“This rider will have the power to kill one fourth of the world’s population by unspeakable tragedy. This is the very text from which Romanero derived his facts. Even he knows the Word of God is infallible.”
President Danforth sighed. “Scary stuff. Doesn’t look good for us.”
“Short term, no. But once we get to Revelation nineteen, life will be just perfect for us Christians. But before that glorious time arrives, we will literally go through hell.”
“Would you mind giving me a glimpse into this perfect life, as you say?”
“Sure. Chapter nineteen describes another praise session in Heaven, preceding Christ’s glorious return to earth with His Bride—the Redeemed souls of the ages. With God’s twenty-one Judgments satisfied the multitude in Heaven rejoice saying, ‘Hallelujah! Salvation and glory and power belong to our God, for true and just are his judgments.’”
“Again the great multitude, like the roar of many waters and like loud peals of thunder will exclaim, ‘Hallelujah! For our Lord God Almighty reigns. Let us rejoice and be glad and give him glory! For the wedding of the Lamb has come, and his bride (the believers) has made herself ready. Fine linen—signifying the righteous acts of the saints—bright and clean, was given to her to wear.’”
“Chapter twenty describes three major events: Christ’s thousand-year reign on earth as KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS—Satan’s doom—and the judgment of the dead at the Great White Throne.
“Chapters twenty-one and twenty-two describe the New Jerusalem, where the believers of the ages will spend eternity. But those who die in their sins will be ushered into Hades, to await the Great White Judgment. They’ll be forced to give an account for everything they did in human form. After that, they’ll receive their final eternal sentence—the Lake of Fire, where there will be constant weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
President Danforth sighed. “It’s only seven years away but by the time it finally gets here, I’m sure it’ll feel more like seventy years. After all, the past seven months has felt like seven years.
“True, but once this time passes, Sir, it’ll be just the beginning of the beginning of eternal bliss for all who are children of the Most High God.”
The comment earned Travis Hartings a smile from the President. “I think that is the perfect place to end our discussion, gentlemen...”
“We’re so grateful, Sir, for everything you’re doing for us.”
“My sentiments exactly. See you next weekend.”
“We look forward to it, Mister President,” Travis Hartings said, on behalf of himself and his partner.
At that, two secret servicemen escorted Clayton Holmes and Travis Hartings out of the White House...
12
SIX DAYS LATER
BRIAN MULROONEY WAS AWAKENED at 5 a.m., after being notified on his cell phone that he’d just received a secure email from Travis Hartings. He sat up in bed, rubbed sleep from his eyes, and signed onto the secure site.
Squinting in the darkness he read the email: Good morning, Brian. Your immediate presence is requested in Washington D.C. A plane ticket has been purchased for you. Your flight leaves at 9 a.m., out of Detroit Metro. Flight details have been sent in a second email, which was programmed to be sent upon your receipt of this one.
Sure enough, Mulrooney was notified that he’d received a new email.
Sorry for the short notice. You’ll receive further instructions once you arrive in D.C. Until then, do not reply to this text message or contact anyone else, not even Jacquelyn. We’ll inform her that you’re away on official ETSM business, and you’ll be out of town for a couple of days. Have a safe flight. See you there. Godspeed.
Mulrooney ran his fingers through his hair. His head still throbbed from the five trips made the day before, from Ann Arbor to Southeast Michigan Evangelical Church, in Sterling Heights, Michigan. Each round trip took roughly two hours.
When Brian explained Tom Dunleavey’s dire situation to Jim Simonton, the lead pastor at Southeast Michigan Evangelical Church contacted a few of his trusted brethren asking if they would join him in providing temporary shelter for former members of a Catholic Church in Ann Arbor, who’d recently converted to Christianity.
The response was overwhelmingly positive.
With everything set, Brian drove Tom Dunleavey to Sterling Heights the next day. Mulrooney then took the church van and began the tedious task of transporting folks from Ann Arbor to Sterling Heights, as Tom remained behind with Pastor Simonton. It took five trips, but he managed to successfully smuggle everyone to safety.
With hatred for Christians so widespread, Brian was increasingly paranoid driving a church vehicle. So much so that he called Pastor Simonton urging him to strip all church advertising off the van as soon as possible, to prevent someone from pulling up next to whoever was driving it and blowing their brains out simply for being a Christian.
Tom Dunleavey rejoiced upon seeing his displaced flock again. They shared many tearful embraces. There were also tears of sorrow for two who were still among the missing: Brother Virgil, a former priest, and sister Mary Catherine, a former nun.
Both had yet to be contacted.
Tom had a sinking feeling they both fell off the planet, never to be heard from again. Though saddened by this realization, they rejoiced knowing they would see their brother and sister again on the other side, the Good side.
Pastor Simonton arranged for a potluck dinner so he could introduce his new brothers and sisters in Christ to the families or individuals who’d agreed to take them in.
No one complained that the portions were much smaller than they were before the Rapture. It was agreed by many in the Christian communities to start rationing food and water now, to hopefully prevent from going without in the days to come.
As a result, most believers were noticeably thinner.
