Rapture Advent of the Last Days

by Jocolby Phillips

  * * *

  Jackson had just finished setting a young man’s broken arm when Ruth came into the treatment room.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m alive, just tired—but glad to have my mind focused on a task rather than trying to decipher what’s going on. It seems plenty of theories are floating around but nothing solid.” Jackson pointed to the now continuous news coverage on the television about the unparalleled disappearances. “Consuming too much fast food, leading to spontaneous combustion has been my favorite theory yet.”

  “Too much fast food, huh? That’s a good one, but I think it will fall short in the end. Thanks for your help, but you can head out of here. We have rounded up a bunch of freaked-out medical students from the dorms and are putting them to work.”

  “Sounds like a solid plan, placing the inmates in charge of the prison,” Jackson sassed.

  “Young man, I will miss you and that attitude. However, these are beyond desperate times and staying busy provides a much-needed outlet for these students. Just leave them to me,” Ruth said confidently. “Before you go, take this. It belonged to one of the nurses who’s gone, and I figured you could use it.” She handed him a cell phone.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Ruth. I appreciate it more than you know. Listen, here is the number to the Pentagon operations center. You can reach me there in a pinch, but expect me to contact you with my personal number soon. If you need anything, Ruth, you just give the old doctor here a shout.”

  * * *

  “Boy, you’re a mess. But thank you, Jackson, for all you did, and take care of yourself out there.”

  Jackson began the “short” three-mile walk to the Pentagon, physically weak and emotionally wrecked. It seemed like every person he had treated and encountered tonight was searching for the same answer he was: “What comes next?”

  The emerging theories about what had happened ranged from ridiculous to terrifying. The argument that stood out to Jackson came from a priest being interviewed by a local news channel as part of a panel of “experts.” When he had been asked for his take on the day’s events, he had replied confidently, “It is easy to answer your question about what has happened. God has raptured His Church ahead of His judgment on the world.” When the reporter questioned the priest about why, if that were true, he remained on Earth, the man began crying as he sorrowfully answered, “I never had a relationship with Jesus. I never really believed.” Jackson remembered Rev mentioning in his last Bible study the need to have a personal relationship with Jesus and not to rely on individual assessments of being an upright person.

  He felt so helpless, immersed in a disaster with no idea what to do or, even worse, what the next day would hold. The suffering that people were experiencing was hard to reconcile as somehow being a part of God’s plan for the world. Rev had said God was merciful, but just; gracious, but holy. Perhaps the events of today illustrated just and compassionate all at the same time. Jackson was grateful that he had survived this long when so many had died in the immediate aftermath of the disappearances. Yes, perhaps this is divine compassion. Yet so many others died seemingly for no reason. What had they done to merit such judgment? He was so confused. As he walked along the Potomac River, Jackson wondered if the sirens blaring across the city would ever stop and if his world would ever be the same again. He felt that if there ever was a time to pray to God, today was that day. But the thought of praying to God brought only deep sobs because he did not know how to pray. What he needed was a guide, and he knew Rev’s Bible and journal were the best guides available. He promised himself that he would return to his hotel for some soul-searching after checking in with Omega.

  He pulled out the cell phone Ruth had given him and tried to call Sarah once again—still no voice connection. Jackson was not one for worrying, but the fact that children across the globe were reported missing made his blood run cold. He was scared, his fear so palpable that it drew his mind back to the fear he had felt in his childhood due to his father’s alcohol-fueled abuse. He could only hope that Sarah and his two young daughters had somehow been spared from whatever caused the disappearances.

  As Jackson crossed over the George Washington Parkway and into the Pentagon’s north parking lot where his day had begun hours earlier, he was repulsed that he felt such comfort in seeing the Pentagon and all that it represented. Jackson had dedicated his life to serving strangers over his family, and now he wasn’t even sure if he would ever see his wife and children again.

  * * *

  Gabriella was growing concerned since it was now nine o’clock at night, martial law had been declared, and ninety percent of the Omega Group was unaccounted for and presumed missing or dead.

  “Ma’am, are you the deputy of Omega Group?” a senior airman for the Pentagon operations center inquired.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “The SecDef left a message for you.” The airman handed Gabriella a sealed envelope and left the room as she tore it open. The message read, “Gabriella, Colonel Delmar was found in his car with a gunshot wound to the head, an apparent suicide, after finding out his two young children had disappeared. You are, effective immediately, the commander of Omega Group. Omega is fully reinstated, and the priority is the Brazil mission.”

  Gabriella sat down and buried her head in her hands, overcome with emotion. The tragedy of this day seemed like it would never end. She had started the day with a plan to keep Omega Group going, but now its survival rested squarely on her shoulders, or at least it felt that way at the moment. As she stood to begin the hurried search for Christopher Barrett and his team, she was startled by a knock at her door. “Come in,” she called.

  “Good evening, ma’am. I figured I better check in before you folks turned off my pay,” Jackson said.

  Gabriella did not even try to hide her elation that Jackson had just stepped through her door. “Sergeants Major Williams, I can’t remember the last time I was so excited to see someone.”

