The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (10 page)

“I can’t imagine he’ll want to talk, Cameron, unless you have some answers.”

“That’s one thing I haven’t got, Dad. I don’t know who does. I have this feeling that whoever had the answers is gone.”

“This is awful, Cam. I wish you were out here with us.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“You bein’ sarcastic?”

“Just expressing the truth, Dad. If you wanted me out there, it’d be the first time.”

“Well, this is the kind of time when maybe we change our minds.”

“About me? I doubt it.”

“Cameron, let’s not get into this, huh? For once, think of somebody other than yourself. You lost a sister-in-law and a niece and a nephew yesterday, and your brother’ll probably never get over it.”

Buck bit his tongue. Why did he always have to do this, and especially right now? His dad was right. If only Buck could admit that, maybe they could move on. He had been resented by the family ever since he’d gone on to college, following his academic prowess to the Ivy League. Where he came from, the kids were supposed to follow their parents into the business. His dad’s was trucking fuel into the state, mostly from Oklahoma and Texas. It was a tough business with local people thinking the resources ought to all come from their own state. Jeff had worked his way up in the little business, starting in the office, then driving a truck, now running the day-to-day operations.

There had been a lot of bad blood, especially since Cameron was away at school when his mother fell ill. She had insisted he stay in school, but when he missed coming home for Christmas due to money problems, his dad and brother never really forgave him. His mother died while he was away, and he got the cold shoulder even at her funeral.

Some healing had occurred over the years, mostly because his family loved to claim him and brag about him once he became known as a journalistic prodigy. He had let bygones be bygones but resented that he was now welcome because he was somebody. And so he rarely went home. There was too much baggage to reconcile completely, but he was still angry with himself for opening old wounds when his family was suffering.

“If there’s some kind of memorial service or something, I’ll try to make it, Dad. All right?”

“You’ll
try
?”

“That’s all I can promise. You can imagine how busy things are at
Global
right now. Needless to say, this is the story of the century.”

“Will you be writing the cover story?”

“I’ll have a lot to do with the coverage, yeah.”

“But the cover?”

Buck sighed, suddenly tired. It was no wonder. He’d been awake nearly twenty-four hours. “I don’t know, Dad. I’ve already filed a lot of stuff. My guess is this next issue will be a huge special with lots of stuff from all over. It’s unlikely my piece would be the sole cover article. It looks like I do have the assignment for a pretty major treatment two weeks from now.”

He hoped that would satisfy his dad. He wanted to get off and get some sleep. But it didn’t.

“What’s that mean? What’s the story?”

“Oh, I’ll be pulling together several writers’ pieces on the theories behind what’s happened.”

“That’ll be a big job. Everybody I talk to has a different idea. You know your brother is afraid it was like the last judgment of God or something.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. But I don’t think so.”

“Why not, Dad?” He didn’t really want to get into a lengthy discussion, but this surprised him.

“Because I asked our pastor. He said if it was Jesus Christ taking people to heaven, he and I and you and Jeff would be gone, too. Makes sense.”

“Does it? I’ve never claimed any devotion to the faith.”

“The heck you haven’t. You always get into this liberal, East Coast baloney. You know good and well we had you in church and Sunday school from the time you were a baby. You’re as much a Christian as any one of us.”

Cameron wanted to say, “Precisely my point.” But he didn’t. It was the lack of any connection between his family’s church attendance and their daily lives that made him quit going to church altogether the day it became his choice.

“Yeah, well, tell Jeff I’m thinking about him, huh? And if I can work it out at all, I’ll get back there for whatever he’s going to do about Sharon and the kids.”

Buck was grateful the Midpoint at least had plenty of hot water for a long shower. He had forgotten about the nagging throb at the back of his head until the water hit it and loosened the bandage. He didn’t have anything to redress it, so he just let it bleed a while, then found some ice. In the morning he would find a bandage, just for looks. For now, he had had it. He was bone weary.

