The Left Behind Collection

by Tim LaHaye

  Rayford told of how he broke his promise to be a regular churchgoer. They’d had fights and Irene had shed tears, but he sensed she had resigned herself to the fact that “at least in this one area, I was a creep who couldn’t be trusted. I was faithful, a good provider, respected in the community. I thought she was living with the rest of it. Anyway, she left me alone about it. She couldn’t have been happy about it, but I told myself she didn’t care. I sure didn’t.

  “When we had Chloe, I turned over a new leaf. I believed I was a new man. Seeing her born convinced me of miracles, forced me to acknowledge God, and made me want to be the best father and husband in history. I made no promises. I just started going back to church with Irene.”

  Rayford explained how he realized that “church wasn’t that bad. Some of the same people we saw at the country club we saw at church. We showed up, gave our money, sang the songs, closed our eyes during the prayers, and listened to the homilies. Every once in a while a sermon or part of one offended me. But I let it slide. Nobody was checking up on me. The same things offended most of our friends. We called it getting our toes stepped on, but it never happened twice in a row.”

  Rayford said he had never stopped to think about heaven or hell. “They didn’t talk much about that. Well, never about hell. Any mention of heaven was that everybody winds up there eventually. I didn’t want to be embarrassed in heaven by having done too many bad things. I compared myself with other guys and figured if they were going to make it, I was too.

  “The thing is, Mac, I was happy. I know people say they feel some void in their lives, but I didn’t. To me, this was life. Funny thing was, Irene talked about feeling empty. I argued with her. Sometimes a lot. I reminded her I was back in church and she hadn’t even had to badger me about it. What more did she want?”

  What Irene wanted, Rayford said, was something more. Something deeper. She had friends who talked about a personal relationship with God, and it intrigued her. “Scared me to death,” Rayford said. “I repeated the phrase so she could hear how wacky it sounded, ‘personal relationship with God’? She said, of all things, ‘Yes. Through his Son, Jesus Christ.’” Rayford shook his head. “Well, I mean, you can imagine how that went down with me.”

  Mac nodded. “I know what I would have thought.”

  Rayford said, “I had just enough religion to make me feel all right. Saying words like God or Jesus Christ out loud, in front of people? That was for pastors and priests and theologians. I resonated with people who said religion was private. Anybody who tried to convince you of something from the Bible or ‘shared his faith’ with you, well, those guys were right-wingers or zealots or fundamentalists or something. I stayed as far away from them as I could.”

  “I know what you mean,” Mac said. “There was always somebody around trying to ‘win souls for Jesus.’”

  Rayford nodded. “Well, fast forward a whole bunch of years. Now we’ve got Rayford Junior. I had the same feeling when he was born as I had with Chloe. And I admit I had always wanted a son. I figured God must be pretty pleased with me to bless me that way. And let me tell you something I’ve told precious few other people, Mac. I was almost unfaithful to Irene while she was pregnant with Raymie. I was drunk, it was at a company Christmas party, and it was stupid. I felt so guilty, not because of God I don’t think, but because of Irene. She didn’t deserve that. But she never suspected, and that made it worse. I knew she loved me. I convinced myself I was the scum of the earth and I made all kinds of bargains with God. Somewhere I had this idea he might punish me. I told him if I could just put this behind me and never do it again, would he please not let our unborn baby die. If anything had been wrong with our baby, I don’t know what I would have done.”

  But the baby had been perfect, Rayford explained. He soon got a promotion and a raise, they moved to a beautiful home in the suburbs, he kept going to church, and he was soon satisfied with his life again.

  “But . . .”

  “But?” Mac said. “What happened then?”

  “Irene switched churches on me,” Rayford said. “You getting hungry?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Are you hungry? It’s coming up on one o’clock.”

  “That’s the storyteller you are? Leave me hanging so you can eat? You ran that all together like Irene’s changing churches should make me hungry.”

  “Point me to a place to eat,” Rayford said. “I’ll get us there.”

