by Tim LaHaye
“I am without excuse! I am guilty. I am a sinner. I am lost. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go to hell. But I fear he will cast me out because I squandered so many opportunities, because I resisted for so long, because I suffered even many of the judgments and still was cold and hard. Now, if I come whimpering to God as a child, will he see through me? Will he consider me the little boy who cried wolf? Will he know that down deep I am merely a man who once had a wonderful life and enjoyed what I now see were bountiful gifts from God—a creative mind, a wonderful home and family, precious friends—and became a crazy old fool?
“Cameron, I sit here knowing that all you and Tsion and your dear associates have told me is true. I believe that God loves me and cares about me and wants to forgive me and accept me, and yet my own conscience gets in the way.”
Buck was praying as he had not prayed in ages. “Chaim, if you told God what you’re telling me, you’d find out the depth of his mercy.”
“But, Cameron, I would be doing this only because I’m afraid I’m going to die in this plane! That’s all. Do you understand?”
Buck nodded. He understood, but did he know the answer to Chaim’s question? People through the ages had all kinds of motives for becoming believers, and surely fear was a common one. He’d heard Bruce Barnes say that people sometimes come to Christ for fire insurance—to stay out of hell—only to later realize all the benefits that come with the policy.
“You said yourself that I don’t consider myself an expert,” Buck said, “but you also said you knew you were a sinner. That’s the real reason we need Jesus. If you weren’t a sinner, you’d be perfect and you wouldn’t need to worry about forgiveness and salvation.”
“But I knew I was a sinner before, and I didn’t care!”
“You weren’t staring death in the face either. You weren’t wondering whether you might end up in hell.”
Rosenzweig rubbed his palms together. “I was tempted to do this when I was suffering from the locust attack. I knew that was a prophesied biblical event, but I also knew that becoming a believer would not speed my recovery. You told me that yourself. And relief would have been my only motive then, as I fear it is now. What I should do, intellectually, is wait and see if I survive this landing or this crash or whatever it is we’re going to do. If I am not facing imminent death, I won’t be so suspicious of my own intentions.”
“In other words,” Buck said, “‘Get me out of this and I’ll become a believer’?”
Chaim shook his head. “I know better than to bargain with God. He owes me nothing; he need not do one more thing to persuade me. I just want to be honest. If I would not have come to the same conclusion on the ground or in a plane with two good tires, then I should not rush into it now.”
Buck cocked his head. “Friend, rushing into this would be the last way I would describe you. My question is, why do you feel in any more danger now than you did on the ground, or than you will feel if we land safely?”
Chaim raised his chin and shut his eyes. “I don’t. The GC has already announced my death and is now free to exterminate me without the nuisance of publicity. That’s why I found myself running to this plane. I don’t need to tell you the dread of living in exile.”
“But whatever motive you have now, you will also have if we survive. Nothing changes.”
“Maybe I’ll lose the urgency,” Rosenzweig said, “the sense of imminence.”
“But you don’t know that. They may have to foam the runway, bring out the emergency vehicles, all that. You can’t hide under a blanket or claim to be contagious when we leave the plane. And you can’t hide in the lav until the coast is clear. You’re going to be as exposed and as vulnerable as ever, safe landing or no.”
Chaim held up a hand and slowly closed his eyes. “Give me a minute,” he said. “I may have more questions, but just leave me alone a moment.”
That was the last thing Buck wanted to do just then, but neither did he want to push Chaim away. He settled back, amazed at how smooth was the ride that might lead them to eternity.
Kenny Bruce took long afternoon naps, and Tsion looked forward to that. He loved the boy and had had a lot of fun with him for the last fourteen months, even in cramped quarters. He was a good-natured, though normal, kid, and Tsion loved teasing him and playing with him.
Kenny could be wearying, however, especially for one who had not been around infants for nearly twenty years. Tsion needed a nap himself, though he was still desperate not to miss whatever was going to happen in New Babylon.
“Mama?” Kenny asked for the dozenth time, not troubled but curious. It was unusual for her to be gone.
“Bye-bye,” Tsion said. “Home soon. Getting sleepy?”
Kenny shook his head, even as he rubbed his eyes and appeared to be trying to keep them open. He yawned and sat with a toy, soon losing interest. He lay on his back, feet flat on the floor, knees up. Staring at the ceiling, he yawned, turned on his side, and was soon motionless. Tsion carried him to the playpen so he wouldn’t fuss if he awoke before Tsion did. There were plenty of things to keep him occupied there.
Tsion settled before the TV again and put his feet up. The underground was cool, so he draped a blanket over himself. He tried to keep his eyes open as the GC CNN pool camera remained trained on the transparent coffin and the endless line of the mourning faithful from around the world.
