Rapture Advent of the Last Days

by Jocolby Phillips

  “It’s okay, Ruth, you don’t need to talk about this,” Christopher murmured.

  “No, I do need to because I feel like I am going crazy. Once I was at the ER entrance, a security guard ran up to me along with another nurse friend. They both said all the babies and children had disappeared.”

  “What did you say about children?” Jackson asked in a strange voice.

  “You heard me. Every single baby, born or unborn, is gone, and many of the children in this hospital are gone as well. Several mothers were already in active labor when it happened—the labor stopped and the infants vanished. One mother had a heart attack from the shock and died. The maternity floor is still on lockdown after her husband took the gun of a security guard and killed himself. The hospital administration is trying to contain the distraught parents until counselors can be provided.”

  “What kind of terror attack could do this, Christopher?” Jackson questioned.

  “I am not sure, my friend, that it was a terror attack,” Christopher said grimly as he pulled out the cell phone he’d acquired and tried to call the Pentagon operations center again…nothing.

  “Hey, let me use that thing while Florence Nightingale here stitches you up real quick,” Jackson said.

  “Watch it, Doctor Jackson. You might be a soldier, but this old lady can take you,” Ruth threatened.

  Christopher tossed the cell phone to Jackson and winced as Ruth unapologetically began cleaning and treating the gash on his leg.

  Jackson tried to call his wife Sarah but couldn’t get through, so he attempted a text knowing that data sometimes goes through when voice calls don’t. “I’m alright will call later love ya,” was his quick message. “Hey, Christopher, I’m gonna stick around here and help Ruth. Once comms are reestablished, I will meet you at the Pentagon. I am guessing they will have a need for us sooner than expected.”

  “Yeah, okay. I need to get to Erin,” Christopher replied as he read the first news reports rolling across a television screen: “Millions missing and millions more dead in a global catastrophe.”

  “Well, there’s my answer. This is something worse than a terror attack. Seems like the whole world experienced this. Godspeed to you, brother. I know how to get to you if something happens. Just check on Erin,” Jackson said.

  “Thanks. I hope Sarah and the girls are okay.”

  “I am sure they are, but thanks, man.”

  “Ruth, can you please find me a change of clothes?” Christopher asked.

  “One second,” Ruth said, disappearing from the room and returning a minute later with a set of scrubs, a sweatshirt, and a slightly too big pair of sneakers.

  “This is all I could find that might fit you,” Ruth said.

  “Thanks, you two. I am heading for Harrisonburg now. Let Colonel Delmar and Gabriella know once you get back up on the net, Jackson,” Christopher instructed.

  Ruth suddenly buried her head into Jackson’s shoulder as her shoulders heaved with a quiet sob. Jackson nodded, but he heard Ruth’s muffled admonition. “Please be safe. Who knows who will disappear next?”

  But Christopher didn’t think anybody else was going to disappear, which was why he needed to see if Erin was still here.

  * * *

  Gabriella had just entered the West Wing after the meeting with the National Security Advisor and Omega Group when she heard screams. “Show me your badge, now,” said an aggressive Secret Service agent, his gun trained on her to prevent Gabriella from proceeding farther into the White House.

  “Wow, is that necessary?” she asked as she pulled her badge out of her jacket.

  “You’re clear,” the agent said, and with that he ran toward the Oval Office.

  Gabriella’s heart was racing not only from the unexpected and violent encounter with the Secret Service agent but also due to the screams echoing throughout the White House. Has the president been assassinated? she wondered, horrified by the mere thought. As Gabriella neared the office of the National Security Advisor, she noticed several staffers gathering outside the office, and several were crying. “Hey, what is going on?” she asked.

  A teary-eyed staffer answered that Estelle, the long-standing secretary of the National Security Advisor’s West Wing office, had disappeared.

  “What do you mean disappeared?”

  “Where have you been? Millions of people are being reported missing all over the world, and the president is about to declare martial law,” the staffer informed Gabriella.