  “You’d better.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Rayford spent twenty minutes scaring the life out of himself and Mac. The skill of piloting a chopper may never leave, but with the advance of technology, this took some getting used to. He remembered bulky, sluggish, heavy copters. This one darted like a dragonfly. The control was as responsive as a joystick, and he found himself overcompensating. He banked one way—too hard and too fast—then the other, straightening himself quickly but then rolling the other way.

  “I’m about to barf!” Mac shouted.

  “Not in my chopper, you’re not!” Rayford said.

  He put the helicopter down four times, the second time much too hard. “That won’t happen again,” he promised. As he took off for the last time, he said, “I’ve got it now. This should be easy to keep straight and steady.”

  “It is for me,” Mac said. “You want to go all the way to Albie’s?”

  “You mean put down at an airport, in front of people?”

  “A baptism of fire.” Mac plotted their bearings. “Keep her set right there, and we could snooze till we see the tower at Al Basrah. Line her up, let her go, and tell me about Irene’s new church.”

  Rayford spent the trip finishing his story. He told how Irene’s frustration with finding nothing deep or meaty or personal at their church gave him an excuse to start going only sporadically himself. When she called him on it, he reminded her that she wasn’t happy there either. “When I pretty much stopped going altogether, she started church shopping. She met a couple of women she really liked at a church she didn’t care so much for, but they invited her to a women’s Bible study. That’s where she heard something about God she had never known was in the Bible. She found out where the speaker went to church, started going there, and eventually dragged me along.”

  “What was it she heard?”

  “I’m getting to it.”

  “Don’t stall.”

  Rayford checked his instruments to make sure the engines were still operating in the green arcs.

  “I mean don’t stall your story,” Mac said.

  “Well, I didn’t understand the new message myself,” Rayford said. “In fact, I never really got it until after she was gone. The church was different all right. It made me uncomfortable. When people didn’t see me around, they had to figure I was working. When I did show up, people asked me about work, and I just kept smiling and telling them how wonderful life was. But even when I was home I went only about half the time. My daughter, Chloe, was a teenager by then, and she picked up on that. If Dad didn’t have to go, she didn’t have to go.”

  “Irene, however, really loved the new church. She made me nervous when she started talking about sin and salvation and forgiveness and the blood of Christ and winning souls. She said she had received Christ and been born again. She was pushing me, but I would have none of that. It sounded weird. Like a cult. The people seemed all right, but I was sure I was going to get pushed into knocking on doors and handing out literature or something. I found more reasons to not be in church.

  “One day Irene was going off about how Pastor Billings was preaching on the end times and the return of Christ. He called it the Rapture. She said something like, ‘Wouldn’t it be great to not die but to meet Jesus in the air?’ I came back with something like, ‘Yeah, that would kill me.’ I offended her. She told me I shouldn’t be so flippant if I didn’t know where I was going. That made me mad. I told her I was glad she was sure. I told her I figured she’d fly to heaven and I’d go straight to hel
l. She didn’t like that a bit.”

  “I can imagine,” Mac said.

  “The whole issue of church became so volatile that we just avoided it. Eventually I started to get those old stirrings again, and I had my eye on my senior flight attendant.”

  “Uh-oh,” Mac said.

  “Tell me about it. We had a few drinks, shared a few meals, but it never went past that. Not that I didn’t want it to. One night I decided to ask her out when we got to London. Then I thought, hey, I’ll ask her in advance. I’m way out over the Atlantic in the middle of the night with a fully loaded seven-four-seven, so I put it on auto pilot and go looking for her.”

  Rayford paused, disgusted with himself even now for how low he had sunk.

  Mac looked at him. “Yeah?”

  “Everybody remembers where they were when the disappearances happened.”

  “You’re not saying . . .” Mac said.

  “I was looking for a date when all those people disappeared.”

  “Man!”

  Rayford snorted. “She wanted to know what was going on. Were we gonna die? I told her I was pretty sure we weren’t going to die, but that I had no more idea than she did what had happened. The truth was, I knew. Irene had been right. Christ had come to rapture his church, and we had all been left behind.”