Knowing that young David Hassid and his lady friend Annie Christopher were there, along with who knew how many other believers, he began silently walking through his prayer list. When he closed his eyes to pray for his comrades and his cybercongregation (more than a billion now), he felt himself nodding and his brain longing for sleep.
He peeked at the digital clock on the disc player atop the TV. He set the machine to record, just in case he fell asleep and was unable to wake up in time for “the” event. As he settled back in to try to pray, knowing full well he would drift off, the clock showed 12:57 in the afternoon.
Tsion began praying for Chloe, Leah, and Rayford, whom he knew were in the state. Then he prayed for T, Rayford’s friend, who was presently unaccounted for. Then Cameron, always in the middle of something and who knew where. As his mind drifted to his old friend and professor, Dr. Rosenzweig, Tsion began feeling a tingle, much like when he had tried to intercede for Rayford.
Was it fatigue, a hallucination? So disconcerting, so real. He forced his eyes open. The clock still read 12:57, but he felt as if he were floating. And when he let his eyes fall shut again, he could still see plain as day. The cramped cellar was cool and musty, the sparse furniture in its place. Kenny slept unmoving in the playpen, blanket still tucked around him.
Tsion saw this from above now, as if in the middle of the room. He saw himself asleep on the couch. He had heard of out-of-body experiences but had never had one, or dreamed one. This didn’t seem like a dream, didn’t feel like one. He felt weightless, moving higher, wondering if the joists from the flooring above would conk him on the head as he rose and whether that would hurt a floating, hallucinating, dreaming, praying, or sleep-deprived man. He wasn’t sure what kind of a man he was right then, but despite his incredible lightness of being, he felt as conscious and aware as he had ever been. Though he knew he was unconscious, he had never been so attuned to his senses. He could see clearly and feel everything from temperature to the air moving over the hair on his arms as he ascended. He heard every noise in the house, from Kenny’s breathing to the refrigerator kicking on as he passed it.
Yes, he had drifted through the first floor, but he could still see Kenny and neither worried nor felt guilty about leaving him. For he saw himself too, still on the couch, knowing that if Kenny needed him, he could return as quickly as he had left.
The fall air was crisp above the house, yet he was glad he was in shirtsleeves. It was not uncomfortable, but he was so aware of everything . . . feeling, seeing, hearing—the wind through the dead-leafed trees. He even smelled the decaying leaves on the ground, t
hough no one burned them anymore. No one did anything anymore that used to be mundane. Life was about surviving now, not about incidentals. If a task did not put food on the table or provide shelter, it was ignored.
In an instant Tsion instinctively shot his arms out for balance and felt as if he had returned almost to his sleeping form in the underground. But the house, the half-destroyed village of Mount Prospect, the northwest suburbs, the twisted ribbons that used to be highways and tollways, the whole Chicago area had become minuscule beneath him.
Would he soon grow colder, lose oxygen? How could it be that he was this far from home, now looking at a blue globe that reminded him of the hauntingly beautiful pictures of earth from the moon? Daylight turned to night, but the earth was still illuminated. He felt as if he were in the deep recesses of space, maybe on the moon. Was he on the moon? He looked about him and saw only stars and galaxies. He reached for the earth, because it seemed to recede too quickly. In a strange way, though he could not see it anymore, he sensed he and Kenny still slept in Mount Prospect at the safe house.
He was soon able to see the planets as he drifted, drifted, farther and farther from all that he knew. How fast could he be going? Such physical questions seemed pedestrian, irrelevant. The question was, where was he and where was he going? How long could this go on?
It was so, so strange and wonderful, and for the briefest instant, Tsion wondered if he had died. Was he on his way to heaven? He had never believed heaven was on the same physical plane as the universe, somewhere rocket men could go if they had the resources. And at the same time he had never before felt so thoroughly alive. He was not dead. He was somewhere in his mind, he was convinced.
In an instant, as he seemed to hang weightless in space, it seemed he accelerated yet again. He raced through the vast universe itself, with its numberless galaxies and solar systems. The only sound was his own breathing, and to his amazement, it was rhythmic and deep, as if, as if, as if he were asleep.
But he wondered how so puny a mind could dream such a vista. And as if a switch had been pulled, the darkness turned to the brightest light, obliterating the utter darkness of space. Just as the stars disappear in the light of the sun, so everything he had passed on his way to this plateau vanished. He hung motionless in soundless, weightless animation, a sense of expectancy coursing through him.
This light, like a burst of burning magnesium so powerful as to chase even a shadow, came from above and behind him. Despite the sense of wonder and anticipation, he feared turning toward it. If this was the Shekinah glory, would he not die in its presence? If this was the very image of God, could he see it and live?
The light seemed to beckon him, to will him to turn. And so he did.
