“Things you’ll need. Clothing, mostly. You already know where you’re going. The climate’s pretty much the same as here.”
Sarah looked down at her feet. “Okay...”
“I know this is hard for you, Mrs. Mulrooney. You’ve been through a lot. But we’re all suffering. It is what it is.”
Sarah started weeping.
Realizing he was being insensitive, Rice placed a hand on her right shoulder and gazed at her steadily, “I wish there was something I could say to take away the pain, ma’am, but there are no words except that, as Christ followers, we win in the end.”
Sarah’s sobbing increased.
“You must find a way to rest in this eternal Truth, Sarah. Soon we’ll be comforted in every sense of the word. The future’s so bright. We just need to hang in there a little longer.”
“Thanks, Braxton. I really needed to hear that.”
Me too! Rice found himself getting choked up. The poor woman was so fragile. He wished there was more he could do for her. He cleared his throat and refocused, “When I come back tomorrow to collect the boxes, you’ll have roughly an hour to get your affairs in order. But you must be at the pick-up location on time.”
“And then?”
“You’ll begin life anew.”
Sarah’s lips started trembling. She was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
Braxton Rice sighed, “Are you sure you wanna do this?”
Sarah looked down at the floor, “I don’t want to, I have to.”
“Just checking. I should go now. Last thing you need is nosy neighbors asking your husband questions about me. If I were you, I’d get packing while he’s still at work. Oh, and one more thing: don’t be surprised when you see another woman in the van tomorrow. She’ll be joining us for a few days before going to another safe house down south.”
“Okay.”
“It’s showtime again. Time to play it up for your neighbors.”
They went back outside.
“Thanks again for donating to the less fortunate, ma’am...” Rice smiled brightly, something that didn’t come easy to him. As ETSM top security man, he was forced into total seriousness most of the time.
“You’re welcome, Mister Fuller.” Sarah looked around to see who was eavesdropping on them.
“Be back tomorrow to collect them. I should be in the neighborhood at around noon. Will that work for you?”
Sarah paused to take in her surroundings. Once she left, chances were good she may never see this street or the house she’d lived in for 35 years ever again. It was overwhelming. She nodded yes. “That’ll be fine.”
“Okay, then, see you tomorrow.” The sadness on Sarah’s face was something Braxton Rice had long since grown used to in this position. It wasn’t easy leaving loved ones behind for good. This was especially true with married couples.
Sarah Mulrooney nodded. Missing was the joy most who donated to various good causes projected on their faces. Rice feared she was having second thoughts. This concerned him. But he also understood her situation.
Braxton Rice climbed back in the van and drove off. He spoke into his Satphone, “Call Brian Mulrooney!”
Brian was helping pour cement into the mixer when his phone rang. He removed his face mask. “Hey Braxton, how’d it go?”
“Your mother has the boxes. I’ll pick her up at noon tomorrow. Just hope she doesn’t change her mind.”
“Why do you say that?”
“What I saw in her eyes...”
“She’ll be fine, Braxton. This will be her first time away from my father in thirty-five years. I’m sure she’ll have her moments, but she’ll never compromise the organization. Her conversion’s as real as the dreams she had.”
Rice wanted to say, “How can you be so sure? You nearly did!” Instead he said, “Tell Charles I’m en route to Mary Johnston’s place to drop off boxes.”
“You got it, Braxton. Thanks again.”
“See you tomorrow.” Rice programmed Mary Johnston’s address into his GPS and left for her apartment. This next stop would be so much easier than the first one. Unlike Sarah Mulrooney, Mary Johnston couldn’t wait to leave New York City. With her lease up at the end of the month, she’d already sold or donated most of her things away to co-workers.
Like all other ETSM members, her life had been reduced to just a few suitcases.
After dropping off the boxes, Braxton Rice checked into a hotel and powered down his phone. The only thing on the agenda for the rest of the day was rest. Exhausted as he was, if no one disturbed him, he could probably sleep for three straight days...
BRAXTON RICE, SARAH MULROONEY and Mary Johnston arrived in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania early the next afternoon to a flurry of activity.
As one of the two newest ESTM residents at safe house number one—thus increasing the number to 20—Mary Johnston, the now-former Waldorf-Astoria desk clerk was eager to take her belongings to her temporary cottage, then get busy helping her brothers and sisters in Christ any way that she could.
The adopted woman who’d searched all her life for a stable family environment, without ever finding it, suddenly had it in Pennsylvania. And it was an eternal family at that! Now about to meet her new family for the very first time, she felt so grateful to be part of something special.
But not Sarah Mulrooney. She was totally glum-faced. She quietly sobbed the entire ride from New York to Pennsylvania, thinking about the twenty-page goodbye letter she left on the kitchen table for her husband before leaving the house for the last time. She also left a five-page letter for Chelsea.
Sarah’s heart was torn in so many pieces she was amazed it still worked at all. What devastated her most was knowing how devastated her husband would be when he came home from work in a couple of hours and read the letter.
