He smashed the windshield with his Maglight.

The truck driver climbed out, stood up, and brushed himself down.

Daniel ran behind the trailer, searching the ditch for the remains of Shooter in the dark.

“Dude, that was some crazy shit!”

Daniel spun around as Shooter jumped down from his perch on the truck’s spare tire. “I’m OK, I’m fine,” Shooter said, shaking his head and grinning like a little kid. “Wild, man!”

“But how—”

“That big spare tire came at me, I just grabbed it and held on for the ride, prayin’ for a fuckin’ miracle.”

“Looks like you got one.” Daniel turned on his heel and headed back to the car, thinking: And a shiny new polyester prophet walks amongst us. Goddamnit.

“I cannot believe what we just witnessed.” Julia shook her head again, sipped her double rum and Coke in the dim light of the bar.

“Uh-huh,” said Daniel.