by Tim LaHaye
Unfortunately, he was more concerned with mounting than he was with his dangling Uzi, and before he settled firmly in the saddle, the barrel of his weapon poked the horse in the back, just above the saddle horn at the base of the neck. The beast started and stepped about quickly, causing Mac to panic and stiffen. That made the horse rear. Mac pulled on the reins with all his weight, desperate to hang on and not be chucked off onto his head.
As the steed whinnied loudly and reared higher, spooking other horses and riders, Mac slid out of the saddle and the stirrups slackened. Mac pushed his legs straight as hard as he could, tucked his chin to his chest, and held the reins for all he was worth. That pulled the horse’s muzzle down and nearly made him topple backward. Mac was almost upside down, all his weight pulling against the horse, and he could imagine pulling the animal down atop him.
Somehow the horse balanced itself with a few well-placed steps with its back feet, then slammed down to all fours, thrusting Mac hard into the saddle and throwing him forward to where he was now hugging the horse around the neck. The animal still felt unsure beneath him, and Mac knew he had done the opposite of showing it who was in charge. If a message had been sent to the horse, it was that the rider was scared to death and hanging on for dear life.
Mac’s “superior” appeared not to have noticed. He cantered up and pointed to several soldiers, Mac included, directing them to position themselves off the flanks of Carpathia’s horse. Leave it to the potentate to have a monster creature that put the rest to shame. His horse was at least two hands taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the others. It had a spot of white between its eyes and four white feet. Its tail seemed to shoot straight up before the rest of it cascaded down in a smart flow. The mane was somehow longer and thicker as well. Mac had heard of the hound of heaven. This was the horse from hell.
It even seemed to have attitude. It snuffled loudly whenever another horse invaded its space, and it nipped and kicked to keep its place. Carpathia appeared to have been raised around horses, deftly controlling the thing with a light grip and decisive hands, knees, and feet. He rode ahead several feet and turned his horse to face the others.
“Let me remind you all,” he said, “that we are merely feet from an active battleground. The resistance currently holds the Temple Mount, aboveground, and they are capable of firing from atop the wall. Be vigilant. This is not a press junket or a sightseer’s safari. I am most disappointed to tell you that I have just been made aware of an insurgence within our own ranks from both the south in Egypt and below and from the northeast. Ironically, some who pledged their allegiance now call themselves ‘Revitalized Babylon’ and condescend to assert their independence. These uprisings shall be crushed posthaste. As we speak, portions of our more than extravagantly outfitted fighting force will peel off to these locations to lay waste to the pretenders. They will regret their insolence only as long as they have breath, and then they will be trampled and made an example of.
“Meanwhile, we will figuratively set out for Petra. I say figuratively, because I do not plan to waste the hours it would take to actually ride some sixty miles on horseback. The Global Community media will get what it needs as we strike out from here, leave the occupied Muslim Quarter, and head southwest through the Jewish and Armenian Quarters—both also having been easily taken by our forces—and leave the Old City through the Zion Gate. There you will transfer to ground vehicles capable of covering the distance at well over a hundred miles an hour. I will set out a few minutes later with my generals and cabinet in aircraft that will actually transport us and our horses to the area slightly in advance of your arrival.
“We have mounts similar to those you are on now waiting for you outside Petra, and you shall have the privilege of witnessing my leading our troops to victory over what shall by then be one of only two remaining enclaves of opposition to the New World Order. Smile for the cameras!”
Mac finally felt he had control of his horse, but he had no intention of following Carpathia in one of the ground vehicles. If any portion of the security detail was assigned elsewhere, Mac would find a way to join them, and then peel off to his own helicopter. He wouldn’t mind seeing what went down at Petra, though he had been taught that the actual fighting would take place twenty miles north in Buseirah, Jordan—the modern name of the city of Bozrah, ancient capital of Edom—when Messiah chased the Unity Army back toward Jerusalem.