Would he survive this? She dreaded the thought. She wondered if Chelsea already read hers...
Sarah Mulrooney no longer wanted to be alive. Her mind wasn’t full of suicidal thoughts like it was after the disappearances, but the further the van traveled from the only home she knew as an adult, the more she prayed that God would take her out of this world.
Prior to the disappearances, a disagreement of religion in most circles was just that: a disagreement. Now it was all out war, with the casualties resulting in the separation of millions of families.
For Sarah Mulrooney, this was more difficult to deal with than even the earthquakes.
Brian silently gasped when he saw his mother. She looked even worse than the day he broke her heart in a New York City diner.
Seeing her in this extremely fragile condition, he struggled to put a brave face on. After introducing her to those who weren’t busy doing something, Sarah asked to be excused so she could take a nap.
“Would you like a cottage of your own, Ma, or would you like to stay with us?”
“I don’t care. I just need to be alone for a while.”
Brian gazed deep in his mother’s eyes. He didn’t see much there. “Why don’t you eat something first?”
“I don’t feel much like eating. I just wanna lay down a while.”
Brian grabbed his mother’s belongings and she followed him inside the house and up to the bedroom closest to his and Jacquelyn’s room. “Want me to wake you for dinner?”
“If I get hungry I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll have the rest of your things brought inside so they don’t get lost in the shuffle.”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Ma.”
Sarah lowered her head, looking like the saddest person on the planet, “Love you too, Brian...”
At that, Sarah Mulrooney closed the door and Brian went back outside.
Braxton was right! Perhaps she really was having second thoughts. It pained Brian to see his mother like this. All he could do was cling to the fact that his mother had dreams. She explicitly told him going back home wasn’t part of it.
Then again, even if Sarah Mulrooney wanted to go bac
k to her husband, she wouldn’t be able to. America was just days away from coming under attack.
No one at safe house number one knew it, but everyone would be stranded in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania for quite some time...
42
FIVE DAYS LATER
ROUGHLY NINE MONTHS AFTER the Great Disappearing Act took place, there was much commotion in the coastal town of Chennai, India, a city situated on the lower southeast coast of the second most populated country on Earth.
Prior to the Rapture, Chennai was known by many as the “Detroit of India”, for producing more than one-third of its country’s automobiles. It was also one of India’s largest cultural, economic and educational centers.
Listed by the Quality of Living survey as the safest and healthiest city in India, Chennai had become a huge foreign tourist destination long before people vanished, including all small children in the area.
Just outside the sprawling capital of the Indian State, Tamil Nadu, in a poor fishing village on Chennai Beach, lived Yogesh and Hana Patel. Hana was one of many women hoping to give birth this day.
With a huge international spotlight suddenly glaring down on the Patels, and at the insistence of Salvador Romanero, Hana was taken by limousine to Chennai’s top-rated hospital days before her labor pains even started. Like all other expectant women, the Miracle Maker wanted her placed in the care of the very best doctors and nurses in the area.
After nine long turbulent months, the world longed for good news again, something everyone could rally around and celebrate. It was time to ignore all the craziness, if only for one day, and embrace life again, new life!
To sports fans it was the Super Bowl.
To movie fans it was the Oscars.
With thousands of women about to give birth, maternity wards were on complete lock down, worldwide, making expectant mothers some of the safest individuals on the planet.
Swarms of reporters circled the globe hoping to be the lucky journalist chosen to report the world’s first human birth in just over nine months.
As an added incentive, Salvador Romanero announced that, along with all doctors and nurses responsible for bringing the first child into the world, the journalist and the cameraman reporting the story would also receive bonuses in the amount of $50,000 each.
With that motivation, reporters constantly pressured doctors and nurses to whom they were assigned, peppering them with questions: “Any progress since we last spoke?” “Has the cervix dilated any further?” “Is the patient still okay?”
And on and on they went.
Miriam Goldberg was the lead reporter for the Baby Patel story in Chennai. Goldberg was honored for having been chosen to report this feel-good story among all the turmoil in the world.
With her bank account constantly shrinking, the Middle Eastern journalist hoped against all hope that Salvadora Patel would be the first child born this day. The fifty-thousand-dollar bonus sure would come in handy.
Goldberg had reason to be hopeful. Of the hundreds of women now in labor rooms, only five were mere moments away from giving birth. Hana Patel was one of them. Along with four other women, her cervix was dilated 9.5 centimeters.
One woman was from Beijing, China—although her family had relocated to Tokyo, Japan, as bombs were falling just before the earthquakes leveled the city. Another was from Seattle, Washington. One was from São Paolo, Brazil, and another was from Nigeria, Africa.
Hospital spokespersons caring for the expectant mothers held press conferences of their own. They gushed with pride over being “blessed” to help bring forth new life.
In normal times, the birth of an Indian baby girl would go unnoticed by most. Especially in the case of Salvadora Patel.