There was no remote control for the TV and no way he would get up once he stretched out. He turned CNN on low so it wouldn’t interrupt his sleep, and he watched the world roundup before dozing off. Images from around the globe were almost more than he could take, but news was his business. He remembered the many earthquakes and wars of the last decade and the nightly coverage that was so moving. Now here was a thousand times more of the same, all on the same day. Never in history had more people been killed in one day than those who disappeared all at once. Had they been killed? Were they dead? Would they be back?

Buck couldn’t take his eyes, heavy as they were, off the screen as image after image showed disappearances caught on home recorders. From some countries came professional copies of live television shows in progress, a host’s microphone landing atop his empty clothes, bouncing off his shoes, and making a racket as it rolled across the floor. The audience screamed. One of the cameras panned the crowd, which had been at capacity a moment before. Now several seats were empty, clothes draped across them.

Nothing could have been scripted like this, Buck thought, blinking slowly. If somebody tried to sell a screenplay about millions of people disappearing, leaving everything but their bodies behind, it would be laughed off.

Buck was not aware that he was asleep until the cheap phone jangled so loudly it sounded as if it would rattle itself off the table. He groped for it.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Williams, but I just noticed you was off the phone there. While you was talkin’, you got a call. Guy name of Ritz. Says you can call him or you can just be waitin’ for him outside at six in the mornin’.”

“OK. Thanks.”

“What’re you gonna do? Call him or meet him?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Oh, I ain’t bein’ nosy or nothin’. It’s just that if you’re leavin’ here at six, I gotta get payment in advance. You got the long-distance call and all. And I don’t get up till seven.”

“I’ll tell you what, uh, what was your name?”

“Mack.”

“I’ll tell you what, Mack. I left you my charge card number, so you know I’m not going to sneak out on you. But in the morning I’m going to leave a traveler’s check in the room for you, covering the price of the room and a lot more than enough for the phone call. You get my meaning?”

“A tip?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That would be nice.”

“What I need for you to do for me is slip a bandage under my door.”

“I got one. You need it right now? You all right?”

“I’m fine. Not now. When you turn in. Nice and quiet like. And turn off my phone, OK, just in case? If I have to get up that early, I’ve got to do some serious sleeping right now. Can you handle that for me, Mack?”

“I sure can. I’ll turn it off right now. You want a wake-up call?”

“No, thanks,” Buck said, and he smiled when he realized the phone was dead in his hand. Mack was as good as his word. If he found that bandage in the morning, he would leave Mack a good tip. Buck forced himself to get up and shut off the TV set and the light. He was the type who could look at his watch before retiring and wake up precisely when he told himself to. It was nearly midnight. He would be up at five-thirty.

By the time he hit the mattress, he was out. When he awoke five and a half hours later, he had not moved a muscle.

Rayford felt as if he were sleepwalking as he padded through the kitchen to head upstairs. He couldn’t believe how tired he still was after his long nap and his fitful dozing on the couch. The newspaper was still rolled up and rubber-banded on a chair where he had tossed it. If he had any trouble sleeping upstairs, maybe he would glance at the paper. It should be interesting to read the meaningless news of a world that didn’t realize it was going to suffer the worst trauma in its history just after the paper had been set in type.

Rayford punched the redial button on the phone and walked slowly toward the stairs, only half listening. What was that? The dial tone had been interrupted, and the phone in Chloe’s dorm room was ringing. He hurried to the phone as a girl answered.

“Chloe?”

“No. Mr. Steele?”

“Yes!”

“This is Amy. Chloe’s trying to find a way back there. She’ll try to call you along the way, sometime tomorrow. If she can’t get through, she’ll call you when she gets there or she’ll get a cab home.”

“She’s on her way?”

“Yeah. She didn’t want to wait. She tried calling and calling, but—”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Amy. Are you all right?”

“Scared to death, like everybody else.”

“I can imagine. Did you lose anyone?”

“No, and I feel kinda guilty about that. Seems like everyone I know lost somebody. I mean I lost a few friends, but nobody close, no family.”