  Gabriella felt like someone had just sucker punched her as she collapsed onto a plush lounger outside the National Security Advisor’s office to keep from landing on the floor—her legs refused to support her. “How many have been affected in the White House?”

  The staffer, apparently in shock, answered, “Estelle, and some of the cooking staff according to reports I’ve heard, but that’s it.”

  “Oh, thank goodness, Gabriella! At least you weren’t caught up in this attack,” National Security Advisor Markeson said, gasping, as he came out of his office.

  “Sir, what attack?” Gabriella asked.

  “Cindy, get these people back to work and away from my office. We are in the middle of a global crisis, and crying is not going to help. Did you hear me? Move!” Markeson yelled at the staffer who had been telling Gabriella what she knew of the situation.

  Gabriella watched as Cindy shooed the other onlookers away from Markeson’s office while picking up Estelle’s clothes like a mother picks up a newborn.

  “Gabriella, please come with me to the Oval Office,” ordered Markeson as he all but pulled her to her feet.

  President Glen Rodgers, the no-nonsense Gulf War veteran fighter pilot, looked nervous and at a loss for words as Gabriella and Mr. Markeson entered the room full of staffers and advisors who were briefing him on the disappearances. He spoke in a shaky and rushed tone as he next asked for a situation report from his chief of staff.

  “Sir, the initial reports indicate every country in the world has been affected by this event. The missing persons count is approaching hundreds of millions based on initial tallies across the globe. Panic is widespread, and rioting and looting have already begun in many locations around the world.

  “Additionally we recommend you approve an already-drafted executive order rescinding the Posse Comitatus Act and declare defense readiness condition level 2 immediately. The Defense Department has yet to provide the numbers of military personnel missing or dead, but we anticipate a loss of some military capabilities, especially the longer we wait to raise the DEFCON level.

  “Lastly, Homeland Security is reporting that every major city has critical shortages of first responders and key infrastructure staffing. We are facing absolute pandemonium throughout the nation,” the chief of staff concluded.

  President Rodgers asked, “What about the First and Second ladies?”

  “Sir, in the last communication the White House Situation Room received from Executive One Foxtrot, the plane was sending out a distress signal, reporting that two of the pilots were taken in the disappearances.”

  President Rodgers ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, saying, “God help us!” He strode solemnly over to a window before speaking. “Okay, I approve all of those recommendations. Get as many troops and resources as possible out on the streets to mitigate the loss of life. Declare martial law and price control the economy. What bread costs today, it better cost tomorrow. If you get reports of some company trying to turn a profit off this thing, let me know and keep me updated on how the rest of the world is handling this.”

  He turned his attention to Gabriella. “I understand that you have been named the new deputy of Omega Group, is that correct, Gabriella?”

  “Yes, sir.” Markeson answered the question.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” the president said dismissively.

  “Yes, sir, I am the new deputy of Omega Group,” Gabriella confirmed as Markeson watched helplessly.

  “Then I ne
ed you to get to the Pentagon as soon as possible and have Omega get to Brasilia to determine the fate of the First Lady, my daughter, and the Second Lady,” the president ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” Markeson replied, interrupting again, declaring that he would ensure that the first families would be returned safely.

  President Rodgers ignored Markeson, addressing the room in general. “What do we have available regarding aircraft to get Gabriella across town if traffic is as bad as you guys are telling me?”

  A rustle of papers and a few clicks on laptops were heard before the president’s chief of staff responded, “There is a Blackhawk helicopter at Andrews Air Base we could get over to the South Lawn, but the availability of a crew may take a while due to the widespread communications issues.”

  “Well, get started!” the president barked. “Everyone, let’s get back to work. A lot of people need us to figure this thing out.” That last order from the president sent staffers scurrying out of the Oval Office like rats deserting a sinking ship.

  “Gabriella, if I could have a word alone with you?” asked President Rodgers.