Yogesh and Hana Patel were impoverished Indian peasants who mostly kept to themselves. They lived in a two-room shack not far from the Bay of Bengal. It was stacked side-by-side in a long row of shacks, with no space in between them. Most had no front doors, only door frames.
Like most of their neighbors, the Patels covered the entryway of the house with a curtain, allowing for a little privacy. They had no inside bathroom, limited running water and electricity that worked sporadically.
The roof was made out of sun-dried clay, then covered with brown palm branches. Many covered their roofs with large tarpaulins to protect from heavy rains.
It was a luxury the Patels could never afford.
Across the street from them, vendors sold freshly-caught fish, fruits and vegetables each morning in the most undesirable conditions. Some stacked fish on small tables that were nothing more than sawhorses topped with sheets of plywood. Many who sold fruits and vegetables used baskets and crates.
Those who couldn’t afford baskets or tables laid blankets on the cement ground and placed their goods on top of it, as dogs, cats, cows and goats roamed the streets searching for scraps of food to eat.
Locals had long since grown used to the overpowering smell of fish and animal dung that always hung thick in the air. It was all they know. But visitors to this place often wore face masks to keep from gagging or even vomiting.
What looked reminiscent of days long gone to most was commonplace to the Patels. Excluding last November’s global incident—when all young children in their village disappeared—little else had changed over the centuries.
Yogesh Patel worked as a fisherman six-days a week, 52 weeks a year. Hana hand-washed clothing for neighbors whenever she could find work.
Even surrounded by stark poverty living in a dilapidated shack, the Patels were just grateful to have a home. They thanked their many gods every day, knowing others had it so much worse than them.
Everything was about to change for them...
The first woman to give birth would receive $1,000,000 from the global community.
The second woman to give birth would receive $500,000.
The third would receive $250,000.
The next 97 women to give birth would receive $100,000 each.
Each gift would be awarded by an international monetary card, the first of its kind. Even after the contest ended, all women giving birth would receive free hospitalization and a lifetime supply of diapers, compliments of the Global Community.
The Patels were all but assured of winning at least $100,000. But being awarded $1,000,000 would be so much better, because it would leave them more to share with their extended family.
But Yogesh and Hana Patel were even more excited about being first-time parents than they were with winning the money.
Married the day before the disappearances, after what had happened, both were hesitant to bring a child into the world. But after a delegate from their country told the world it was a Christian thing, as lifelong Hindus, their minds were somewhat put at ease.
When Salvador Romanero confirmed he had it on the highest authority—whatever that meant—that children would repopulate the world again, even turning it into a contest of sorts, Yogesh and Hana did all they could to conceive, not knowing Hana was already a few days pregnant at that time.
Both rejoiced when it was later confirmed.
Nine months later the eyes of the world had settled upon them. It was almost too much to absorb.
This was a time to celebrate. Fireworks would once again light up the night sky after a nine-month absence. But not only in cities where children would be born. This was an earth-shattering event and, therefore, needed to be celebrated globally.
Fireworks crews in major cities all over the world had been busy preparing all week, knowing everything had to be ready to go on the day the first child was born.
After a few false alarms, it looked like today would be that day. The fireworks festivities would begin in New Zealand and slowly work itself around the globe, beginning at precisely 9 p.m. in each time zone.
To win a cash prize, the birth had to come naturally. If there was any sign of induced labor, that mother would be disqualified. In short, save for a medical emergency, the child had to enter the
world when it was good and ready, not when doctors thought it was time.
To ensure overall authenticity, cameras were required in all delivery rooms to validate that each child came out naturally. Patient privacy was sacrificed at the altar of global curiosity.
The Patels weren’t thrilled about having a webcam broadcasting the entire birthing process. This was a cherished moment that was supposed to be kept private between husband and wife. Now the whole world was seemingly watching, as if they were all in the delivery room with them.
The Patels could have opted out, but had they done so, they would have been disqualified from the contest.
In the end, it was all about the money...
When Salvador Romanero announced to the world a few months back that women would give birth again, online gambling sites all over the world quickly got involved. Initially, the only bets that could be wagered were on the gender of the first child born, the country of that child’s birth, what day, what time, and so on.
But when names started surfacing of the thousands of women nearing their third trimesters, most of the money wagered from that point forward was on who would be the first to give birth.
The odds for Hana Patel were 6:5. The same odds were given to the four other women who were now pushing and screaming then pushing again, hoping the baby would finally come out, as billions watched and were gripped with anticipation.
Many online sites had all five women on the same screen.
In the next few minutes, three boys would be born and two girls. The parents of two of the boys had already announced their sons would be named, “Salvador”, to honor their great leader. And the parents of the two girls had already announced their daughters would be named, “Salvadora”, for the same reason.
But the parents of the child to be born in Africa refused to name their son, “Salvador.” As lifelong Muslims, they would choose a Muslim name instead.
Thousands of other women were also relatively close to giving birth. Some were married. Most weren’t.
The Countdown Begins Page 29