Apocalypse Crucible

by Mel Odom

  Megan could feel her temper straining against the tight hold she was keeping on it. She wasn’t rested and she already felt guilty. The handling she’d received during the investigation by the provost marshal’s office, and then being kept under guard by MPs at the hospital, hadn’t exactly been positive experiences.

  “Why were you planning on talking to me?” Megan asked.

  Trimble blinked. He put his hands together, rested his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. The move was an attempt to threaten to invade Megan’s personal space, and she knew it.

  Stubbornly, liking the chaplain less and less with each passing moment, Megan held her ground. Having her personal space invaded was hard on her. She liked having her boundaries. But that invasion technique was one of the first things people in command were taught. She had seen Goose do it with recalcitrant soldiers, but he had never done anything like that to her or the kids. However, when she had conferences with parents of troubled teens, the maneuver was one of the first things men tried to pull during a heated confrontation.

  “As a friend and colleague, I would hope,” Trimble said.

  Hope all you want, Megan thought, but I can’t see it happening. But she kept from saying that. She needed him to be on her side at least long enough to understand what she was going to say.

  “You’ve had a rotten few days,” Trimble said. “I understand you had a daughter who is one of those missing.”

  Megan forced the answer out. “A son, actually. Chris.”

  “Of course. Pardon me. There’s just been so much going on.” Evidently realizing that his space invasion wasn’t going to work, Trimble leaned back in his seat again. “In addition to your own personal worries about your family, there was the debacle with the Fletcher boy—”

  “Gerry,” Megan said, wanting the man to at least know the names of the people he wanted to use against her.

  Trimble picked up a pencil and tapped it irritably against the legal pad. “His father—”

  “Private First Class Boyd Fletcher.”

  “—has chosen to pursue charges for dereliction of duty because you didn’t inform his wife or him that the boy was in the hospital.”

  “Boyd Fletcher was the reason his son was in the hospital. He physically abused Gerry on a number of occasions. He’d done it before, and he did it that night.”

  Trimble frowned. “And how do you know this, Mrs. Gander?”

  “Gerry told me.”

  “Before he disappeared?”

  “Yes. That night.”

  Trimble sighed. “The problem is that Gerry Fletcher is no longer available to witness to that. He has disappeared. As has Helen Cordell, whom you contend could have supported your claims against Boyd Fletcher.”

  “Helen called me in to handle Gerry. She knew he was one of the kids I counseled on a regular basis.”

  “Well, Boyd Fletcher tells a completely different story. A plausible one, I might add.” Shifting in the chair, Trimble placed the pencil precisely on the pad. “I’m afraid we’re going nowhere with this conversation.” “This isn’t the conversation I came here to have,” Megan replied.

  “Then why did you come, Mrs. Gander?”

  “I need your help.”

  Trimble’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “We appear to be at an impasse here, because—quite frankly—I see merit in the accusation Private Fletcher and his wife are making about you and their son.”

  “I want to talk about a different matter,” Megan said. “Before we end up with more problems.”

  “More problems? We’ve got a hostile city right outside our gate, hundreds of soldiers missing from this post, and confusion raining down from the White House. How could we possibly have even more problems?”

  “There are dozens of scared kids at this post, Chaplain.”

  Trimble cut in smoothly. “I’m well aware of that. There are also a number of concerned adults.”

  Megan thought for a moment, then decided on a different tactic. She needed Trimble on her side. He had the authority to put some kind of plan together. He could help put things back together. If she couldn’t negotiate him past his negative feelings toward her, she needed to at least sidestep them.

  “Why do you think all those people vanished?” Megan asked.

  After a brief, telling hesitation, Trimble said, “I don’t know. And I don’t think anyone else does yet. Obviously there’s some kind of new superweapon that we’ve not seen the likes of in play.”

  “Why couldn’t it be something else? Something that we’ve known was coming but that we are now afraid or reluctant to admit has happened. Or we’re in denial about it.”

