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FamilyChristian.com
Chapter One
From The
Remnant by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins
RAYFORD STEELE had endured
enough brushes with death to know that the cliché was more than true: Not only
did your life flash before your mind's eye, but your senses were also on high
alert. As he knelt awkwardly on the unforgiving red rock of the city of Petra
in ancient Edom, he was aware of everything, remembered everything, thought
of everything and everybody.
Despite the screaming Global Community fighter-bombers-larger
than any he had ever seen or even read about-he heard his own concussing heart
and wheezing lungs. New to the robe and sandals of an Egyptian, he tottered
on sore knees and toes. Rayford could not bow his head, could not tear his eyes
from the sky and the pair of warheads that seemed to grow larger as they fell.
Beside
him his dear compatriot, Abdullah Smith, prostrated himself, burying his head
in his hands. To Rayford, Smitty represented everyone he was responsible for-the
entire Tribulation Force around the world. Some were in Chicago, some in Greece,
some with him in Petra. One was in New Babylon. And as the Jordanian groaned
and leaned into him, Rayford felt Abdullah shuddering.
Rayford was scared too. He wouldn't have denied it. Where
was the faith that should have come from seeing God, so many times, deliver
him from death? It wasn't that he doubted God. But something deep within-his
survival instinct, he assumed-told him he was about to die.
For most people, doubt was long gone by now . . . there were
few skeptics anymore. If someone were not a Christ follower by now, probably
he had chosen to oppose God.
Rayford had no fear of death itself or of the afterlife. Providing
heaven for his people was a small feat for the God who now manifested himself
miraculously every day. It was the dying part Rayford dreaded. For while his
God had protected him up to now and promised eternal life when death came, he
had not spared Rayford injury and pain. What would it be like to fall victim
to the warheads?
Quick, that was sure. Rayford knew enough about Nicolae Carpathia
to know the man would not cut corners now. While one bomb could easily destroy
the million people who-all but Rayford, it seemed-tucked their heads as close
to between their legs as they were able, two bombs would vaporize them. Would
the flashes blind him? Would he hear the explosions? feel the heat? be aware
of his body disintegrating into bits?
Whatever happened, Carpathia would turn it into political
capital. He might not televise the million unarmed souls, showing their backsides
to the Global Community as the bombs hurtled in. But he would show the impact,
the blasts, the fire, the smoke, the desolation. He would illustrate the futility
of opposing the new world order.
Rayford's mind argued against his instincts. Dr. Ben-Judah
believed they were safe, that this was a city of refuge, the place God had promised.
And yet Rayford had lost a man here just days before. On the other hand, the
ground attack by the GC had been miraculously thwarted at the last instant.
Why couldn't Rayford rest in that, trust, believe, have confidence?
Because he knew warheads. And as these dropped, parachutes puffed
from each, slowing them and allowing them to drop simultaneously straight down
toward the assembled masses. Rayford's heart sank when he saw the black pole attached
to noses of the bombs. The GC had left nothing to chance. Just over four feet
long, as soon as those stand-off probes touched the ground they would trip the
fuses, causing the bombs to explode above the surface.
Rayford's first inkling
was that he was in hell. Had he been wrong? Had it all been for naught? Had
he been killed and missed heaven in spite of it all?
He was unaware of separate explosions. The bombs had caused
such a blinding flash that even with his eyes involuntarily pressed shut as
tightly as his facial muscles would allow, the sheer brilliant whiteness seemed
to fill Rayford's entire skull. It was as if the glare filled him and then shone
from him, and he grimaced against the sound and heat that had to follow. Surely
he would be blown into the others and finally obliterated.
The resounding boom sent a shock wave of its own, but Rayford
did not topple, and he heard no rocks falling, no mountainous formations crashing.
He instinctively thrust out his hands to steady himself, but that proved unnecessary.
He heard ten thousand wails and moans and shrieks, but his own throat was constricted.
Even with his eyes closed, the whiteness was replaced by orange and red and
black, and now, oh, the stench of fire and metal and oil and rock! Rayford forced
himself to open his eyes, and as the thunderous roar echoed throughout Petra
he realized he was ablaze. He lifted his robed arms before his face, at least
temporarily unaware of the searing heat. He knew his robe, then flesh, then
bone would be consumed within seconds.
Rayford could not see far in the raging firestorm, but every
huddled pilgrim around him was also ablaze. Abdullah rolled to one side and
lay in a fetal position, his face and head still cocooned in his arms. White,
yellow, orange, black roaring flames engulfed him as if he were a human wick
for a demonic holocaust.
It was four in the
morning in Chicago, and Buck sat before the television. Leah and Albie joined
him, Zeke having gone to collect Enoch. "Where's Ming?" Buck said.
"With the baby," Leah said.
"What do you make of this?" Albie said, staring at the screen.
Buck shook his head. "I just wish I was there."
"Me too," Albie said. "I feel like a coward, a traitor."
"We missed something," Buck said. "We all missed something."
He kept trying to call Chloe, only imagining what she was going through. No
answer.
"Do you believe this guy?" Leah said. "It's not enough to
massacre a million people and destroy one of the most beautiful cities in the
world. He's chasing it with a missile."
Buck thought Leah's voice sounded tight. And why not? She
had to be thinking what he was thinking, that they had not only lost their leadership
and seen a million people incinerated, but that everything they thought they
knew was out the window.
"Get Ming, would you?" he said. "Tell her to let Kenny sleep."
Leah hurried out as Zeke and Enoch walked in. Zeke plopped
onto the floor, but Enoch stood fidgeting. "I can't stay long, Buck," he said.
"My people are pretty shaken."
Buck nodded. "Let's all get together at daybreak."
"And-?" Enoch said.
"And I don't know what. Pray, I guess."
"We've been praying," Albie said. "It's time to reload."
As the Tribulation
Force in Chicago watched, the fighter-bomber pilot acknowledged to GC command
that he had a visual on the missile originating from Amman. And from the right
side of the screen came the thick, white plume trailing the winding projectile
as it approached the flame and smoke rising from Petra.
The missile dived out of sight into the blackness, and seconds
later yet another explosion erupted, blowing even wider the fire that seemed
to own the mountainous region.
Please Note: This excerpt
from Chapter One of The Remnant
by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins is a copyright of Tyndale House Publishers
and is intended solely for use on FamilyChristian.com. Any reproduction (print,
electronic or by any other means) of this excerpt from The
Remnant without prior written permission from Tyndale House
Publishers is a violation of applicable copyright law.
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