Rayford didn’t know whether to express congratulations or remorse. If this was what he now believed it had been, this poor child hardly knew anyone who’d been taken to heaven.

“Well,” he said, “I’m glad you’re all right.”

“How about you?” she said. “Chloe’s mom and brother?”

“I’m afraid they’re gone, Amy.”

“Oh, no!”

“But I would appreciate your letting me tell Chloe, just in case she reaches you before she reaches me.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t think I could tell her even if you wanted me to.”

Rayford lay in bed several minutes, then idly thumbed through the first section of the paper. Hmm. A surprise move in Romania.

Rayford glanced at the photo of the young Carpathia, a strikingly handsome blond who looked not unlike a young Brad Pitt.
Wonder if he would’ve wanted the job had he known what was about to happen?
Rayford thought.
Whatever he has to offer won’t amount to a hill of beans now.

Ken Ritz roared up to the Midpoint precisely at six, rolled down his window, and said, “You Williams?”

“I’m your man,” Buck said. He climbed into the late model four-wheel drive with his one bag. Fingering his freshly bandaged head, Buck smiled at the thought of Mack enjoying his extra twenty bucks.

Ritz was tall and lean with a weathered face and a shock of salt-and-pepper hair. “Let’s get down to business,” he said. “It’s 740 miles from O’Hare to JFK and 746 from Milwaukee to JFK. I’m gonna get you as close to JFK as I can, and we’re about equidistant between O’Hare and Milwaukee, so let’s call it 743 air miles. Multiply that by twenty bucks, you’re talkin’ fourteen thousand eight sixty. Round it off to fifteen thousand for the taxi service, and we got us a deal.”

“Deal,” Buck said, pulling out his checks and starting to sign. “Pretty expensive taxi.”

Ritz laughed. “Especially for a guy coming out of the Midpoint.”

“It was lovely.”

Ritz parked in a metal Quonset hut at the Waukegan airport and chatted while running through preflight procedures. “No crashes here,” he said. “There were two at Palwaukee. They lost a couple of staff people here though. Weirder than weird, wasn’t it?”

Buck and Ritz shared stories of lost relatives, where they were when it happened, and exactly who they were. “Never flew a writer before,” Ken said. “Charter, I mean. Must’ve flown a bunch of your types when I was commercial.”

“Better money on your own?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that when I switched. It wasn’t my choice.”

They were climbing into the Lear. Buck shot him a double take. “You were grounded?”

“Don’t worry, partner,” the pilot said. “I’ll get you there.”

“You owe it to me to tell me if you were grounded.”

“I was fired. There’s a difference.”

“Depends on what you were fired for, doesn’t it?”

“True enough. This ought to make you feel real good. I was fired for bein’ too careful. Beat that.”

“Talk to me,” Buck said.

“You remember a lot of years ago when there was all that flak about puddle jumpers goin’ down in icy weather?”

“Yeah, until they made some adjustments or something.”

“Right. Well, you remember that one pilot refused to fly even after he was told to and the public was assured everything up to that point was explainable or a fluke?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you remember that there was another crash right after that, which proved the pilot right?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, I remember it plain as day, because you’re lookin’ at him.”

“I do feel better.”

“You know how many of those same model puddle jumpers are in the air today? Not a one. When you’re right, you’re right. But was I reinstated? No. Once a troublemaker, always a troublemaker. Lots of my colleagues were grateful though. And some pilots’ widows were pretty angry that I got ignored and then canned, too late for their husbands.”

“Ouch.”

As the jet screamed east, Ritz wanted to know what Buck thought of the disappearances. “Funny you should ask,” Buck said. “I’ve got to start working on that in earnest today. What’s your read of it? And do you mind if I flip on a digital recorder?”

“Fine,” Ritz said. “Dangedest thing I’ve ever seen. ’Course, that doesn’t make me unique. I have to say, though, I’ve always believed in UFOs.”

“You’re kidding! A levelheaded, safety-conscious pilot?”

Ritz nodded. “I’m not talking about little green men or space aliens who kidnap people. I’m talking about some of the more documentable stuff, like some astronauts have seen, and some pilots.”