  Trimble shook his head. “Mrs. Gander, I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about, nor do I have time to waste trying to get you to simply say what is on your mind. I suggest that—”

  Megan reached into her briefcase as Trimble spoke. She took out the book on the end times that Bill had left at her house and Jenny had read.

  “I’m talking about the Rapture,” Megan said, putting the book on his desk. “I’m talking about the end of the world as we know it. And that’s exactly what has happened here.”

  Trimble eyed the book but made no move to reach for it.

  “I’m sorry,” Megan said, realizing the mistake she might have inadvertently made. “I don’t know your faith. Maybe you don’t—”

  “Oh, come on, Mrs. Gander. I’m a military chaplain. I have a doctorate in divinity from Harvard. Of course I am a Christian,” Trimble declared. “Born and bred. I know all about the Rapture. I’ve written theses on the subject. I daresay I can guarantee that I know more about the subject than you do after reading a book and being inspired by the events of the last few days.” With a forefinger, he pushed the book back toward her. “I’m also quite familiar with this book.”

  “You don’t believe that the church will be raptured before the time of the Tribulation?”

  “Of course I do.” Trimble settled back in his chair. “Father Kearny and Rabbi Smalls may be of a different opinion in the matter, seeing as how the Catholic and Jewish beliefs don’t reconcile a rapture with the Tribulation in their versions of God’s Word. I believe there will be the Rapture. But this is not it.”

  “Given everything that’s happened, how can you say that?”

  Trimble frowned. “If the Rapture had occurred, Mrs. Gander, let me assure you that I would have known.”

  Then the unspoken truth in Trimble’s reasoning became crystal clear in Megan’s mind, as if someone had suddenly opened the curtains to let the sun in. And Megan felt she knew where that sudden understanding had come from. All at once, she didn’t feel quite so intimidated by this man.

  “You don’t believe the Rapture occurred because you’re still here,” she said.

  A scowled turned the corners of Trimble’s mouth down and darkened his eyes. “Be careful what you say, Mrs. Gander.”

  Megan thought furiously. “Did you know many of the people who disappeared?”

  “Several of them, as a matter of fact.”

  “What kind of people were they?”

  “Mrs. Gander—”

  “Are you afraid to answer the question, Chaplain?” Megan knew she’d skated perilously close to the edge. She’d already raised Trimble’s ire. She knew she might just take him past his breaking point. But the truths tumbling from her mouth felt like they were coming from somewhere outside of herself. It was like someone—or Someone—was putting words in her mouth and she had to say them.

  Trimble didn’t speak.

  “My friends who disappeared,” Megan said, “were all Christians. Devout, loving Christians who held God close in their hearts all the time. They were people who believed in God, who believed that Jesus would be back for them, and who had none of the faith conflicts that I carry with me.” She paused. “My devoutly Christian friends, the ones who trusted God to guide their lives, are gone. And the children, of course—the innocents. Whenever I talk to others about
relatives and friends they’ve lost, I keep getting the same descriptions. The missing are innocents and people who believed. People who really believed.” She pinned the chaplain with her gaze. “Have you heard of anyone being taken who didn’t meet that description?”

  “Mrs. Gander, I don’t think you—”

  “That was a yes-or-no question,” Megan said. Again, it was as though someone else were talking through her. A feeling of righteousness pervaded her. For the moment she felt entirely vindicated in her approach to this man and in the tenacity with which she clung to it.

  “What do you want from me, Mrs. Gander?”

  “I want you to teach the children,” Megan said.

  Her answer surprised Trimble so much that he was quiet for a time. “Teach them what?”

  “About the Rapture and the Tribulation,” Megan replied. “I want you to tell them about the rise of the Antichrist and about the seven years—of course, it’s a few days less than that now—that will pass before Jesus returns to gather those who have reconciled their belief in Him. They need to know what’s going to happen, how they’re supposed to survive, and what they’re supposed to do to serve God.”