Besides the dizziness that came with trying to stand for the first time in hours, Rayford found himself wholly dependent upon the small but wiry Abdullah Smith and the broader, stronger, and younger Razor. Leah had brought everything, it seemed, but crutches. She did her bit to help too, but she could not support him and mainly directed traffic, trying to keep his most vulnerable injuries isolated.
Rayford could put zero weight on the broken shinbone, splint or not. Hopping was out of the question, so the two men had to bear all his weight as they moved him to the ATV. Even his good foot touching the ground occasionally sent shock waves of pain throughout the rest of his body. The anesthetic in his temple was wearing off, and Leah had decided not to add more.
Straddling the ATV was a delicate operation. Leah rolled up a towel and bunched it under the knee of his broken leg in an attempt to keep his foot from touching the vehicle. That left him able to balance himself only with his good foot and leg, with his painful arms latched tightly to Razor’s waist. Rayford dreaded what he knew was coming. At some point his weight would shift to the broken shinbone side, and he would either have to wrestle Razor the other way or plant that foot to keep from flying off the ATV.
Once he was in place, Leah insisted he just sit there and get his bearings. “You okay?” she said.
“Think so,” he said, already exhausted. He shut his eyes and rolled his neck, hearing it pop and crack. Then he stole a look at the sky. Clouds covered half the visible canopy now, and they were beginning to roil in all different colors. The sun was half below the horizon, wide and flat and at its most burnt orange, painting the clouds in pinks and reds and yellows. Were he not fearing for his life, he’d have thought it one of the most beautiful skies he had ever seen.
Leah had final instructions for Razor. “I’ll lead the way,” she said. “Mr. Smith will follow you, should we have a problem and need to lift Captain Steele again. My machine has a lot of weight on it too, so if I can make it through a certain area, you should be able to as well. I’ll be trying to avoid ruts, bumps, even the smallest rocks, but of course we can’t avoid them all. Try to take the steep areas as slowly as possible, but you’ll need some power and momentum. Rayford, you’ll just have to hang on and grit your teeth. The first fifty yards or so are pretty clear, so I’ll try to keep an eye behind me to make sure you’re both doing okay.”
Rayford had always considered himself a man’s man. Six-four and thickly muscled, he had played sports through pain of all sorts. And since the Rapture, he’d endured his share of serious injuries. But as he sat there, vise-gripping Razor’s belt, he wanted to scream like a baby. Everything hurt. It was as if the pain had a life and mind of its own and threatened to kill him itself. It dug deep, mostly in his temple and shin, and it vibrated, throbbed, prodded.
When Razor so much as fired up the engine, the hum alone flashed through Rayford’s body and made him instantly light-headed. Razor would likely be able to tell if he passed out, just from the change in his grip. But Rayford was determined to gut this out.
Leah slowly pulled ahead, the pair of coolers hanging off the sides of her ATV like mismatched saddlebags. Razor turned his head. “Just say the word, and I stop.”
“Go,” Rayford managed, and the four-wheeler began rolling. “Lord, have mercy.”
“Okay?” Razor called back.
“Don’t ask, son. I’ll let you know. You just keep moving.”
Sebastian was struck by the grandeur of the early evening sun casting its glow over the black-clad enemy. Who’d have thought this evil mass of humanity could be seen in an
attractive light? He had been joined by Otto Weser, the German who had maintained a small band of believers inside New Babylon until nearly the end.
“Ever dream you’d have this privilege, Otto?”
“Privilege? This is my definition of the awesome and terrible day of the Lord.”
“But to be standing here, facing Antichrist’s army on the last day of the earth as we know it . . .”
“I’d rather have acted on the truth when I had the chance and be in heaven already, if you want complete honesty.”
“Well, ’course,” Sebastian said, “but given that we missed it, there’s no place I’d rather be right now. I just wish my wife and daughter could be with me.”
“You wouldn’t want them out here,” Otto said, the understatement so obvious that Sebastian could not think of a retort. “You’re not bothered by an enemy close enough to look up our nostrils?”
