Into Captivity They Will Go - In stores October 1st, 2019 from Central Avenue Publishing
From the PublisherSet in rural Oklahoma, Into Captivity They Will Go tells the story of Caleb Gunter, a boy whose mother has convinced him he is the second coming of Jesus Christ and that together they are destined to lead the chosen into the Kingdom of Heaven. Believing the Seven Seals detailed in Revelation have been opened, he and his mother flee their home to join a tongue-speaking evangelical church and to prepare for the end of the world, but after tragedy ensues, Caleb must rebuild his life without the only support he has ever known—his mother and the church.
An exploration of familial bonds and extremist faith, Into Captivity They Will Go is a whirlwind bildungsroman that reveals the fragility of a child’s identity. It is at once a study of guilt and redemption, and a book of how shattered trust can yet still lay the foundation for an entire life. |
Read an Excerpt
Usually, Caleb enjoyed storms. He looked forward to them. The heat building up to them, the short burst of chaos, followed by the cool, cleansing smell of rain and wet soil. He’d always felt reborn afterward. Every time it stormed, it seemed to signify a demarcation between past and present. Whatever had happened lost its importance, and the possibilities opened up before him like a supercontinent. This storm, however, was different. An electricity buzzed through the air. The violence of it didn’t wane and ebb and come at him in waves. Instead, it thrashed. It only grew stronger and closer, and it was coming right for them.
“Maybe we should head to Sam’s house,” Caleb said. He didn’t mean to sound so frightened when he said it, but he couldn’t help it, his words leaping from his tongue as if fleeing a burning building.
“We’ll be okay,” his mother said. “Just have faith.”
The man’s voice on the radio broke up. Static punctuated his warnings, and his description of who was in the path of the storm disintegrated into unintelligible gibberish. Vinita, Jay, Afton, Grove, all of it within the next few minutes. It was big, the man said. Wide, bigger than anything he’d ever seen before, and Caleb couldn’t make out anymore. He peeked back outside. He thought he could make out debris flying over the lake: paper bags, insulation, tree limbs, and newspaper. A dog barked nearby. Its yelps seemed to come from every direction, west, east, south, even from right above him. The wind was so strong even soundwaves were being altered.
Caleb’s mother grabbed his hand, and they pushed through the door. Sam’s house was close, about fifty or so yards away, and they sprinted. Hailstones battered them, striking their backs and shoulders and their heads. The pain rocked Caleb. It entered him everywhere and shook him down at a cellular level, but he pushed through. He willed his legs to keep moving across the field, and they his mother pounded on Sam’s door. They pounded and pounded and pounded but nobody came. They tried the door, but it was locked. Caleb looked behind him, and the tornado sirens sounded. They blared over the storm, loud and clear. Caleb’s mom turned toward him, her skin turning pale like he could see the blood drain to her feet. Over the lake, he could see it, or he thought he could. It was just a large, oscillating wall. Dark, bulbous, veined with lightning. The sound it made churned. It groaned. It growled. It was a deep and cavernous frothing. He heard metal grinding, trees uprooting, the ground vibrating like the earth was being ripped asunder, but then the door opened. It was Sam. He grabbed them, and he led them downstairs to the basement. The entire congregation was there, huddled near the floor, the children wearing bike helmets and holding their parents’ legs, their parents holding on to one another so as not to be torn apart.
Then it hit. Everything went dark. Then white. He couldn’t make out any detail, just an endless luminescence. And peace. Surprisingly, he wasn’t afraid. In reality, there was violence. Outside, trailers crumpled. Trees were uprooted. Cars tossed. Hail shattered windows and rains flooded homes. It only lasted about a minute, though. Eventually, the roar subsided to a growl, then a hum. Thunder dissipated. Rains let up. For a while, they all just sat there in stunned silence, everyone just blinking, but then they reemerged one by one. It took a while for Caleb’s eyes to adjust, but when they did, he saw the devastation. It looked like a bomb had been dropped. He heard crying and a dog barking. He moved his hands and his legs and his arms, testing them for the first time since being pelted with hail. There didn’t seem to be any serious injury. Some bruises, deep into the muscle. He tasted blood on his lip. A gash throbbed on his forehead. He’d carry on. He and his mother and Sam and all the rest, they’d tend to the injured, mend their bones, then pick up where they’d left off, hardening themselves for an even greater storm to come.
“Maybe we should head to Sam’s house,” Caleb said. He didn’t mean to sound so frightened when he said it, but he couldn’t help it, his words leaping from his tongue as if fleeing a burning building.
“We’ll be okay,” his mother said. “Just have faith.”
The man’s voice on the radio broke up. Static punctuated his warnings, and his description of who was in the path of the storm disintegrated into unintelligible gibberish. Vinita, Jay, Afton, Grove, all of it within the next few minutes. It was big, the man said. Wide, bigger than anything he’d ever seen before, and Caleb couldn’t make out anymore. He peeked back outside. He thought he could make out debris flying over the lake: paper bags, insulation, tree limbs, and newspaper. A dog barked nearby. Its yelps seemed to come from every direction, west, east, south, even from right above him. The wind was so strong even soundwaves were being altered.
Caleb’s mother grabbed his hand, and they pushed through the door. Sam’s house was close, about fifty or so yards away, and they sprinted. Hailstones battered them, striking their backs and shoulders and their heads. The pain rocked Caleb. It entered him everywhere and shook him down at a cellular level, but he pushed through. He willed his legs to keep moving across the field, and they his mother pounded on Sam’s door. They pounded and pounded and pounded but nobody came. They tried the door, but it was locked. Caleb looked behind him, and the tornado sirens sounded. They blared over the storm, loud and clear. Caleb’s mom turned toward him, her skin turning pale like he could see the blood drain to her feet. Over the lake, he could see it, or he thought he could. It was just a large, oscillating wall. Dark, bulbous, veined with lightning. The sound it made churned. It groaned. It growled. It was a deep and cavernous frothing. He heard metal grinding, trees uprooting, the ground vibrating like the earth was being ripped asunder, but then the door opened. It was Sam. He grabbed them, and he led them downstairs to the basement. The entire congregation was there, huddled near the floor, the children wearing bike helmets and holding their parents’ legs, their parents holding on to one another so as not to be torn apart.
Then it hit. Everything went dark. Then white. He couldn’t make out any detail, just an endless luminescence. And peace. Surprisingly, he wasn’t afraid. In reality, there was violence. Outside, trailers crumpled. Trees were uprooted. Cars tossed. Hail shattered windows and rains flooded homes. It only lasted about a minute, though. Eventually, the roar subsided to a growl, then a hum. Thunder dissipated. Rains let up. For a while, they all just sat there in stunned silence, everyone just blinking, but then they reemerged one by one. It took a while for Caleb’s eyes to adjust, but when they did, he saw the devastation. It looked like a bomb had been dropped. He heard crying and a dog barking. He moved his hands and his legs and his arms, testing them for the first time since being pelted with hail. There didn’t seem to be any serious injury. Some bruises, deep into the muscle. He tasted blood on his lip. A gash throbbed on his forehead. He’d carry on. He and his mother and Sam and all the rest, they’d tend to the injured, mend their bones, then pick up where they’d left off, hardening themselves for an even greater storm to come.