“I know,” Ryan muttered, and he stopped talking. Judd was afraid he had scared Ryan off.
“I’m just saying,” Judd said, “no matter how good or bad we are, no matter how much our good outweighs our bad, the whole point is that we fall short. We all need to be forgiven. That’s what it means to be saved.”
“So I’m not saved because I wasn’t really a sinner? I mean, I guess I was a sinner the way everybody’s a sinner, but because I didn’t see myself that way?”
“How do you see yourself now?” Judd asked.
“Saved.”
“From what?”
“Hell.”
“But not from your sins?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I’m telling you, man,” Judd said. “We’re all still sinners. But we’re saved from our sins. Unless you’re perfect—”
“I know I’m not perfect. But I was never that bad a guy.”
“I was a bad person,” Vicki said. “But my dad always said it was the people who don’t see themselves as that bad who are the last ones to realize they need God.”
“I knew I needed God because I didn’t want to die and go to hell,” Ryan said.
“And you would have gone to hell even as good a guy as you were, right?”
“’Course.”
Judd thought Ryan was actually getting it. He would leave Ryan’s training to Bruce. Judd knew he himself had much to learn. He and Lionel were the only two of these four who had been raised in church and had heard it all before. But now, with new eyes and new understanding, and—needless to say—a whole new life situation, he still felt like a baby when it came to the Bible and stuff about God. He could only assume Lionel felt the same way.
It was as if Judd couldn’t get enough of what Bruce had to teach, and he couldn’t wait to see what Bruce would talk about that morning. He had to park several blocks from the church, though they arrived several minutes before ten o’clock. The church was packed. Lots of people looked desperate and scared.
The four kids found the last seats together in the balcony. Chairs were set up on either side of the center aisle right next to the pews, and hundreds of people stood in the back.
Right at ten o’clock, Bruce began. The big pulpit on the platform was empty, and no lights shone up there. Bruce had placed a microphone stand in front of the first pew and spoke from there, holding his Bible and notes.
“Normally we at this church would be thrilled to see a crowd like this,” he said. “But I’m not about to tell you how great it is to see you here. I know you’re here seeking to know what happened to your children and loved ones, and I believe I have the answer. Obviously, I didn’t have it before, or I too would be gone.”
Bruce then told the same story he had told the kids, and his voice was the only sound in the place. Many wept as he spoke of his wife and children disappearing right from their beds. He showed the videotape the senior pastor had left, and more than a hundred people prayed along with the prayer at the end. Bruce urged them and anyone else who was interested to begin coming to New Hope.
He added, “I know many of you may still be skeptical. You may believe what happened was of God, but you still don’t like it and you resent him for it. If you would like to come back and ask questions this evening, I will be here. Rest assured, we will be open to any honest question.
“I do want to open the floor to anyone who received Christ this morning and would like to confess it before us. The Bible tells us to do that, to make known our decision and our stand.”
Judd leaned forward and peered down to the main part of the sanctuary, where the first to move was a tall, dark man, quickly followed to the microphone by dozens of others. “That’s Raymie’s dad!” Ryan whispered loudly.
The man introduced himself as Rayford Steele, an airline pilot, and Judd was captivated. As Rayford Steele told his story, of people disappearing off his plane over the Atlantic in the middle of the night on a flight to London, Judd’s mouth dropped open. He had been on that very plane.
Most of the stories were the same as Captain Steele’s. These people all seemed to have been on the edge of the truth because someone had warned them, but they had never fully accepted the truth about Christ.
Their stories were moving, and hardly anyone left, even when the clock swept past noon and forty or fifty more still stood in line. All seemed to need to tell of the ones who had been taken. Judd felt the same need, but he knew it would be a long, long time, even if he could get down to the main floor and get in line. Instead, he just listened.
At two o’clock, Judd’s stomach was growling. Bruce finally interrupted, apologizing for having to bring the service to a close and teaching a simple chorus. Judd found himself overcome with emotion as he thought of the years when he had not enjoyed church at all. For how long had he ignored God, and how many times did he simply not sing when the congregation expressed its love for Christ? Now he sang through his tears, never meaning anything more in his life. And never did he miss his family as much as right then.
Judd and the other three returned that evening for the meeting of people who were still skeptical or had questions. Though he was no longer a skeptic, he sure had lots of questions. He was sure he would learn something. Many of the people were angry, wondering why God did things the way he did them. Bruce told them he wouldn’t begin to try to explain God or speak for him, but that he was convinced God had given everyone ample opportunity to have been ready for the Rapture.
Others had question after question, and what Bruce couldn’t answer from his education and recent reading, he promised to study and report back on later. Bruce concluded the long evening meeting by urging everyone present who had not made a decision for Christ to not put it off. “We never know what the next day, the next hour, the next moment may bring. I confess I never liked preachers saying that, trying to scare people into becoming believers by convincing them they were about to walk in front of a bus. But in this day and in this situation, people are dying all over the place. People you know. People you love. Captain Rayford Steele, who told his own story this morning, got some news from one of his flight attendants today that I have asked him to share this evening, just to illustrate this point.”