  Trimble heaved a great sigh. “Do you know what would happen if I were to announce publicly that the Rapture had occurred?”

  “Yes, I do. People would have some of the answers they need to make plans for the future. And they’d have a motive to discover the rest of those answers.”

  “Really? You think that’s what would happen?”

  “Yes.”

  Leaning forward again, Trimble placed his elbows on the desk and fitted his hands together in front of him. He spoke in a low voice. “Mrs. Gander, the Rapture has occurred.”

  Despite the chaplain’s compliance, Megan was wary. The man’s eyes were hard as flint.

  “The Rapture has occurred,” Trimble repeated. “Your son was taken from you by God. He’s up in heaven now. And you’re not.”

  Before she knew it, Megan was crying. The man was right. Tears ran down her face. Her lips quivered and her jaw shook. She tried to control the pain that coiled inside her. She felt all alone now, shorn of the Presence that had so recently seemed to fill her. She had been left behind. God had found her wanting.

  “Don’t you feel better knowing that, Mrs. Gander?” Trimble asked in a voice that made a travesty of any real sympathy on his part.

  Megan didn’t know what to say.

  “Come on now, Mrs. Gander. As you told me, that’s a simple yes-or-no question. Don’t you feel better knowing that God took your son away from you and lifted him on high to heaven? That you failed Him somehow and got stranded here to face the Tribulation?

  No, Megan admitted to herself. It was all she could do to keep from screaming that answer. The emotions she’d had bottled up inside threatened to break loose.

  “What’s wrong, Mrs. Gander?” Trimble asked. He was relentless in his attack. “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear? Isn’t that what you want me to tell all those children who have lost parents and younger siblings? Isn’t that what you’re asking me to tell other parents like yourself, parents who have suffered losses? Isn’t that going to make everything all better for them?”

  Megan closed her eyes to the man’s cruel face. She wished she could block out his words as well as the sight of him.

  “You want to know what will happen if I start telling people that?” Trimble asked. “Aside from the fact that I’ll be relieved of my command pending a psychological evaluation?”

  Megan wrapped her arms around herself and felt hopeless.

  “People,” Trimble stated in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, “will turn away from God in droves. Whatever chance I or any other man of God would have had of instructing them in the salvation of their souls would be exhausted. Quite possibly forever.”

  Trembling, her hand to her mouth because she was afraid she was going to throw up, Megan forced her eyes open to meet the chaplain’s harsh gaze. Tears blurred her vision.

  “One of the first things those people are going to feel,” Trimble said, “is betrayal. ‘Why did God leave me behind?’ they’ll want to know. ‘Wasn’t I good enough for God?’ Or, ‘Why did God have to take my child?’ or ‘my spouse, or my parents, or my friend?’”

  Megan grew scared and the pain in her heart threatened to consume her. She hadn’t expected Chaplain Trimble to attack her with the truth, to pound her using the exact words she’d hoped he would say.

  “Your son is gone, Mrs. Gander. If the Rapture truly has happened, you have no chance of seeing him again. Not as the child you knew. He will be changed in the eyes of the Lord. He will be in his new body. He will no longer truly be your son.” Trimble was quiet for a moment. “That’s what you’re asking me to tell those kids you’re so worried about.” He paused. “I won’t do that.”

  Megan struggled for control. She didn’t know how everything could have skidded so far out of her control. She didn’t know how she could lose everything. Or even why she was picked to lose it all. She hadn’t been a bad person. She didn’t deserve to still be here.

  “I don’t mean to sound rude or callous, Mrs. Gander,” Trimble said, picking up his pencil and turning his attention to the legal pad on his desk. “It’s just that I’m a very busy man. I made time to see you this morning because I thought I could help you. Obviously your problems are beyond my ability to deal with. I suggest you seek emotional help to learn to cope with everything you’re going through.” He paused. “The mistakes you made in the Fletcher and Hollister cases are indicative of how far you’ve let your grasp of your abilities become eroded.” He flicked his eyes up to meet hers. “I just want you to know that I’m going to recommend that you be temporarily relieved of your job assignment. Until you get yourself together. I really feel you need some time to work on your own problems. I hope one day you’ll thank me for that.” He glanced down again at his desk, making notations on the legal pad. “Please find your own way out.”