“You ever see anything?”

“Nope. Well, a couple of unexplainable things. Some lights or mirages. Once I thought I was flying too close to a squad of helicopters. Not too far from here either. Great Lakes Naval Station. I radioed a warning, then lost sight of them. I suppose that’s explainable. I could have been going faster than I realized and not been as close as I thought. But I never got an answer, no acknowledgment that they were even airborne. Glenview wouldn’t confirm it. I shrugged it off, but a few weeks later, close to the same spot, my instruments went wacky on me. Dials spinning, meters sticking, that kind of thing.”

“What did you make of that?”

“Magnetic field or some force like that. Could be explainable, too. You know there’s no sense reporting strange occurrences or sightings near a military base, because they just reject ’em out of hand. They don’t even take seriously anything strange within several miles of a commercial airport. That’s why you never hear stories of UFOs near O’Hare. Not even considered.”

“So, you don’t buy the kidnapping space aliens, but you connect the disappearances with UFOs?”

“I’m just sayin’ it’s not like
E.T.,
with creatures and all that. I think our ideas of what space people would look like are way too simple and rudimentary. If there is intelligent life out there, and there has to be just because of the sheer odds—”

“What do you mean?”

“The vastness of space.”

“Oh, so many stars and so much area that something has to be out there somewhere.”

“Exactly. And I agree with people who think those beings are more intelligent than we are. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have made it here, if they are here. And if they are, I’m thinking they’re sophisticated and advanced enough that they can do things to us we’ve never dreamed of.”

“Like making people disappear right out of their clothes.”

“Sounded pretty silly until the other night, didn’t it?”

Buck nodded.

“I’ve always laughed about people assuming these beings could read our thoughts or get into our heads and stuff,” Ritz continued. “But look who’s missing. Everybody I’ve read about or heard about or knew who’s now gone was either under twelve years old or was an unusual personality.”

“With all the people who disappeared, you think they had something in common?”

“Well, they’ve got something in common now, wouldn’t you say?”

“But something set them apart, made them easier to snatch?” Buck asked.

“That’s what I think.”

“So we’re still here because we were strong enough to resist, or maybe we weren’t worth the trouble.”

Ritz nodded. “Something like that. It’s almost like some force or power was able to read the level of resistance or weakness, and once that force got sunk in, it was able to rip those people right off the earth. They disappeared in an instant, so they had to be dematerialized. The question is whether they were destroyed in the process or could be reassembled.”

“What do you think, Mr. Ritz?”

“At first I would have said no. But a week ago I would have told you that millions of people all over the world disappearing into thin air sounds like a B movie. When I allow for the fact that it actually happened, I have to allow for the next logical step. Maybe they’re somewhere specific in some form, and maybe they can return.”

“That’s a comforting thought,” Buck said. “But is it more than wishful thinking?”

“Hardly. That idea and fifty cents would be worth half a dollar. I fly planes for money. I haven’t got a clue. I’m still as much in shock as the next guy, and I don’t mind tellin’ you, I’m scared.”

“Of?”

“That it might happen again. If it was anything like I think it was, maybe all this force needs to do now is crank up the power somehow and they can get older people, smarter people, people with more resistance that they ignored the first time around.”

Buck shrugged and sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally he said, “There’s a little hole in your argument. I know of some people who are missing who seem as strong as anyone.”

“I wasn’t talking physical strength.”

“Neither was I.” Buck thought about Lucinda Washington. “I lost a friend and coworker who was bright, healthy, happy, strong, and a forceful personality.”

“Well, I’m not saying I know everything or even anything. You wanted my theory; there it is.”

Rayford Steele lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Sleep had come hard and intermittently, and he hated the logy feeling. He didn’t want to watch the news. He didn’t want to read the paper, even knowing a new one had flopped up onto the porch before dawn. All he wanted was for Chloe to get home so they could grieve together. There was nothing, he decided, more lonely than grief.