By the time Brian and Tom returned to the apartment in Ann Arbor, Brian was so tired his eyes were already closed before his head hit the pillow. He never bothered setting the alarm. Starved for sleep, his plan was to sleep in for a change.
Travis Hartings changed all that. But as one of the first full time members of the organization, Mulrooney had to be ready to go anywhere he was asked to go on a moment’s notice, no questions asked.
What made this trip significant was that he would finally meet the ETSM leaders, at least Travis Hartings. It would also be his first time flying on an airplane since the Rapture. Brian was nervous and excited at the same time.
What made it significantly different from the first two trips—Chicago for the formation of the ETSM, and Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania to scout out the first ETSM property—was that Jacquelyn wouldn’t accompany him this time.
Mulrooney showered, took two Tylenol, and knocked on the spare bedroom door.
“Brother Tom, are you awake?” There was no answer. Brian knocked again a little harder, finally rousing his house guest from his sleep.
“I’m awake. I’m awake.” Tom, too, had a throbbing headache.
“May I come in?”
“Yes.”
Mulrooney entered.
Tom Dunleavey sat up in bed. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I was wondering if you could give me a ride to the airport?”
“How funny that you should ask me that question...”
“Why?”
“I was just dreaming that you woke me needing a ride to the airport.”
“Are you serious?” Wow!
“Yes. In my dream you were going to Washington D.C. for some sort of secret meeting. I feel certain it’s connected to the last dream I had.”
Brian’s mind was blown. It was evident on his face. “Hmm, what else did you see in the dream?”
“It was a clandestine gathering of sorts. Underground, I believe. Don’t laugh but President Danforth was there...”
“What if I told you I was going to Washington...”
“Given this strange new climate, I wouldn’t be overly surpr
ised.”
“Not sure about the ‘the President being there part’,” Mulrooney said, using his fingers as quotation marks, “but there will be other important people there who mean more to me than President Danforth. This’ll be my first time meeting them in person.”
Wish I was going with you... “What time’s your flight?”
“Nine a.m. I need to leave in an hour. I’ve already showered. I’m about to cook some eggs and brew a pot of coffee. Want some?”
“Sounds good. I’ll be ready to go by the time breakfast is ready.”
They arrived at Detroit Metro at 7:30., giving Mulrooney ample time to be cleared through security.
Tom Dunleavey was still chomping at the bit to know who Brian would be meeting with in Washington. “When will you be back?”
“Sunday night. Ten-fifteen, give or take.”
“Short trip.”
“Yeah. Needless to say, I won’t be back in time for church.”
“I still plan on going. Though it will be a little strange sitting with my flock instead of preaching to them. I’m sure we’ll learn so much from Pastor Jim about these crazy times.”
“Indeed, you will. Even if most of what he teaches is terrifying, at least it’s the Truth, right?” Brian looked at his watch. “Gotta go.”
“See you in two days. Enjoy the flight.”
“Make yourself comfortable at the apartment while I’m gone.”
“Thanks, Brian.”
“The only possible snag is Renate. She has a key to my apartment. I have a hunch she snoops on me when I’m out of town. If she sees my car’s not there, she may go inside. Which is why I asked for a ride. Other than her, you should have no other visitors.”
“What should I do if she stops by?”
“I doubt she will. We haven’t spoken in weeks. But if she does, just be yourself. You’re my friend. Nuff said.” Brian got out of the car. “Enjoy church on Sunday. And tell Pastor Jim I said hi.”
“I’ll do that, Brian.”
Brian Mulrooney went inside the airport terminal not knowing Pastor Jim Simonton had received the same encrypted email from Travis Hartings, and that he, too, was at Detroit Metro parking his car, before boarding a separate flight to Washington National Airport.
Since President Danforth wanted members to come from across the country, Brian and Jacquelyn were the first two selected from Michigan. But since it was a men’s only meeting, Simonton would go in her place.
ETSM membership had swelled to nearly ten thousand full time members. It was difficult selecting only five hundred, but that’s all they could invite.
Pastor Jim Simonton wasn’t invited to the formation of the ETSM a few months back because he didn’t have the dream everyone else invited had had. That all changed on the night of the surprise attack on Israel, when Simonton was rocked by a series of dreams that went on for three straight nights.
Because he vividly saw Brian and Jacquelyn in his dream, Jim was eager to share it with them. They received it with great joy, then shared it with Charles Calloway, who then shared it with Clayton Holmes and Travis Hartings.
Since Simonton was a pastor of a fairly-large church, and since he’d already gone through the vetting process—even if he didn’t know it—now that he had the dream, inviting him was a no-brainer.
UPON LANDING IN D.C. Mulrooney turned on his phone and had three new text messages. One was from Travis Hartings, informing him to check his secure email.
He sat on a chair in the lobby where no one could see his phone screen and signed in: I wired a thousand dollars to your bank to help pay your hotel and rental car expenses. Expect another email upon receipt of this one with the hotel reservation info for tonight. You’ll receive a final email tomorrow morning with more instructions.
Until then, be extremely careful out there. Chances are you’re being watched not only by us. It’s time to develop trust. We’ll be watching and listening. Sleep early tonight. You’ll need it. See you in the morning. TH.