Sebastian shook his head. “If they wanted to kill us and God allowed it, it would have happened long ago. I’ve been in aircraft that missiles had no business missing. I feel invulnerable standing here. I can’t beat this army, I know that, not on my own. But Dr. Ben-Judah and Dr. Rosenzweig and lots of other teachers have me convinced that this whole fighting force is going to make like the Midianites before Gideon and turn tail and run by the time this night is out. I can’t wait to see that.”
“It’s a little hard to believe, though, isn’t it? I mean, looking at their sheer numbers?”
Sebastian turned and studied the older man in the twilight. “God changed a cloudless day into a cloudy one a little while ago. And you. You watched while the entire city of New Babylon was laid to ruins in the space of sixty minutes. And you say something’s hard to believe?”
Rayford hated it most when Leah stopped and Razor had to do the same. There was no smooth way to do that, not on these inclines. Sometimes Razor was forced to stop without having found a flat place. There Ray sat, hanging on tight to keep from slipping off the back of the ATV.
“This is where the going gets tough,” Leah said.
And the tough get going, Rayford thought. “What do you call what we’ve been doing so far?” he said.
“Easy street,” she said. “From here on out, we can’t stop. We can barely slow down. We’re going up steep angles and we need to keep moving. You just have to gut it out. Let’s go.”
She took off faster than Rayford had thought possible or prudent, and while Razor eased into his speed a bit more carefully, he was soon gunning the engine to make the grade. A couple of sharp turns made Rayford cry out, but when Razor backed off the throttle Rayford assured him with a shout that he was okay.
Soon they hit the steepest climb and Rayford felt as if he were hanging upside down. He scanned the area around him and realized if he lost his grip here he would be in serious trouble. He would tumble farther than he had initially. Abdullah’s bike whined up beside them and he flashed a thumbs-up. Rayford shook his head. All he needed was to yield to the temptation to let go with one hand and return the gesture, and he’d be a dead man.
He rested his forehead in the middle of Razor’s back. Where did these kids get the steel muscles today? In his prime Rayford was never cut like this specimen.
The sun was fast fading, and all three vehicles’ automatic lights came on at the same time. They finally rounded a curve that put them on an actual path, and Rayford realized the rest of the way would be relatively easy.
What he was not prepared for, however, was the welcome he received. Tens of thousands of residents were out gathering the evening manna and watching the heavens. Word must have passed far and wide about his predicament, because everyone seemed to know the makeshift motorcade was his transport home.
People waved and shouted and whistled and raised their hands. He could not acknowledge them except to nod. Meanwhile, Smitty was waving as if it were his own ticker-tape parade.
Rayford could only imagine the welcome Jesus would receive.
CHAPTER 7
The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving a bright, nearly full moon to illuminate an otherwise inky, cloud-scattered sky. The cloud colors had seemed to change in an instant, pastels giving way to deep blues, purples, lavenders, and traces of a fast-fading burnt orange.
Abdullah, Razor, and Leah helped Rayford to his quarters. He insisted on waiting, uncomfortably, in a side chair, while they moved his bed to face the open window. That way, on his back, he could take in the entire vista of the beautiful night sky. Something was brewing and, of course, he knew what it was.
Razor appeared eager to get back to his post and was quickly gone. Leah said she would be close by in the infirmary and that either she or Hannah would be available at a moment’s notice with just a call.
Abdullah said he was worried about Mac, then looked as if he shouldn’t have said anything.
“Where is Mac, Smitty?” Rayford said.
Abdullah told him.
“If anything’s happened to Buck,” Rayford said, “I don’t want Kenny knowing. And I don’t want him seeing me this way. Can you confirm Kenny’s still with Priscilla Sebastian?”
Abdullah got on the phone, updated Priscilla on Rayford, and nodded to Ray. “Kenny is about to go to sleep for the night,” he said.