He and his daughter would have work to do, too. He wanted to investigate, to learn, to know, to act. He started by searching for a Bible, not the family Bible that had collected dust on his shelf for years, but Irene’s. Hers would have notes in it, maybe something that would point him in the right direction.

It wasn’t hard to find. It was usually within arm’s reach of where she slept. He found it on the floor, next to the bed. Would there be some guide? An index? Something that referred to the Rapture or the judgment or something? If not, maybe he’d start at the end. If
genesis
meant “beginning,” maybe
revelation
had something to do with the end, even though it didn’t mean that. The only Bible verse Rayford could quote by heart was Genesis 1:1: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” He hoped there’d be some corresponding verse at the end of the Bible that said something like, “In the end God took all his people to heaven and gave everybody else one more chance.”

But no such luck. The very last verse in the Bible meant nothing to him. It said, “The grace of the Lord Jesus be with you all. Amen.” And it sounded like the religious mumbo jumbo he had heard in church. He backed up a verse and read, “He who testifies to these things says, ‘Yes, I am coming quickly.’ Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.”

Now he was getting somewhere. Who was this who testified of these things, and what were these things? The quoted words were in red. What did that mean? He looked through the Bible and then noticed on the spine, “Words of Christ in red.” So Jesus said he was coming quickly. Had he come? And if the Bible was as old as it seemed, what did “quickly” mean? It must not have meant soon, unless it was from the perspective of someone with a long view of history. Maybe Jesus meant that when he came, he would do it quickly. Was that what this was all about? Rayford glanced at the last chapter as a whole. Three other verses had red letters, and two of those repeated the business about coming quickly.

Rayford could make no sense of the text of the chapter. It seemed old and formal. But near the end of the chapter was a verse that ended with words that had a strange impact on him. Without a hint of their meaning, he read, “Let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who wishes take the water of life without cost.”

Jesus wouldn’t have been the one who was thirsty. He would not have been the one who wished to take the water of life. That, Rayford assumed, referred to the reader. It struck him that he was thirsty, soul thirsty. But what was the water of life? He had already paid a terrible cost for missing it. Whatever it was, it had been in this book for hundreds of years.

Rayford idly leafed through the Bible to other passages, none of which made sense to him. They discouraged him because they didn’t seem to flow together, to refer to each other, to have a direction. Language and concepts foreign to him were not helping.

Here and there he saw notes in the margins in Irene’s delicate handwriting. Sometimes she simply wrote, “Precious.” He was determined to study and find someone who could explain those passages to him. He was tempted to write
precious
next to that verse in Revelation about taking the water of life without cost. It sounded precious to him, though he couldn’t yet make it compute.

Worst of all, he feared he was reading the Bible too late. Clearly he was too late to have gone to heaven with his wife and son. But was he too late, period?

In the front flyleaf was last Sunday’s church bulletin. What was this, Wednesday morning? Three days ago he had been where? In the garage. Raymie had begged him to go with them to church. He promised he would next Sunday. “That’s what you said last week,” Raymie had said.

“Do you want me to fix this four-wheeler for you or not? I don’t have all the time in the world.”

Raymie was not one for pushing a guilt trip. He just repeated, “Next Sunday?”

“For sure,” Rayford had said. And now he wished next Sunday were here. He wished even more that Raymie were there to go with him because he
would
go. Or would he? Would he be off work that day? And would there be church? Was anyone left in that congregation? He pulled the bulletin from Irene’s Bible and circled the phone number. Later that day, after he checked in with Pan-Continental, he would call the church office and see if anything was going on.

He was about to set the Bible on the bed table when he grew curious and opened the front flyleaf again. On the first white-papered page he saw the inscription. He had given this Bible to Irene on their first wedding anniversary. How could he have forgotten, and what had he been thinking? She was no more devout than he back then, but she talked about wanting to get serious about church attendance before the children came along. He had been angling for something or trying to impress her. Maybe he thought she would think him spiritual if he gave her a gift like that. Maybe he was hoping she would let him off the hook and go to church by herself if he proved his spiritual sensitivity with this gift.