When Captain Steele stepped to the microphone, he admitted that his story was about a man he did not even remember. “He was on my flight to London, the one during which so many passengers disappeared right out of their clothes. His name was Cameron Williams, and he was a writer for Global Weekly magazine.”
Judd flinched. He remembered that guy. He had been the one who had helped the old man with his luggage in first class, and then had gone off looking for the man when his wife discovered only his clothes in the seat beside her. He was also the first one to jump down the evacuation chute when the plane had landed. He had flipped over forward and done a somersault, scraping the back of his head.
“I found out today that he eventually made it to London, but that he was killed in a car bombing.”
Judd shook his head. When would this end? People he knew and loved, people he had met or simply seen across the aisle on a plane—all dead. For whatever problems he had with his parents and his younger brother and sister, his life was tame compared to what the world had become. Who could keep up with it?
Captain Steele begged people to not wait. “You may have more questions,” he said. “Ask them. Don’t make a decision as important as this one without knowing for sure that you can believe with all your heart. But once your questions have been answered, don’t risk your life and your afterlife by thinking you have all the time in the world. You don’t.”
The next day Vicki asked Judd to pick up a copy of USA Today. “I was sure never a news junkie before,” she said. “But now I’m reading, watching, listening to everything. I want to know what’s going on, who’s who, and what’s what. We have to be on the lookout for the Antichrist so we don’t get fooled like so many people will.”
Back at the house Vicki sat rea
ding the paper while the television droned on. Every channel still carried news and emergency bulletins. No one complained that regular programming had not returned and likely wouldn’t for a long time. The world was in chaos, and that was all anyone seemed to care about.
“Magazine Writer Assumed Dead,” the USA Today headline read. “Cameron Williams, 30, the youngest senior writer of the staff of any weekly newsmagazine, is feared dead after a mysterious car bombing outside a London pub Saturday night that took the life of a Scotland Yard investigator.”
“Judd!” Vicki called. “You’ll want to see this.”
Judd read the whole story over her shoulder. “Man, I can still hardly believe it. I sat right near that guy on the plane.”
Ryan watched the news on television. Lionel was also in the room, but he was not watching. He was pacing, mumbling about finding his uncle André if it was the last thing he ever did. He ignored Judd and Vicki’s talk about the dead writer. Judd noticed Lionel perk up, however, when the news shifted to the United Nations headquarters in New York.
“Even the press remains stunned this evening at the performance of Romanian President Nicolae Carpathia at the General Assembly of the United Nations,” the news anchor said. “Just before Carpathia was scheduled to appear, the media was shocked to learn that Cameron ‘Buck’ Williams of Global Weekly was in attendance. Watch closely and you can see him, there, as the camera pans the press gallery. Williams had been thought dead in a car bombing in London last night. Investigation continues into his involvement in that scene, but as you can see, he is safe and sound now.”
“What is this?” Judd said, his hand atop his head. “I can’t keep up with everything! So now he’s not dead?”
“Shh!” Vicki said. “Look at this guy!”
CNN was replaying the afternoon appearance at the UN of Nicolae Carpathia. He entered the assembly with a half dozen aides. He stood tall and dignified, yet he didn’t seem cocky. He appeared an inch or two over six feet tall, broad shouldered, thick chested, trim, athletic, tanned, and blond. His shock of hair was trimmed neatly around the ears, sideburns, and neck, and he wore a navy blue business suit with a matching tie.
Even on television, the man seemed to carry himself with a sense of humility and purpose. He dominated the room, and yet he did not seem impressed with himself. His jaw and nose were broad and prominent, and his blue eyes were set deep under thick brows.
First to speak was UN Secretary-General Mwangati Ngumo of Botswana. He announced that the assemblage was privileged to hear from the new president of Romania and that an Israeli dignitary would formally introduce him. A little old man with a heavy accent introduced Carpathia as “a young man I respect and admire as much as anyone I’ve ever met.”
With courtly manners, Carpathia remained at the side of the lectern until the older man was seated, then stood relaxed and smiling before speaking without notes. Judd was astounded to notice that he never hesitated, misspoke, or took his eyes off his audience.
Judd was impressed that Carpathia spoke earnestly and with passion. He mentioned that he was aware that it had not been a full week yet since the disappearance of millions all over the world, including many who would have been “in this very room.” Carpathia spoke in perfect English with only a hint of a Romanian accent. Occasionally he used one of the nine languages in which he was fluent, each time translating himself into English. He was articulate, carefully enunciating every syllable.
Judd realized how strange it was that he was watching news like this. He would have cared nothing for this kind of thing a week before. Now he was fascinated. Here was a man with confidence and maybe some answers. He sure seemed like a great guy.