  “Sir, would you like me to stay?” Markeson inquired, interrupting again.

  “No. Go find something to do,” the president scolded, apparently irritated by the obnoxious man.

  Gabriella watched as Markeson sulked his way out of the Oval Office, closing the door behind him.

  “Gabriella, what do you think just happened?” the president inquired gravely.

  “Sir, I have no idea—perhaps some complex terror attack?” she posited.

  “No, I don’t think so. I think my wife of thirty years would call this event the rapture.”

  “The rapture, sir?” Gabriella asked, beginning to seriously question the president’s reasoning capabilities.

  “Yes. Are you familiar with the term?”

  “I am. My mom took me to church all the time when I was as a child—at least, it seemed like all the time.”

  President Rodgers laughed. “Yeah, I know the feeling. My wife grew up in the Bible belt and has always fussed over my daughter and me, telling us that this day would come. She said it would be a terrible day not just due to the loss of life, but due to the missed opportunity to avoid what was to come.”

  “I see, sir. But if I may ask, what does this have to do with me?” Gabriella queried, clearly confused.

  “Gabriella, I am telling you this for two simple reasons. First, she was right. The guilt of dismissing her beliefs and helping my daughter make the same decision is overwhelming right now, and I needed to tell someone. Second, it’s important that Omega not expect to find the First Lady since, if she is correct, she will be safe—though missing. My daughter and the Second Lady are my primary concern. I don’t want to place those men in greater danger by having them search for someone who isn’t going to be found.”

  “How do you know she won’t be found, sir? She could still be in Brazil.”

  The president turned to look out a window in his office once again before saying with dead certainty, “Gabriella, you can’t be married to someone as long as I have been without instinctively knowing certain things about your spouse. Trust me when I say my wife is in Heaven.”

  Just then the president’s chief of staff burst into the Oval Office, saying, “Dr. Costa, we have a helicopter en route to the White House South Lawn estimated to arrive in ten minutes.”

  “Thank you, and, sir, don’t worry. We will bring them all back.”

  * * *

  “No, Gabriella, you won’t. But please bring back my daughter if she is alive. There is much I need to discuss with her…and, Gabriella, your dad would be proud of you, as am I,” President Rodgers concluded.

  As Gabriella strode across the South Lawn of the White House with her high heels in one hand, escorted by the Secret Service agent who had nearly shot her, she felt unsure of herself for the first time in a long time.

  “Ma’am, are you ready?” came the voice of the lone pilot across Gabriella’s headset.

  “Yes, let’s go,” Gabriella instructed.

  The results of the disappearances made for a horrific view from the air. The Washington, D.C. metro area seemed more like a smoldering parking lot than a bustling capital. Cars lined the streets, unmoving. Fires were raging across the metro area, and she knew that the disappearances had created a significant shortage in every sector of public service, which would make responding to the needs of so many impossible. It was a sad reality that many would die tonight. Hordes of people had begun walking across bridges, heading toward home or at least away from the carnage of D.C. toward the unknown trials that awaited them at their destinations.

  Gabriella felt the warm sting of tears in her eyes as she witnessed humanity and disaster interacting hundreds of feet below her. President Rodgers’s take on the disappearances stirred in her a notion she had long ago dismissed—God.

  Gabriella had started challenging the concept of God in her teens, as her promising intellect put her at odds with her mother’s devotion to the Church in general and, in particular, her mother’s “relationship with Jesus,” as she put it. Gabriella saw the Church as a fantasy world of promises for a better life for people who believed in Jesus Christ as their personal savior. Instead she trusted in the possibilities of the human mind working to make the wrongs of the world right with tangible technologies and science versus hope and prayer. Gabriella couldn’t understand how people could believe in God or religion when so much was wrong in the world that God supposedly loved and created.