  Dismissed, not knowing what else to do, Megan stood on legs that trembled so badly she knew they weren’t going to hold her. Finally, without a word, she turned and walked away from the big desk.

  She paused at the door and took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself. God, please help me know what to do. Give me the wisdom and the strength to do whatever it is. I’ve got nothing left. No energy, no hope. All I’ve got are these tears. I give myself to You because I no longer know what I’m supposed to do. You are my Savior. Help me. Whatever You need from me is Yours.

  Megan had her hand on the doorknob when a calm suddenly fell upon her. She felt the Spirit of the Lord fill her. The difference in her was like the difference between a summer day and a winter night. The pain in her heart healed and her weak knees strengthened. She was not alone in facing Trimble. She knew she’d never be all alone again.

  And in that moment she experienced a clearer understanding of what had just happened. Not only that, she knew what God wanted her to do. And she would do it. She let go of the knob and walked back to Trimble’s desk.

  Surprise twisted Trimble’s features as he looked up and saw her coming toward him.

  “No,” Megan said defiantly. She wiped her tears. She no longer felt the need to cry. “You tried to make this all about me, Chaplain Trimble. You don’t even care about the other people I want to help. But I know why. And so does the God you profess to believe in. Your answer came from all the fear inside you.”

  “How dare you!” Trimble exclaimed. “How dare you say that to me?”

  “When you said other people would wonder why they were left behind,” Megan said, “you were referring to yourself. You want to know why you were left behind. You don’t want to admit that the Rapture has happened. You are the one in denial. I wasn’t taken, but I’m not alone in this room. You weren’t taken either. And you just can’t handle it.”

  Trimble looked apoplectic. “Mrs. Gander—”

  “Don’t speak,” Megan told him. “Don�
��t you dare interrupt me until I’m through, not after what you did to me just now. I failed God, yes. I could never let Him into my heart, not the way I should have. I was too proud, too sure of myself, too afraid. But I know I failed Him. And I know that the way back to Jesus is as simple as asking Him into my heart and life. And then listening to Him once I’ve asked Him to enter. I opened that door. Have you? ”

  Trimble opened his mouth then closed it.

  “You used my son’s loss against me,” Megan said. Once again words tumbled from her mouth like gifts from God. “You threatened me with the idea that I would never see him again. His name is Chris, Chaplain Trimble. Chris Gander. And I know I will meet him again.

  He’s there in heaven now, waiting for me, and I will find out all I need to know to get my faith where it needs to be. I will find God’s plan for my soul. God keeps His promises. I’ve prayed for His grace to save me. I won’t be left behind again. Will you?”

  Trimble stood, towering over her.

  Megan leaned across the desk and invaded the chaplain’s personal space, making the man back into the bookcase behind him. “I have an older son. He’s no longer a baby. I watched him grow up, and I felt the loss of the small child that I held in my arms, that I fed and sang silly songs to, that I taught to brush his teeth and read and play basketball. Every day of his life, he changed. He’s no longer the baby that I can remember so easily. He’s a young man. And you know what?”

  Trimble didn’t say anything, held at bay by the conviction in her words.

  “He’s still my baby boy. No matter how much he’s changed, he will always be my child. I love my son,” Megan said. “I love both my sons, even though they’re not the babies I was first given. And I believe I will know them always. In this life briefly, and in the next forever.” She took a breath and stared him down. “You can make a difference, Chaplain Trimble. But it’s up to you to decide to act. I believe that I was put here today to convince you of that.”

  “No,” Trimble said. “The only thing you’ve convinced me of is how desperately you need help.” He pressed the key on the intercom. “Margaret.”