The Rapture Series
Why Do you Believe? What Do you Believe? How Do You Believe? Who Do You Believe?
“Reason to Believe”
Natszal: "Left" (2:1)
“LEFT”
THE EARTH'S LAST DAYS
TIM LAHAYE & JERRY B. JENKINS
Fear seemed to pervade the cabin as he climbed over his sleeping seatmate again. He stood and leaned over the back of the chair ahead of him. “Apparently many people are missing,” he told the old woman. She looked as puzzled and fearful as Buck himself felt.
He sat down as the intercom came on and the captain addressed the passengers. After instructing them to return to their assigned seats, the captain explained, “I'm going to ask the flight attendants to check the lavatories and be sure everybody is accounted for. Then I'll ask them to pass out foreign entry cards. If anyone in your party is missing, I would like you to fill out the card in his or her name and list every shred of detail you can think of, from date of birth to description.
“I'm sure you all realize that we have a very troubling situation. The cards will give us a count of those missing, and I'll have something to give authorities. My first officer, Mr. Smith, will now make a cursory count of empty seats. I will try to contact Pan-Continental. I must tell you, however, that our location makes it extremely difficult to communicate with the ground without long delays. Even in
this satellite age, we're in a pretty remote area. As soon as I know anything, I'll
convey it to you. In the meantime, I appreciate your cooperation and calm.” Buck watched as the first officer came rushing from the cockpit, hatless and flushed. He hurried down one aisle and up the other, eyes darting from seat to seat as the flight attendants passed out cards.
Buck's seatmate roused, drooling, when an attendant asked if anyone in his party was missing. “Missing? No. And there's nobody in this party but me.” He curled up again and went back to sleep, unaware.
The first officer had been gone only a few minutes when Rayford heard his key in the cockpit door and it banged open. Christopher flopped into his chair, ignored the seat belt, and sat with his head in his hands.
“What's going on, Ray?” he said. “We got us more than a hundred people gone with nothing but their clothes left behind.”
“That many?” “Yeah, like it'd be better if it was only fifty? How the heck are we gonna explain landing with less passengers than we took off with?”
Rayford shook his head, still working the radio, trying to reach someone, anyone, in Greenland or an island in the middle of nowhere. But they were too remote even to pick up a radio station for news. Finally he connected with a Concorde several miles away heading the other direction. He nodded to Christopher to put on his own earphones.
“You got enough fuel to get back to the States, over?” the pilot asked Rayford. He looked at Christopher, who nodded and whispered, “We're halfway.” “I could make Kennedy,” Rayford said. “Forget it,” came the reply. “Nothing's landing in New York. Two runways still
open in Chicago. That's where we're going.” “We came from Chicago. Can't I put down at Heathrow?” “Negative. Closed.” “Paris?” “Man, you've got to get back where you came from. We left Paris an hour ago, got
the word what's happening, and were told to go straight to Chicago.” “What's happening, Concorde?” “If you don't know, why'd you put out the Mayday?” “I've got a situation here I don't even want to talk about.” “Hey, friend, it's all over the world, you know?” “Negative, I don't know,” Rayford said. “Talk to me.” “You're missing passengers, right?”
“Roger. More than a hundred.” “Whoa! We lost—nearly fifty.” “What do you make of it, Concorde?” “First thing I thought of was spontaneous combustion, but there would have been
smoke, residue. These people materially disappeared. Only thing I can compare it to is the old Star Trek shows where people got dematerialized and rematerialized, beamed all over the place.”
“I sure wish I could tell my people their loved ones were going to reappear just as
quickly and completely as they disappeared,” Rayford said. “That's not the worst of it, Pan Heavy. People everywhere have disappeared. Orly lost air-traffic controllers and ground controllers. Some planes have lost flight crews. Where it's daylight there are car pileups, chaos everywhere. Planes down all over and at every major airport.”
“So this was a spontaneous thing?” “Everywhere at once, Just a little under an hour ago.” “I was almost hoping it was something on this plane. Some gas, some malfunction.” “That it was selective, you mean, over.” Rayford caught the sarcasm. “I see what you mean, Concorde. Gotta admit this is somewhere we've never been
before.” “And never want to be again. I keep telling myself it's a bad dream.” “A nightmare, over.” “Roger, but it's not, is it?” “What are you going to tell your passengers, Concorde?” “No clue. You, over?” “The truth.” “Can't hurt now. But what's the truth? What do we know?” “Not a blessed thing.” “Good choice of words, Pan Heavy. You know what some people are saying, over?” “Roger,” Rayford said. “Better it's people gone to heaven than some world power
doing this with fancy rays.” “Word we get is that every country has been affected. See you in Chicago?” “Roger” Rayford Steele looked at Christopher, who began changing the settings to turn the
monstrous wide-body around and get it headed back toward the States. “Ladies and
gentlemen,” Rayford said over the intercom, “we're not going to be able to land in Europe. We're headed back to Chicago. We're almost exactly halfway to our original destination, so we will not have a fuel problem. I hope this puts your minds at ease somewhat. I will let you know when we are close enough to begin using the telephones. Until I do, you will do yourself a favor by not trying.”
(blogger)
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