The Rapture Series
Why Do you Believe? What Do you Believe? How Do You Believe? Who Do You Believe?
“Reason to Believe”
Natszal: "Left" (4:1)
“LEFT”
THE EARTH'S LAST DAYS
TIM LAHAYE & JERRY B. JENKINS
CHAPTER FOUR
Buck kept pressing a handkerchief soaked with cold water onto the back of his head. His wound had stopped bleeding, but it stung. He found another message in his E-mail in box and was about to call it up when he was tapped on the shoulder.
“I'm a doctor. Let me dress your wound.” “Oh, it's all right, and I-” “Just let me do this, pal. I'm going crazy here with nothing to do, and I have my
bag. I'm workin' free today. Call it a Rapture Special.” “A what?” “Well, what would you call what happened?” the doctor said, removing a bottle and
gauze from his bag. “This is gonna be pretty rudimentary, but we will be sterile. AIDS?” “I'm sorry?” “C'mon, you know the routine.” He snapped on rubber gloves. “Have you got HIV
or anything fun like that?” “No. And, hey, I appreciate this.” At that instant the doctor splashed a heavy dose of disinfectant on the gauze and held it against Buck's scraped head. “Yow! Take it easy!”
“Be a big boy there, stud. This'll hurt less than the infection you'd get otherwise.” He roughly scraped the wound, cleansing it and causing it to ooze blood again. “Listen, I'm going to do a little shave job so I can get a bandage to hold. All right with you?”
Buck's eyes were watering. “Yeah, sure, but what was that you said about rapture?” “Is there any other explanation that makes sense?” the doctor said, using a scalpel to
tear into Buck's hair. A club attendant came by and asked if they could move the operation into one of the washrooms. “I promise to clean up, hon,” the doctor said. “Almost done here.” “Well, this can't be sanitary, and we do have other members to think about.” “Why don't you just give them their drinks and nuts, all right? You'll find this just
isn't going to upset them that much on a day like this.” “I don't appreciate being spoken to that way.” The doctor sighed as he worked. “You're right. What's your name?” “Suzie.”
“Listen, Suzie, I've been rude and I apologize. OK? Now let me finish this, and I promise not to perform any more surgery right out here in public.” Suzie left, shaking her head.
“Doc,” Buck said, “leave me your card so I can properly thank you.” “No need,” the doctor said, putting his stuff away. “Now give me your take on this. What did you mean about the Rapture?” “Another time. Your turn for the phone.” Buck was torn, but he couldn't pass up the chance to communicate with New York.
He tried dialing direct but couldn't get through. He hooked his modem up to the phone and initiated repeat dialing while he looked at the message from Steve Plank's secretary, the matronly Marge Potter.
Buck, you scoundrel! Like I don't have enough to do and worry about today, I've got to check on your girlfriends' families? Where'd you meet this Hattie Durham? You can tell her I reached her mother out west, but that was before a flood or storm or something knocked phone lines out again. She's perfectly healthy but rattled, and she was very grateful to know her daughter hadn't disappeared. The two sisters are OK, too, according to Mom.
You are a dear for helping people like this, Buck. Steve says you're going to try to come in. It'll be good to see you. This is so awful. So far we know of several staffers who disappeared, several more we haven't heard from, including some in Chicago.
Everybody from the senior staff is accounted for, now that we've heard from you. I hoped and you'd be all right. Have you noticed it seems to have struck the innocents? Everyone we know who's gone is either a child or a very nice person. On the other hand, some truly wonderful people are still here. I'm glad you're one of them, and so is Steve. Call us.
No word whether she had been able to reach Buck's widowed father or married brother. Buck wondered if that was on purpose or if she simply had no news yet. His niece and nephew had to be gone if it was true that no children had survived. Buck gave up trying to reach the office directly but again successfully connected with his on-line service. He uploaded his files and a few hastily batted out messages of his whereabouts. That way, by the time the telephone system once again took on some semblance of normalcy, Global Weekly would have already gotten a head start on his stuff.
He hung up and disconnected to the grateful look of the next in line, then went looking for that doctor. No luck. Marge had referred to the innocents. The doctor assumed it was the Rapture. Steve had pooh-poohed space aliens. But how could you rule out anything at this point? His mind was already whirring with ideas on the
story behind the disappearances. Talk about the assignment of a lifetime! Buck got in line at the service desk, knowing his odds of getting to New York by conventional means were slim. While he waited he tried to remember what it was Chaim Rosenzweig, the Newsmaker of the Year, had told him about the young Nicolae Carpathia of Romania. Buck had told only Steve Plank about it, and Steve
agreed it wasn't worth putting in the already tight story. Rosenzweig had been impressed with Carpathia, that was true. But why? Buck sat on the floor in line and moved when he had to. He called up his archived
files on the Rosenzweig interview and did a word search on Carpathia. He recalled having been embarrassed to admit to Rosenzweig that he had never heard of the man. As the taped interview transcripts scrolled past, he hit the pause button and read. When he noticed his low battery light flashing, he fished an extension cord out of his bag and plugged the computer into a socket along the wall. “Watch the cord,” he called out occasionally as people passed. One of the women behind the counter hollered at him that he'd have to unplug.
He smiled at her. “And if I don't, are you going to have me thrown out? Arrested? Cut me some slack today, of all days!” Hardly anyone took note of the crazy man on the floor yelling at the counter woman. Such rarely happened in the Pan-Con Club, but nothing surprised anyone today.
Rayford Steele disembarked on the helipad at Northwest Community Hospital in Arlington Heights, where the pilots had to get off and make room so a patient could be flown to Milwaukee. The other pilots hung around the entrance, hoping to share a cab, but Rayford had a better idea. He began walking.
He was about five miles from home, and he was betting he could hitch a ride easier than finding a cab. He hoped his captain's uniform and his clean-cut appearance would set someone's mind at ease about giving him a ride.
As he trudged along, his trench coat over his arm and his bag in his hand, he had an empty, despairing feeling. By now Hattie would be getting to her condo, checking her messages, trying to get calls through to her family. If he was right that Irene and Ray Jr. were gone, where would they have been when it happened? Would he find evidence that they had disappeared rather than being killed in some related accident?
Rayford calculated that the disappearances would have taken place late evening, perhaps around 11 P.M. central time. Would anything have taken them away from home at that hour? He couldn't imagine what, and he doubted it.
A woman of about forty stopped for Rayford on Algonquin Road. When he thanked her and told her where he lived, she said she knew the area. “A friend of mine lives there. Well, lived there. Li Ng, the Asian girl on Channel 7 news?”
“I know her and her husband,” Rayford said. “They still live on our street.”
(blogger)
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