  There was a lot more to Rayford’s story, of course, but he just wanted that to sink in. Mac sat staring straight ahead. He would turn, take a breath, and then turn back and watch the scenery as they continued toward Al Basrah.

  Mac checked his clipboard and stared at the dials. “We’re close enough,” he said. “I’m gonna see what I can find out.” He set the frequency and depressed the mike button. “Golf Charlie Niner Niner to Al Basrah tower. Do you read?”

  Static.

  “Al Basrah tower, this is Golf Charlie Niner Niner. I’m switching to channel eleven, over.” Mac made the switch and repeated the call.

  “Al Basrah tower,” came the reply. “Go ahead, Niner Niner.”

  “Albie around?”

  “Stand by, niner.”

  Mac turned to Rayford. “Here’s hoping,” he said.

  “Golf Charlie, this is Albie, over.”

  “Albie, you old son of a gun! Mac here! You’re OK then?”

  “Not totally, my friend. We just raised our temporary tower. Lost two hangars. I’m on crutches. Please, not to be bringing a fixed-wing plane. Not for two, three days.”

  “We’re in a bird,” Mac said.

  “Welcome then,” Albie said. “We need help. We need company.”

  “We can’t stay long, Albie. Our ETA is thirty minutes.”

  “Roger that, Mac. We watch for you.”

  Rayford saw Mac bite his lip. “That’s a relief,” he whispered, his voice shaky. He monitored the controls, stashed his clipboard, and turned to Rayford. “Back to your story.”

  Rayford was intrigued that Mac cared so much for his friend. Had Rayford had a friend like that before he was a believer? Had he ever cared about another man enough to become emotional over his well-being?

  Rayford looked at the devastation below. Tents had been erected where homes had disappeared in the quake. Bodies dotted the landscape, and expeditions of cheap trailers came to cart them off. Here and there bands of people with shovels and pickaxes worked on a paved road. If they saw what Rayford could see, they would know that even if they spent days on their tiny stretch of twisted pavement, the road for miles ahead would take months to fix, even with heavy equipment.

  Rayford told Mac how he had landed at O’Hare after the disappearances, walked to the terminal, saw the devastating reports from around the world, lost his copilot to suicide, paid heavily for a ride home, and had his worst fears confirmed. “Irene and Raymie were gone. Chloe, a skeptic like me, was trying to get home from Stanford. It was my fault. She followed my example. And we had both been left behind.”

  Rayford remembered as if it were yesterday. He didn’t mind telling the story because it came to a good end, but he hated this part. Not just the horror, not just the loneliness, but the blame. If Chloe had never come to Christ, he wasn’t sure he could have forgiven himself.

  He wondered about Mac. He would tell Mac what was going on, exactly who Nicolae Carpathia was, the whole package. He would tell him of the prophecies in Revelation, walk him through the judgments that had already come, show him how they had been foretold and could not be disputed. But if Mac was phony, if Mac worked for Carpathia, he would have already been brainwashed. He could fake this emotion, this interest. He could even insist he wanted to make a dangerous scuba dive with Rayford, just to stay on his good side.

  But Rayford was already beyond the point of no return. Again he prayed silently that God might give him a sign whether Mac was sincere. If he wasn’t, he was one of the better actors Rayford had seen. It was hard to trust anyone anymore.

  When they finally came in sight of the airfield at Al Basrah, Mac coached Ray to a gentle, if lengthy, touchdown. As Ray shut down the engine, Mac said, “That’s him. Coming down the ladder.”

  They scrambled out of the chopper as a tiny, dark-faced, long-nosed, turbaned man in bare feet gingerly made his way down from a tower that looked more like a guard station at a prison. He had tossed his crutches down, and when he reached the ground, he hopped to them and deftly used them to rush to Mac. They embraced.

  “What happened to you?” Mac asked.

