The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (346 page)

Six Years into the Tribulation

Chang arose at dawn, as usual, but he realized immediately that things had changed. He had not been vulnerable to the damage of the sun, but he had been aware of the difference in temperature and humidity. This morning, the air felt different.

He hurried to his computer and checked the weather.
Uh-oh. Show’s over.
The temperature in New Babylon was normal.

Chang ate, showered, dressed, and hurried out. The palace was abuzz. Windows were open. People streamed in and out. He even saw smiles, though most of the depleted employee population was overworked, undernourished, and looked pale and sickly.

The brass announced that the noonday meal would be served picnic-style, outside. Little was accomplished that morning as everyone anticipated lunchtime. Then the mood was festive and the food plentiful. Many got a peek at Carpathia, striding purposefully about as if he had a new lease on life.

Chang hurried back to his quarters after work that day, eager to check on the rest of the world. The Tribulation Force had trimmed its sails and pulled in its cannons. They were back in hiding, picking their spots, strategizing for returning to an after-dark schedule.

Carpathia remained tireless and expected the same of others. He held another high-level meeting with the brass that had spent much of the day moving back to his floor. Even Viv Ivins was invited, and from what Chang could hear, all had been forgiven.

“For the first time in a long time,” Nicolae said, “we play on an even field. The waterways are healing themselves, and we have rebuilding to do in the infrastructure. Let us work at getting all our loyal citizens back onto the same page with us. Director Akbar and I have some special surprises in store for dissidents on various levels. We are back in business, people. It is time to recoup our losses and start delivering a few.”

The new mood lasted three days. Then the lights went out. Literally. Everything went dark. Not just the sun, but the moon also, the stars, streetlamps, electric lights, car lights. Anything anywhere that ever emitted light was now dark. No keypads on telephones, no flashlights, nothing iridescent, nothing glow-in-the-dark. Emergency lights, exit signs, fire signs, alarm signs—everything. Pitch-black.

The cliché of not being able to see one’s hand in front of one’s face? Now true. It mattered not what time of day it was; people could see nothing. Not their clocks, watches, not even fire, matches, gas grills, electric grills. It was as if the light had done worse than go out; any vestige of it had been sucked from the universe.

People screamed in terror, finding this the worst nightmare of their lives—and they had many to choose from. They were blind—completely, utterly, totally, wholly unable to see anything but blackness twenty-four hours a day.

They felt their way around the palace; they pushed their way outdoors. They tried every light and every switch they could remember. They called out to each other to see if it was just them, or if everyone had the same problem. Find a candle! Rub two sticks together! Shuffle on the carpet and create static electricity. Do anything. Anything! Something to allow some vestige of a shadow, a hint, a sliver.

All to no avail.

Chang wanted to laugh. He wanted to howl from his gut. He wished he could tell everyone everywhere that once again God had meted out a curse, a judgment upon the earth that affected only those who bore the mark of the beast. Chang could see. It was different. He didn’t see lights either. He simply saw everything in sepia tone, as if someone had turned down the wattage on a chandelier.

He saw whatever he needed to, including his computer and screen and watch and quarters. His food, his sink, his stove—everything. Best of all, he could tiptoe around the palace in his rubber-soled shoes, weaving between his coworkers as they felt their way along.

Within hours, though, something even stranger happened. People were not starving or dying of thirst. They were able to feel their way to food and drink. But they could not work. There was nothing to discuss, nothing to talk about but the cursed darkness. And for some reason, they also began to feel pain.

They itched and so they scratched. They ached and so they rubbed. They cried out and scratched and rubbed some more. For many the pain grew so intense that all they could do was bend down and feel the ground to make sure there was no hole or stairwell to fall into and then collapse in a heap, writhing, scratching, seeking relief.

The longer it went, the worse it got, and now people swore and cursed God and chewed their tongues. They crawled about the corridors, looking for weapons, pleading with friends or even strangers to kill them. Many killed themselves. The entire complex became an asylum of screams and moans and guttural wails, as these people became convinced that this, finally, was it—the end of the world.