  “I would have never guessed you’d say that about me, but I’ll take it. Hey, listen, could you do me a favor and just call me Jackson? All this sergeants major stuff makes me feel like I can’t trust you.”

  “You’ve got a deal, Jackson. By the way, you look like you’ve been in World War Three. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, but it’s a real nightmare out there. I am in desperate need of a change of clothes and some sleep.”

  “The view from the air and the reports I’ve been getting all evening show that the damage and casualty counts may take weeks to officially total. I can help you with a change of clothes, but sleep will have to wait. Jackson, where is Chris—I mean, Major Barrett? He didn’t disappear, or something worse, did he?”

  “Chris…he is alive and likely getting near Harrisonburg by now, trying to figure out if his wife Erin is still with us.”

  Gabriella felt a surge of confidence and purpose from seeing Jackson and hearing that Chris was still alive. “Listen, Jackson, I want you to get cleaned up in the Omega Team room and then meet me in the group briefing room. We have a mission to plan and a leader to pick up. You feel like taking a helicopter ride?”

  “Sure. I’ll meet you in the conference room in fifteen minutes, and we can make plans to pick up ‘Chris.’”

  Gabriella laughed softly, saying, “Yes, he means a lot to me, but don’t read too much into the ‘Chris’ thing. I am glad to see you’re as snarky as ever. One more thing before you go. Please accept my apology for freaking out on you for calling me Gabby. It’s just that name has a particular and intimate meaning for me.”

  “No need for apologies. I like a fiery woman,” Jackson declared, chuckling.

  “Go get cleaned up, funny guy,” Gabriella responded.

  * * *

  Christopher was grateful that darkness had consumed the Shenandoah Valley as he rode along Skyline Drive. He didn’t even want to imagine what the light of day would unveil. The motorcycle had proven to be a wise choice
for moving around as the four-lane I-66 had become a minefield of debris. The drive had taken longer than Christopher had anticipated given the slowdowns for emergency crews attempting to clear the two-lane westbound section of I-66 and the countless masses of humanity stuck along the roadways. He was exhausted after six hours on the bike but still had about an hour to go before he reached Erin’s family farm.

  Almost an hour later he heard the cycle begin to sputter. He should have expected to run out of gas, but he had been foolishly optimistic that a gas station would be available if needed. As the motorcycle coasted to a stop, Christopher pulled off the road and ditched the bike among a collection of deserted vehicles. Thankfully his miscalculation would cost him only a five-mile walk to the farm.

  As he crested the hill that served as the northern boundary to his in-laws’ farmland, he had a feeling of passing into the last remaining semblance of the old world he had known. A wave of panic struck, and he suddenly found it difficult to walk toward the rustic farmhouse that lay below. The rising sun provided rays of hope as he spotted smoke rising from the farmhouse chimney about two hundred yards away—hope that his in-laws were warming the house before heading out to tend the farm. He slogged through the plowed rows of red-clay Virginia dirt, sweating from both effort and trepidation.

  Christopher’s hopes were crushed as he walked out of the fields to a farm in disorder, which he knew his in-laws would never allow. The sight of chickens running loose across the property and the open barn doors brought on a wave of nausea and fear. He ran into the house, screaming, “Erin! Erin! Please…anybody?” When he saw the pile of clothes in the chair near the well-worn needlework basket of his mother-in-law and the smoldering remains of logs in the fireplace, he burst into tears. He turned to run upstairs to Erin’s room, but halted in his tracks at the sight of coffee spilled on the kitchen floor and what looked like a leg. As he moved into the kitchen he realized that his father-in-law was gone, too, leaving behind only the lingering bittersweet smell of coffee and his overalls.

  Christopher collapsed on the stairs, trying not to vomit as he felt his stomach heave while mustering the courage to climb up to Erin’s bedroom, to whatever fate awaited him there. He stood, taking each stair one at a time, wanting to delay the confirmation of his worst fear—the fear that God was real. He paused at the top of the stairs in front of Erin’s room, closing his eyes to the evidence before him that God had returned to claim those who had trusted Him. Christopher would now have to face the trials and judgment of God, starting with opening Erin’s door. As he pushed open her door, the smell of her perfume dominated the tiny room, bringing painful old memories to the surface of his mind and fresh tears to his eyes.

  Erin’s clothes were in a pile on the chair and floor around her desk. The faint glint from her wedding ring caused Christopher to lose the battle with his heaving stomach. He vomited then collapsed onto her bed, weeping and moaning uncontrollably. Christopher should have told Erin when they last spoke of his love for her, but it was his thoughts of God, not Erin, that had caused his outburst. A part of Christopher that he had been trying to suppress for the last month realized that no matter how vast the chasm was between God and him, the fact staring him in the face was that Erin had been right. The only hope he had to see her again was to trust God and attempt to survive the days ahead.