  “I was in the mess hall,” Albie said. “When the rumbles began, I knew immediately what it was. Foolishly, I raced for the tower. No one was there. We were not expecting traffic for a couple of hours. What I would do up there, I had no idea. The tower began falling before I even reached it. I was able to elude it, but a fuel truck was thrown into my path. I saw it at the last instant and tried to leap over the cab, which lay on its side. I almost reached the other side but twisted my ankle on the tire and scraped my shin on the lug nuts. But that is not the worst of it. I have broken bones in my foot. But there are no supplies to set it, and I am low on the priority list. It will grow strong. Allah will bless me.”

  Mac introduced Rayford. “I want to hear your stories,” Albie said. “Where were you when it hit? Everything. I want to know everything. But first, if you have time, we could use help.”

  Heavy machinery was already grading a huge area, preparing it for asphalt. “Your boss, the potentate himself, has expressed pleasure at our cooperation. We are trying to get underway as soon as possible to help the global peacekeeping effort. What a tragedy to have thrown in our way after all he has accomplished.”

  Rayford said nothing.

  Mac said, “Albie, we might be able to help later, but we need to eat.”

  “The mess hall is gone,” Albie said. “As for your favorite place in town, I have not heard. Shall we check?”

  “Do you have a vehicle?”

  “That old pickup,” Albie said. They followed as he crutched his way to it. “Clutching will be difficult,” he said. “Do you mind?”

  Mac slid behind the wheel. Albie sat in the middle, knees spread to keep from blocking the gearshift. The pickup rattled and lurched over unpaved roads until it arrived at the outskirts of the city. Rayford was sickened by the smell. He still found it hard to accept that this was part of God’s ultimate plan. Did this many people have to suffer to make some eternal point? He took comfort in that this was not God’s desired result. Rayford believed God was true to his word, that he had given people enough chances that he could now justify allowing this to get their attention.

  Wailing men and women carried bodies over their shoulders or pushed them in wheelbarrows through the crowded streets. It seemed every other block had been left in pieces by the earthquake. Mac’s favorite eatery was missing a concrete block wall, but the management had draped something over it and was open for business. One of few eating establishments still open, it was wall to wall with customers who ate while standing. Mac and Rayford shouldered their way in, drawing angry stares until th
e townspeople saw Albie. Then they made room, as much as they could, still pressed shoulder to shoulder.

  Rayford had little faith in the sanitation of this food, but still he was grateful for it. After two bites of a rolled-up pastry stuffed with ground lamb and seasonings, he whispered to Mac, “I can see and I can smell and yet somehow, even here, hunger is the best seasoning.”

  On the way back, Mac pulled to the side of a dusty field and turned off the engine. “I wanted to know you were all right, Albie,” he said. “But this is also a business mission.”

  “Splendid,” Albie said. “How can I help?”

  “Scuba gear,” Mac said.

  Albie furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “Scuba,” he said simply. “You need everything? Wet suit, mask, snorkel, tanks, fins?”

  “All that, yes.”

  “Weights? Ballast? Lights?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Cash?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll have to check,” Albie said. “I have a source. I have not heard from him since the disaster. If the stuff is to be had, I can get it. Let’s leave it this way: If you do not hear from me, return in one month and it will be here.”

  “I can’t wait that long,” Rayford said quickly.

  “I cannot guarantee any sooner. Even that long seems very fast to me at a time like this.” Rayford couldn’t argue with that. “I thought this was for you, Mac,” Albie added.

  “We need two sets.”

  “Are you going to make a career of diving?”

  “Hardly,” Mac said. “Why? You think we should rent instead?”

  “Could we?” Rayford said.

  Albie and Mac looked at Rayford and burst into laughter. “No rental on the black market,” Albie said.

  Rayford had to grin at his own naiveté, but laughing seemed a distant pleasure.

  Back at the airport Rayford and Mac each manned a shovel while a dump truck brought in a gravel base for the runway. Before they knew it, several hours had passed. They sent someone for Albie.