“That’ll be one to tell his grandchildren,” Ray said. “‘I slept through the Glorious Appearing.’”
Rayford was grateful to be off the four-wheeler and in his own bed, but he had not realized how much the day had taken out of him until he was lying flat. “I may sleep through it myself,” he said. “Would you keep me company, Smitty? Keep me awake?”
The Jordanian looked ill at ease. He had never been one for confrontation, but it was obvious he didn’t want to accede to Rayford’s request.
“Hey, it’s all right, man,” Rayford said. “You’ve got stuff to do, places you need to be.”
“It is not that, Captain. But Dr. Rosenzweig is due soon—”
“Oh, that’s right!”
“And, yes, I would like to be in the air when all these things come to pass. If you do not mind.”
“You kiddin’? You know that’s where I’d love to be if I could. You go right ahead, buddy. Really. I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, there is no way I would leave you alone. I can stay until Dr. Rosenzweig arrives.”
Rayford carefully put his hands behind his head and folded his pillow double to prop his head a bit more. From his vantage point he had a wide view of the heavens, with the moon far to his left and the rest of his field of vision filled with heavy, colorful, moving clouds. As the sky grew darker, the moon seemed brighter, the clouds denser, and the stars clearer. As usual, when his eyes grew accustomed to the night sky, a deeper layer of stars came into view. But as he studied them, they disappeared and he had to search between clouds for more.
Chaim arrived with a small entourage, and Rayford was surprised when he dismissed all of them. “I will call if I need you,” he said.
And as Abdullah Smith left, Rayford exacted from him a promise that he would call with anything new about Mac or Buck.
“Are you sure you want to know?” Abdullah said.
“Of course. Don’t protect me. Even if it’s the worst, we’ll reunite with them soon.”
Chaim settled into a tilting chair next to Rayford’s bed and leaned back. “Magnificent,” he said. “Like a front-row seat to eternity.”
It wasn’t like Chaim to stall. Though well past seventy now, he was a brilliant man of seemingly unbridled energy, and no one knew him to waste time. Yet here he sat, studying the skies of Israel, with apparently nothing to say.
“Something on your mind, Doctor? I mean, more than a million people here would give anything to spend this night with you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Global Community news-media cameras were trained on the Carpathian cavalry that emerged from the Dung Gate. Mac was relieved to discover he was not nearly the only member getting used to his steed. An equal number of men and
women, most representing other sub-potentates, overreacted to their horses and wound up steering them in circles or being nearly chucked off. At first this was greeted with smiles all around, but it quickly became obvious that Carpathia was no longer amused. He dismissed the press and urged his generals to get everyone to their various means of conveyance to Petra.
Mac watched for his opening and was disappointed when his commander chose him as one to accompany Carpathia’s cargo plane, big enough for several horses and vehicles. If those in charge only knew that Mac was once Nicolae’s chief pilot . . .
Mac had once prided himself on keeping cool in a crisis, particularly when undercover. But as he dismounted and went through the motions of turning his horse over to a swarthy young man in a loud T-shirt who would walk it aboard the plane, he could think of nothing more creative than to simply try to talk his way out of it.
“Say, I’ve got a problem here, sport,” he said.
“Yeah? What might that be, sport?” the young man said, his accent that of a New Zealander.
“Got myself in the wrong group. Is it too late to catch up with the others?”
“You mean the ones being carried by Hummers and such?”
“Right.”
“I don’t know, but you’d better try. You get on board this plane when you’re not supposed to, and there’ll be blood to pay. Anyway, I got no room for even one extra horse.”
Mac took the horse back and mounted, and when someone called after him asking what he thought he was doing, he hollered, “Following orders! Going where they point me!” He looked over his shoulder to confirm that the voice was not that of his commander. He was otherwise engaged, which Mac found comforting. He didn’t want to have it out with anybody in the GC this close to the return of Jesus. All he needed was to be arrested or shot just before the end.