  Yet as he pondered the thought of trusting God at this moment—surrounded by memories of Erin and her glaring absence—his jaw clenched. He thought bitterly, And here is just one more example of pain caused by God! That thought replaced any momentary idea of putting his trust in God. A belief began to grow in Christopher’s mind that he could overcome any judgment God could throw his way. I still don’t need You, God. Christopher’s sobs and wails became primitive as he refused to surrender his pain to God. He kicked the small desk where Erin had been sitting, shattering it into two pieces as it hit a wall, as he screamed, “Where are You? Why do You hate me?” Christopher challenged the God of the universe to explain the pain, much as Job had done thousands of years before him.

  * * *

  The distinct chop of air caused by a Blackhawk helicopter interrupted Heaven’s answer to Christopher’s challenge. He picked up Erin’s wedding ring and walked down the stairs, shaking and sweating from his encounter with the truth of God. As he closed the farmhouse door and walked toward the Blackhawk in the tilled fields of his former in-laws, he refused to look back because he knew the old world was gone, and the unknown world in front of him demanded his full and immediate attention.

  A few hours before Christopher was to be picked up, Gabriella had gathered the Omega Group intelligence staff and was outlining the Brazil plan when Jackson entered the Omega briefing room.

  “Glad to see you looking better, Jackson,” Gabriella said by way of greeting.

  “I do clean up pretty, don’t I?” Jackson quipped in return.

  “Sure, Jackson, you look ready for the prom. Anyway, let’s go over the big picture of the plan, and then you can head out to pick up Major Barrett, hopefully in Harrisonburg.”

  “Okay, lay it on me.”

  Gabriella directed an intelligence officer to proceed.

  “Good morning. Recent reports indicate that the executive targets are likely being held by a separatist faction of the Brazilian military that is trying to take power in the chaos of the disappearances. No official demands have been made by the group holding the executive targets. Additionally little is known about the number of hostiles, but we do have confirmation of their location at the Residência Oficial do Torto or Granja do Torto, which is the presidential ranch retreat of Brazil,” the intelligence officer reported.

  “Thank you,” Gabriella said. “I will take it from here.” She laid out a large map of the Granja do Torto on the briefing room table. “The disappearances have created havoc in Brazil with the elected government losing its ability to govern. The first and second ladies along with the president’s daughter were en route to Brasilia, Brazil, for a global women’s conference when their plane went down during the final airport approach after two of the pilots disappeared. The U.S. Embassy in Brasilia sent a vague report indicating the possibility that at least the president’s daughter had been taken to a ranch.”

  “This will be tough…we won’t be able to move in until we can confirm the number of hostiles and the location of our targets,” Jackson commented.

  “You’re right. We have your team set up with a country liaison in Brasilia via the embassy, which is where you guys will stage for the rescue. The team will also have access to an MH-47 Chinook helicopter and a C-40B military business jet for the mission. I figured the MH-47 can extract your team and the targets from the mission site straight to the airport, and the C-40B makes for a smooth ride home.”

  “That was good thinking, Gabriella. I think moving by air is going to be the best option we have in this situation,” Jackson confirmed.

  “Now for the bad news. The disappearances have stripped Omega down to a skeleton crew. There are only four original members left, and that’s including Christopher and you.”

  “So where are we getting the other half of the team?”

  “I have replacements from the Joint Special Operations Command inbound. I just need you to pick up the Omega Team leader. I sincerely hope he’s mentally able to execute this mission. We don’t need any mistakes and distractions like the French journalist operation. Your team will depart for Brasilia on the C-40B this evening.”

  “I’m sure Christopher will be ready to go, no matter what he found in Harrisonburg. We will meet you at Andrews Air Base later today,” Jackson promised.

  * * *

  As Christopher climbed aboard the helicopter and watched Erin’s family farm disappear, his tears flowed like the rain falling from the leaden sky over his in-laws’ farm. He heard Jackson’s voice over his headset.

  “I am sorry, man. I know you’re hurting, but we will get to the bottom of where these folks went.”


  “I already know where Erin and her family are. They’re in Heaven, and we are about to go through hell.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The rapture has occurred, Jackson, just like Rev said it would…just like Erin talked about.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve heard about this scenario enough from Erin to recognize the truth that all of us who are left have missed the chance to avoid the judgment that will follow the rapture.”

  “So what now?” Jackson asked, surprised to feel his heart in his throat.

  “I don’t have that answer. The only thing I know for sure is that things are gonna get rough.”

  “Well, thanks for the pep talk, but I know we can make it. I just feel it.”

  “How’re Sarah and your kids?”

  “I don’t…” Jackson’s voice trailed off.

  “Hey, brother, no matter what you may believe or not believe right now, hang on to this thought for all it’s worth. Your children are safe. Just believe that your children are safe.”

  Jackson found himself unable to respond as the tears streamed down his cheeks. As the helicopter banked toward the nation’s capital, the light of the new day revealed out of Jackson’s window that there was no place left untouched by the instantaneous disappearance of millions from Earth.

  “Stop focusing on the disaster down there. The world as we knew it is gone. Tell me about our next mission,” Christopher demanded.

  “Before I get to the mission, do you actually believe that God took His Church and all the young children out of this world so He can judge the rest of us?”