But no such luck. Unless they had the wherewithal, the guts, to do themselves in, they merely suffered. Worse by the hour. Increasingly bad by the day. This went on and on and on. And in the middle of it, Chang came up with the most brilliant idea of his life.

If ever there was a perfect time for him to escape, it was now. He would contact Rayford or Mac, anyone willing and able and available to come and get him. It had to be that the rest of the Tribulation Force—in fact, all of the sealed and marked believers in the world—had the same benefit he did.

Someone would be able to fly a jet and land it right there in New Babylon, and GC personnel would have to run for cover, having no idea who could do such a thing in the utter darkness. As long as no one spoke, they could not be identified. The Force could commandeer planes and weapons, whatever they wanted.

If anyone accosted them or challenged them, what better advantage could the Trib Force have than that they could see? They would have the drop on everyone and everybody. With but a year to go until the Glorious Appearing, Chang thought, the good guys finally had even a better deal than they had when the daylight hours belonged solely to them.

Now, for as long as God tarried, for as long as he saw fit to keep the shades pulled down and the lights off, everything was in the believers’ favor.

“God,” Chang said, “just give me a couple more days of this.”

who pursued God

for expert technical consultation

For the first time since takeoff, Rayford Steele had second thoughts about his and Abdullah Smith’s passenger. “We shouldn’t have brought her, Smitty,” he said. He stole a glance at Abdullah behind the controls.

The Jordanian shook his head. “That’s on you, Captain, I am sorry to say. I tried to tell you how important she was to Petra.”

The darkness enveloping only New Babylon, but visible from more than a hundred miles, was unlike anything Rayford had ever seen. By the time Abdullah initiated the descent of the Gulfstream IX toward Iraq, the clock read 1200 hours, Palace Time.

Normally the magnificent structures of the new world capital gleamed stunningly in the noonday sun. Now a stark and isolated column of blackness rose from New Babylon’s expansive borders into the cloudless heavens as high as the eye could see.

Chang Wong was Rayford’s mole inside the palace. Trusting the young man’s assurances that they would be able to see where others could not, Rayford traded glances with Abdullah as he guided the craft into the dark from the whiteness reflecting off the desert sand. Abdullah flipped on his landing lights.

Rayford squinted. “Do we need an ILS approach?”

“Instrument landing system?” Abdullah said. “Don’t think so, Captain. I can see enough to fly.”

Rayford compared the freakish darkness to the beautiful day they had left in Petra. He peeked over his shoulder at the young woman, whom he expected to look afraid. She didn’t. “We can still turn back,” he said. “Your father looked reluctant when we boarded.”

“That was probably for your benefit,” Naomi Tiberias said. “He knows I’ll be fine.”

The teenage computer whiz’s humor and self-confidence were legendary. She seemed shy and self-conscious around adults until she got to know them; then she interacted like a peer. Rayford knew she had brought Abdullah up to speed in computer savvy, and she had been in nearly constant touch with Chang since the lights went out in New Babylon.

“Why is it dark only here?” Naomi said. “It’s so strange.”

“I don’t know,” Rayford said. “The prophecy says it affects ‘the throne of the beast, and his kingdom became full of darkness.’ That’s all we know.”

Rayford’s every visit to Petra had found Naomi growing in influence and responsibility among the Remnant. She had emerged early as a technological prodigy, and as she taught others, Naomi had become the de facto head of the vast computer center. Quickly rising from go-to person to the one in charge, she’d finally become the teacher who taught teachers.

The center that had been designed by Chang’s predecessor, the late David Hassid, was now the hub that kept Petra in touch with more than a billion souls every day. Thousands of computers allowed that many mentors to keep up with Tsion Ben-Judah’s universal cyberaudience. Naomi personally coordinated the contact between Chang in New Babylon and the Tribulation Force around the world.