  She could hear her mother’s voice in her head now. “Science demands adherence to principles that are bound by the limitations of human intellect, Gabriella. A belief in God is not a condemnation of science, but rather an acknowledgment of the power behind science and nature. The intellectual world makes humanity its god, while Christianity places God above man. My belief in Jesus Christ allows me to have hope and provides a sense of purpose that life is more than an accident, that we are not just born to live and die only seeking our own purposes.” This dogma was her mother’s standard rebuttal speech when Gabriella would berate Christianity.

  Gabriella was forced to attend church until her teenage years, when, with the help of her show-me-evidence-and-I-will-believe-it father, she became militant regarding anything dealing with religion in general, but especially toward Christianity. She always accused her mother of being narrow-minded and bigoted for thinking that Jesus was the only way to Heaven, and that became even truer after her mother was diagnosed with terminal breast cancer in her junior year of high school.

  Gabriella remembered asking her mom on her deathbed how she could love a God who was destroying her body and her family. Remembering her mom’s words evoked a sob from somewhere deep inside that she thought was long barren of any feeling. “My dear Gabby, I love God because His promises to love and care for my family and me won’t end with my life. God never wastes the pain life brings us. We just need to let go of the pain of life and give it to Him. God is always faithful to see us through to a better day.”

  As Gabriella watched the sun begin to set behind the Pentagon, she wondered if this day had been orchestrated by God. She had little doubt that her mom would believe that to be true. Perhaps God did have a plan for the world that her mother had known and she had overlooked.

  CHAPTER 5

  Christopher had to know if Erin had disappeared. If she was still here, then in some strange way he felt everything would be okay. If she was gone he feared what might come next. As he left the George Washington University Hospital, he realized that dusk had fallen, changing the atmosphere from bleak to grim.

  The endless hordes trying to get into the hospital were developing a mob mentality, and sporadic fights erupted as folks waited for care or came seeking information about missing loved ones. Christopher knew widespread violence was one shove away, based on the swearing and jostling in the crowd. He looked out over the formerly upscale and sophisticated Foggy Bottom neig
hborhood, which now resembled a riotous cityscape. Men and women in business attire and day laborers and waiters, people who only hours before had no visible similarities, began banding together to pillage abandoned cars and businesses, either seeking gain or exploiting the chaos for future survival. Christopher sensed that any shred of compassion within society was rapidly giving way to savagery. The disappearances had exposed the true nature of each individual who had been left behind.

  Christopher knew he had to get out of D.C. before martial law was declared. He started toward the Francis Scott Key Bridge with the goal of reaching I-66 and ultimately Erin in Harrisonburg. Though every kind of vehicle from exotic luxury cars to large SUVs were available for Christopher’s choosing, the problem was finding something that could navigate through the endless parking lot of abandoned and wrecked cars littering the roads. He was looking for a motorcycle. It seemed like he rambled for miles looking for one, finally crossing into Virginia. He was about to give up and head for the Pentagon to link up with Jackson when the still, small voice echoed in his heart. “And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.” It was at that very moment that Christopher noticed a parking lot with a couple of street bikes near a hotel. Hearing the Holy Spirit convinced him he was probably crazy, but he mustered a hollow, “Thank you, God,” as he ran toward the hotel parking lot.

  It seemed his salvation chariot had belonged to a disappearance victim. Christopher found a pile of clothes on the bike, along with a Gaelic cross, which only fueled his nightmarish fear that this event was indeed the rapture of the Church. He was grateful to put on the previous owner’s riding jacket and pants over the thin hospital scrubs, despite them being a little large. It was nine o’clock at night. While Harrisonburg was only two and a half hours from his present location in Rosslyn, Virginia, in nonapocalyptic conditions, he feared that tonight’s trip would take much longer.

  Christopher fired up the machine, noticing that the traumatized crowds of people around him didn’t even appear to acknowledge the loud rumble of the performance bike—instead they all seemed to be in shock. As he pulled onto I-66 to determine the truth of the day’s events for himself, he realized that martial law must have been declared—police vehicles were closing off the Key Bridge.