The second text message was from Jacquelyn: Hi sweetie! Have a safe trip wherever you are! I know you can’t reply back. I also know you’ll comply with all orders. I miss you so much already. See you soon. I love you, Brian, and I’m praying for you always!
A smile crossed Brian’s face. Jacquelyn’s words warmed him like no one else could, including Renate.
The third text message was from Twitter, informing Brian that he had a new follower. There was no profile picture. Under normal circumstances, he would have ignored it like he did all who hid behind online profiles choosing not to identify themselves.
But the name caught his attention: NYCTaxiDriver111. Tamika? Mulrooney read the message: Hi Brian. This is your favorite taxi driver. I’m in serious trouble and need your help!
Brian’s hands started trembling. Tears flooded his eyes, “You’re alive! Thank you, Lord!” He typed back: Is this who I think it is? If so, what’s wrong?
Just as he was about to send it, he remembered what Travis Hartings had said about not contacting anyone. They were watching and listening. Which meant they were also monitoring his online activity. The last thing he wanted was to lose the trust of those at the top of the organization.
With a sharp pain in his heart, Mulrooney deleted the message and powered down his phone. Hang in there, sis. Help is on the way. Just need a few days...
13
MEANWHILE, TAMIKA MOSELEY BRUSHED back fresh tears of her own. The one person she thought she could count on more than anyone else never replied to her desperate plea for help. Where are you, Brian? Her heart sunk deep in her chest.
Tamika deactivated her newly-created Twitter account but wouldn’t permanently delete it until she contacted Brian Mulrooney or Charles Calloway. If she contacted them...
If Charles had a Twitter account, it was under a different name. She did find a Facebook account linked to him, but there was no activity whatsoever since before the Rapture.
Tamika couldn’t afford to waste time sending emails to dead-end accounts. As it was, she was taking a big risk just being at this place. Still on the run for the Graveyard Incident, the former New York City taxi driver was still living in her mother’s Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme with her pet cat, Cocoa.
Even if the allegations against her were false, which they were—after all, the only thing she was remotely guilty of was breaking into the cemetery and opening her grandfather’s casket—proving her innocence would be difficult.
Tamika had nothing to do with the $45K worth of bronze vases that were “allegedly” stolen that night. If anything, she left the cemetery that frigid morning with less than she went there with. The pick and shovel she’d borrowed from the janitor at her apartment complex were never returned.
Tamika dropped them to the ground while trying to escape being captured by the two security guards. Thanks to the two Doberman Pinschers, she also left the cemetery with less blood in her body. The dogs clamped onto her legs just as she was climbing the fence to escape and pulled her back to the surface with the greatest of ease, tearing into her flesh with their razor-sharp teeth.
Had Tamika not been carrying mace, they would have kept chomping on her legs until all her flesh was gone. Had that happened, perhaps she wouldn’t be able to walk now.
Thankfully the pain had subsided considerably. But pus still protruded from her still-unhealed wounds. It looked and smelled nasty. The infection wouldn’t go away until someone examined her and gave her antibiotics, and perhaps a few stitches.
As much as she wanted to go to a hospital, it was out of the question. As a wanna-be nurse, she felt she could treat herself, but she didn’t have the proper medical equipment. She, did, however, clean her leg twice a day with diluted peroxide mixed with water, before wrapping duct tape she found in the trunk of her mother’s car around her legs to keep the new gauze in place.
In God’s eyes, Tamika knew she was innocent of the grand theft charges filed against her. But convincing a New York City jury of h
er innocence would be no easy matter. In the courtroom of public opinion, most living in the Big Apple had already judged her guilty as charged.
What angered them more than the grand larceny charges was that she desecrated the grave of a decorated military veteran, who just happened to be her own grandfather! Who did such things? Only a raving lunatic did!
If there was one thing Tamika was thankful for regarding the “Earthquakes Miracle”, and the 70,000,000 Americans who recently left the country for greener pastures—3,000,000 alone within a 50-mile radius of New York City—it’s that it pushed her story far from the front pages.
In normal times, Tamika had no trouble believing the Graveyard Incident was worthy of being a front-page story. But in these bizarre times, it should have been buried deep within the pages of the newspaper, if that. Even if the story had died down considerably, that didn’t change the fact that Tamika Moseley was still a wanted woman. If anyone recognized her she’d be placed in handcuffs and carted off to jail, no questions asked.
If she could somehow contact Brian Mulrooney or Charles Calloway, they would remind her this was spiritual warfare, that Satan and his hordes of demons were doing all they could to silence those who were children of the Most High God, and on and on. As much as their words had always annoyed her before her conversion, she longed to hear them now.
If this is spiritual warfare, I’m not sure how much more of it I can take!
The very thought of incarceration nearly paralyzed her from stepping foot inside the local library in Patterson, New Jersey in the first place. Everything inside told her not to do it, especially since going inside meant she needed to remove the bandanna that had covered most of her face the past few weeks.
It was yet another forgotten item she found in her closet when police came banging on her door on what seemed like eons ago. What once was a worthless bandanna suddenly became the most important accessory Tamika Moseley owned.
The Countdown Begins Page 10