Having her join the flight to rescue him from New Babylon had been Chang’s idea. Rayford had initially rejected it. He had enough trouble assigning himself the task of traveling more than seventy-five hundred miles from San Diego to Petra, then having Abdullah fly him the last five hundred miles to New Babylon. Combat-trained George Sebastian was better suited, but Rayford thought the big man had been through enough for a while. There was plenty for him to do in San Diego, and anyway, Rayford wanted to save George for what Dr. Ben-Judah called the “battle of that great day of God Almighty,” now less than a year off.

Mac McCullum and Albie, stationed in Al Basrah—little more than two hundred miles south of New Babylon—stood ready. But Rayford had other things in mind for them.

Rayford’s son-in-law and daughter, Buck and Chloe Williams, both wanted in on the extraction of Chang from the enemy lair—no surprise—but Rayford was convinced Buck would soon be more valuable in Israel. As for Chloe, the International Commodity Co-op always suffered when she was away. And somebody had to be there for little Kenny.

“Store and grab all the equipment you need while I’m en route, Chang,” Rayford had said, the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he packed. “Smitty and I will come get you in a couple of days.”

Chang had explained that the job was too big and that he and Naomi working together could get him out of there that much faster. “I don’t want to miss a thing. She can help. I want to be able to monitor this place from anywhere.”

“Don’t worry,” Rayford said. “You’ll get to see her face-to-face soon enough.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Her father is one of the Petra elders, you know.”

“So?”

“Only the two of them are left in the family. He’s very protective.”

“We both have too much work to do.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m not kidding, Captain Steele. Please bring her along. It’s not like I haven’t seen her on-screen already.”

“So, what do you think?”

“I told you. We have a lot of work to do.”

Rayford felt a tug on the back of his copilot’s chair as Naomi pulled herself forward. “Can Mr. Smith see to land?”

“Not sure yet,” Rayford said. “It’s as if someone painted our windows brown. See if you can raise our boy.”

Chang was to be sure the New Babylon runways were clear, but he couldn’t talk by phone from there for fear someone would overhear. Naomi pulled a small, thin computer from an aluminum box and attacked the keys.

“Avoid runways 3 left and 3 right,” she said. “And he wants to know which you choose so he can be there to meet us.”

Rayford glanced at Abdullah. “He’s serious, Naomi?”

She nodded.

“Tell him the tower is closed, and it’s not like we were going to announce our arrival anyway. We can’t see which runway is which from up here, so he’s going to have to give us coordinates and—”

“Hold on,” Naomi said, keyboarding again. “He’s attached everything you need.” She passed the machine to Rayford and pointed at the attachment. “It is voice activated. Just tell it what you want.”

“It’ll recognize my voice?” Rayford said, studying the screen.

“Yes,” the computer intoned.

Naomi chuckled.

“Attachment, please,” Rayford said.

A detailed grid appeared with an aerial view of the New Babylon airfield.

“I’ll set the coordinates for you, Smitty,” Rayford said, reaching to program the flight management system.

“This thing will do everything but cook a meal for you, Captain Steele,” Naomi said. “You have an infrared port?”

“I assume. Do we, Smitty?”

Abdullah pointed to a spot on the control panel.

“Here,” Naomi said. “Let me.” She leaned over Rayford’s shoulder and pointed the back of the computer at the port. “Ready to land, Captain?” she said.

“Roger.”

“Initiate landing sequence,” she said and hit a button.

“Runway choice?” the computer asked.

Naomi looked at Rayford, who looked to Abdullah. “Does that thing recognize even my accent?” the Jordanian said.

“Yes,” the computer said. “Congestion on runways 3 left and 3 right. Please select from runways 11 or 16.”

“Eleven,” Abdullah said.

“Left or right?” the computer said.

“Left,” Abdullah said. “Why not?”

Abdullah engaged the left autopilot and lifted his hands from the controls. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” the computer said.

Six minutes later the Gulfstream touched down.