Carpathia began by announcing that he was humbled and moved to visit “for the first time this historic site, where nation after nation has set its sights. One by one they have come from all over the globe on pilgrimages as sacred as any to the Holy Lands, exposing their faces to the heat of the rising sun. Here they have taken their stand for peace in a once-and-for-all, rock-solid commitment to putting behind them the insanity of war and bloodshed. These nations, great and small, have had their fill of the death and maiming of their most promising citizens in the prime of their youth.
“From lands distant and near they have come: from Afghanistan, Albania, Algeria. . . .” He continued, his voice rising and falling dramatically with the careful pronunciation of the name of each member country of the United Nations. Judd heard a passion in his voice, a love for these countries and the ideals of the UN. Carpathia was clearly moved as he plunged on, listing country by country in alphabetical order by memory.
Judd noticed the other three kids were as riveted by this as he was. At the UN, people began standing and clapping with the mention of each new country name. More than five minutes into the recitation, Carpathia had not missed a beat. He had never once hesitated, stammered, or mispronounced a syllable. When he got to the U’s and came to “The United States of America,” Judd applauded, Vicki smacked her hands together once, Lionel raised a fist, and Ryan said, “Yes!”
By the end of his list of nearly two hundred nations, Nicolae Carpathia was at an emotional, fevered pitch. Delegates and even the press stood and cheered. The tape ended and TV viewers were switched back to CNN news where the anchorman sat shaking his head in amazement. “Talk about a man taking a city by storm,” he said. “They’re already calling him Saint Nick, and he’s the toast of New York.”
“The Antichrist, whoever he is, will have to face this guy sometime,” Vicki said. “I’d like to see that.”
“Me too,” Judd said. “Wonder how he missed the Rapture. He sure seems like a Christian.”
“I never cared about politics before,” Lionel said. “But this man is something else. Just hearing him makes me want to find my uncle, and right now.”
“I’ll help,” Ryan said.
“We all will,” Judd said.
FIVE
Finding André
LIONEL Washington didn’t really want everyone else’s help, and he told them that. “Talia is André’s old fiancée. I didn’t know they were back together, but if they are, maybe she’ll tell me something.”
“You don’t want us to go with you?” Judd asked. “I could drive you.”
“I’m going to ride my bike. You guys don’t need to get in trouble with these people.”
“Why don’t you go during the day?” Vicki said.
“Yeah,” Judd said. “It’s dark. How do we know when to come looking for you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t even say that,” Vicki said. “You heard what almost happened to Ryan.”
“If we don’t hear from you by eleven,” Judd said, “we’ll come after you.”
“I have no idea where I’ll be. André’s not going to be at my house.”
“What are we supposed to do if we don’t hear from you?”
“I’ll be fine, all right?”
“No,” Judd said. “We agreed to look out for each other. We’re going to have to follow you, that’s all.”
“I don’t like this,” Lionel said.
“You won’t even see us,” Judd said. “We’ll worry about you, but you won’t have to worry about us. Now get going.”
Lionel jogged out to his bike and rode directly home. Judd had been right. Lionel was not aware of Judd following him. He was still certain he would be safe, but it did make him feel better to know that the others cared about him.
Lights were on, but no cars were in the driveway. Who was there? Lionel stepped to the door and raised his hand to knock, suddenly realizing how silly that was. This is my own house, he thought. He walked in and went straight upstairs to his room. He heard quick footsteps from a back room downstairs. They came across the hardwood floors in the living room, into the dining room, and up the stairs.
“LeRoy?” Talia called out. “I didn’t see you guys pull in.”
Lionel stepped into the hall and could tell he h
ad startled her. “Hey, Talia,” he said simply. “I need you to take me to André.”
“Yeah, right,” she said. “Like I know where he is.”
“I know you know where he is,” Lionel said. “And if you don’t take me to him, he’s going to be upset.”
“I heard he was dead,” she said.
“Cut the baloney,” Lionel said. “We both know you chased off a friend of mine today. He heard you talking to André on the phone, and it was obvious he was worried about me.”
“If I hear from him,” she said, “I’ll tell him you’re fine.”
“Is there a car in the garage?”
She hesitated. “No. There’s not. Why?”
Lionel sensed she was lying. “I know there is,” he said. “C’mon and take me.”
“That’s LeRoy’s two-seat roadster. He’ll kill me if I take it.”
“You’re not takin’ it,” Lionel said. “You’re borrowing it. You’ll probably be back before LeRoy is.”
Talia appeared to be thinking it over. “I wouldn’t mind seein’ André myself,” she said. “LeRoy and them haven’t been getting back before one or two in the morning the last coupla nights anyway.”
“Let’s go,” Lionel said.
“I’d better call him first.”
“Who? LeRoy?”
“No! André!”
“We both know he’s hiding out. He’s not going anywhere.”
“You think of everything, you little brat. And there’s no way you’re only thirteen.”
Lionel ignored her, taking both comments as compliments.
The roadster was a cool car, Lionel thought, and had it not been for the disappearances of his family and the danger in which he now found himself, he might have been impressed enough to really check it out. He had been interested in unusual cars since he was a small child. But now this was just a way to get to André. Something to ride in.
Through the Flames Page 4