The Rapture Series
Why Do you Believe? What Do you Believe? How Do You Believe? Who Do You Believe?
“Reason to Believe”
Natszal: "Left" (2:3)
“LEFT”
THE EARTH'S LAST DAYS
TIM LAHAYE & JERRY B. JENKINS
The senior flight attendant startled him several pages into his own reflections and
feelings. “What in the world are you doing?” she said, leaning in to stare at the mess
of wires leading from his laptop to the in-flight phone. “I can't let you do that.” He glanced at her name tag. “Listen, beautiful Hattie, are we or are we not looking at the end of the world as we know it?”
“Don't patronize me, sir. I can't let you sit here and vandalize airline property.”
“I'm not vandalizing it. I'm adapting it in an emergency. With this I can hopefully make a connection where nothing else will work.” “I can't let you do it.” “Hattie, can I tell you something?” “Only that you're going to put that phone back the way you found it.” “I will.” “Now.” “No, I won't do that.” “That's the only thing I want to hear.” “I understand that, but please listen.” The man next to Buck stared at him and then at Hattie. He swore, then used a pillow
to cover his right ear, pressing his left against the seat back.
Hattie grabbed a computer printout from her pocket and located Buck's name. “Mr. Williams, I expect you to cooperate. I don't want to bother the pilot with this.” Buck reached for her hand. She stiffened but didn't pull away. “Can we talk for just
a second?”
“I'm not going to change my mind, sir. Now please, I have a plane full of frightened people.” “Aren't you one of them?” He was still holding her hand. She pursed her lips and nodded. “Wouldn't you like to make contact with someone? If this works, I can reach people
who can make phone calls for you, let your family know you're all right, even get a message back to you. I haven't destroyed anything, and I promise I can put it back the way I found it.”
“You can?” “I can.” “And you'd help me?” “Anything. Give me some names and phone numbers. I'll send them in with what
I'm trying to upload to New York, and I'll insist that someone make the calls for you and report back to me. I can't guarantee I'll get through or that if I do they'll get back to me, but I will try.”
“I'd be grateful.” “And can you protect me from other overly zealous flight attendants?” Hattie managed a smile. “They might all want your help.” “This is a long shot as it is. Just keep everybody away from me, and let me keep
trying.” “Deal,” she said, but she looked troubled. “Hattie, you're doing the right thing,” he said. “It's OK in a situation like this to
think of yourself a little. That's what I'm doing.” “But everybody's in the same boat, sir. And I have responsibilities.” “You have to admit, when people disappear, some rules go out the window.”
Rayford Steele sat ashen faced in the cockpit. Half an hour from touchdown in Chicago, he had told the passengers everything he knew. The simultaneous disappearance of millions all over the globe had resulted in chaos far beyond imagination. He complimented everyone on remaining calm and avoiding hysterics, although he had received reports of doctors on board who handed out Valium like candy.
Rayford had been forthright, the only way he knew to be. He realized he had told the people more than he might have if he'd lost an engine or his hydraulics or even his landing gear. He had been frank with them that those who had not had loved ones disappear might get home to discover that they had been victims of the many tragedies that had ensued.
He thought, but didn't say, how grateful he was to have been in the air when this event had taken place. What confusion must await them on the ground! Here, in a literal sense, they were above it all. They had been affected, of course. People were missing from everywhere. But except for the staff shortage caused by the disappearance of three crew members, the passengers didn't suffer the way they might have had they been in traffic or if he and Christopher had been among those who had disappeared.
As he settled into a holding pattern miles from O'Hare, the full impact of the tragedy began to come into view. Flights from all over the country were being rerouted to Chicago. Planes were reorganized based on their fuel supplies. Rayford needed to stay in priority position after flying across the eastern seaboard and then over the Atlantic before turning back. It was not Rayford's practice to communicate with ground control until after he landed, but now the air-traffic control tower was recommending it. He was informed that visibility was excellent, despite intermittent smoke from wreckages on the ground, but that landing would be risky and precarious because the two open runways were crowded with jets. They lined either side, all the way down the runway. Every gate was full, and none were backing out.
Every mode of human transport was in use, busing passengers from the ends of the
runways back to the terminal. But, Rayford was told, he would likely, find that his people—at least most of them—would have to walk all the way. All remaining personnel had been called in to serve, but they were busy directing planes to safe areas. The few buses and vans were reserved for the handicapped, elderly, and flight crews. Rayford passed the word along that his crew would be walking.
Passengers reported that they had been unable to get through on the in-flight phones. Hattie Durham told Rayford that one enterprising passenger in first class had somehow hooked up the phone to his computer, and while he composed messages it was automatically dialing and redialing New York. If a line opened, this would be the guy who got through.
By the time the plane began its descent into Chicago, Buck had been able to squeeze onto only one briefly freed-up line to his computer service, which prompted him to download his waiting mail. This came just as Hattie announced that all electronic devices must be turned off.
With an acumen he didn't realize he possessed, Buck speed-tapped the keys that retrieved and filed all his messages, downloaded them, and backed him out of the linkup in seconds. Just when his machine might have interfered with flight communications, he was off-line and would have to wait to search his files for news from friends, coworkers, relatives, anyone.
Before her last-minute preparations for landing, Hattie hurried to Buck. “Anything?” He shook his head apologetically. “Thanks for trying,” she said. And she began to weep.
(blogger)
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