At just after one o’clock in the morning in San Diego, Buck bolted upright in bed.

Chloe stirred. “Go back to sleep, hon,” she said. “You stood watch three straight nights. Not tonight.”

He held up a hand.

“You need your sleep, Buck.”

“Thought I heard something.”

The tiny walkie-talkie on the nightstand chirped. Sebastian’s telltale code. Buck grabbed it. “Yeah, George.”

“Motion detector,” Sebastian whispered.

Now Chloe sat up too.

“I’ll check the periscope,” Buck said.

“Carefully,” Sebastian said. “Don’t raise or rotate it.”

“Roger. Anybody else aware?”

“Negative.”

“On it.”

Chloe was already out of bed and had pulled on a sweatshirt. She unlocked a cabinet, removed two Uzis, and tossed one to Buck as he headed for the periscope next to Kenny’s tiny chamber. He set the weapon on the floor, dropped the walkie-talkie into his pajama pocket, and bent to peer into the viewer. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he was aware of Chloe opening and closing Kenny’s door. Going on four years old, Kenny slept longer but less soundly than he used to.

“He out?” Buck said, eyes still glued to the scope.

“Dead to the world,” Chloe said, draping a sweater around Buck’s shoulders. “As you should be.”

“Wish I was,” Buck said.

“I should think so.” She rested her palms on his shoulders. “What do you see?”

“Nothing. George doesn’t think I ought to rotate the scope. It’s facing west at ground level. I’d love to elevate it about six inches and let it give me a three-sixty.”

“He’s right, babe,” she said. “You know it’s got that whine when it moves. Anybody out there could hear it.”

“I don’t think anybody is out there,” Buck said, pulling away and rubbing his eyes.

She sighed. “Want a chair?”

He nodded and returned to the periscope. “Could have been an animal. Maybe the wind.”

Chloe pressed a chair behind his knees and guided him into it. “That’s why you should just let me—”

“Oh no,” he said.

“What?”

He put a finger to his lips and pulled out the walkie-talkie. “George,” he whispered. “Six, seven, eight, nine. Nine uniformed, armed GC directly above to the west.”

“Doing?”

“Not much. Kicking at the vents. They look bored. Maybe something caught their eye on the way by.”

“Vehicles?”

“I’d have to raise or rotate.”

“Negative. Any more?”

“Can’t tell from this angle. No more coming past. Only three left in sight now.”

“Listen for engines.”

Buck sat silent a moment. Then, “Yeah, there’s one. And another.”

“I hear ’em,” George said. “Must be leaving. Can I come over?”

“Tell him no,” Chloe whispered.

What palace personnel Rayford could make out in the eerie sepia-toned landscape through the cockpit window appeared to be in agony. Chang had told him that the people writhed and moaned, but a jet screaming onto the runway also clearly terrified them. They had to think it was about to crash, as some had on runways 3 left and 3 right.

It was as if the people had given up trying to see. Anyone near the Gulfstream IX had stumbled in the darkness to get away from it, and now they huddled here and there.

“That has to be Chang,” Rayford said, pointing to a slight Asian hurrying toward them and gesturing wildly to open the door.

“Let me get that, Miss Naomi,” Abdullah said, unstrapping himself and climbing past her. As he pushed the door open and lowered the steps, Rayford saw Chang turn to a small group of men and women in dark jumpsuits feeling their way along behind him.

“Keep your distance!” he shouted. “Danger! Hot engines! Leaking fuel!”

They turned and hurried away in all directions. “How did it land?” someone shouted.

“It’s a miracle,” another said.

“Did you all remember rubber-soled shoes?” Chang said, reaching to help them off the plane.

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Wong,” Abdullah said.

Chang shushed him. “They’re blind,” he whispered. “Not deaf.”

“Chang,” Rayford began, but the boy was shyly greeting Naomi. “All right, you two, get acquainted back at the ranch. Let’s do what we have to and get out of here.”