CHAPTER 13
Rayford drove as close as he could to the Chicago city limits, staying on a rebuilt collar road that had ominous warning signs its entire length, prohibiting traffic beyond its northern line. Patrolling GC cars ignored the sparse traffic, so Rayford looked for a turn that would appear to take him into a local area but which might lead him off-road to the city.
He felt as conspicuous and obvious as he had in a long time, bouncing over dusty lots and through closed forest preserves in the middle of the day. But he detected no tail. He parked the Land Rover beneath a crumbling former L station. He and Chloe and Leah sat in the shade, Rayford beginning to feel the fatigue that had preceded his wonderful sleep in Greece.
“This is my fault,” Chloe said. “I was impatient and stupid and selfish. No way we can walk into Chicago until tonight. And how far is it? Twenty miles to the Strong Building? It’ll take hours.”
Leah shifted in her seat. “If you’re looking for someone to argue with you, I can’t. I’m not trying to be mean, but we’re going to sit here until dark. Then we’re going to walk at least five hours to what, check out our next safe house?”
Chloe sat shaking her head.
“We’re not walking anywhere,” Rayford said. “I know this town like the back of my hand. When it’s good and dark, we’re going to drive to the building with our lights off. The GC aren’t keeping people out of here for fun. They really believe it’s contaminated. If we have to turn on the lights now and then to keep from getting swallowed up in a hole and some surveillance plane spots us or some heat detector locates us, at worst they’ll warn us to get out. They’re not coming in after us.”
“No, Dad,” Chloe said. “The worst that will happen is that they force us out and figure out who you are.”
“They would keep their distance and check us for radiation first.”
“And finding none, there goes our whole plan.”
“There’s enough to think negatively about these days,” Rayford said. “Let’s think positive. Bad enough I have to give Buck the news about his family soon.”
“Let me do that, Dad.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. When he calls, let me talk to him.”
But when Buck called, it was clear this was still not the time to give him news like that. Rayford watched as Chloe seemed to disintegrate on the phone. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “Thanks for telling us. We’ll be praying. I love you too, and Kenny loves you. Call me as soon as you can. Promise me.”
Chloe rang off and quickly brought Rayford and Leah up to speed.
“So that’s where T is,” Rayford said. “Good thinking on Buck’s part. We need to pray for them right now.”
“Especially for Chaim,” Chloe said. “He sounds close.”
“Landing on one wheel is risky,” Rayford said, “but it can be done. I think this is T’s first time in a Super J, though.”
“What kinds of odds would you give them?” Leah said, then appeared to regret asking, realizing Chloe could lose her husband within the next twenty minutes.
“No, I want to know too,” Chloe said. “Really, Dad. What are their chances?”
Rayford stalled but saw little value in getting Chloe’s hopes up. “About one in two,” he said.
Chaim called for Buck, who had joined T in the cockpit. Buck went back and knelt near Chaim’s seat. “One more question,” Rosenzweig said. “Dare I test God?”
“How?”
“Tell him I want to believe, offer him what’s left of my life, and just see if he’ll accept me in spite of my selfish motive.”
“I can’t speak for God,” Buck said. “But it seems to me if we’re sincere, he’ll do what he promised. You already know that this is about more than mere believing, because you believe now. The Bible says the demons believe and tremble. It’s a decision, a commitment, a receiving.”
“I know.”
“We’re about fifteen minutes out, Chaim, give or take circling and getting some tower help. Don’t stall.”
“But you see?” Chaim said. “That just contributes to my problem. I won’t be any more just because my time may be running out. I may be even less.”
“Let God decide,” Buck said.
Chaim nodded miserably. Buck didn’t envy his having to work this out while wondering how long he had to live. Chloe and Kenny were at the forefront of Buck’s mind, and knowing he would see them again in three and a half years regardless did nothing to abate his desperation not to leave them.
He headed back to the seat next to T. “I’ve decided to land at an airport south of Ptolemaïs called Kozani. I’ve decided that I might have a better shot trying a belly landing than trying to put down on one wheel. No telling how strong that one is, or how good a pilot I am. If I’m not perfect, we bounce and that’s it. Going in flat will allow me to land at the slowest possible speed and hope for the best.”
“You’ve got to really be smooth, don’t you?”
“Tell me about it.”
“You gonna fly over low first and see if they can get a look at the wheels?”
T pointed to the fuel gauge, buried on empty. “You tell me.”
“Well, that could be good news, couldn’t it?”
“How so?”
T said.
“If we crash, we don’t burn.”
“If we crash, Buck, you’re going to want to burn. You’re going to wish we were vaporized.”
Tsion felt such a sense of peace and well-being that he didn’t want this to end, dream or not. He knew he should be terrified to turn and face the light, but it was the light itself that drew him.
He did not move as if in water or in a vacuum. He didn’t have to move his limbs. All he had to do was will himself to turn, and he turned. At first Tsion believed he was looking into a bottomless crevice, the only dark spot in a wall of bright white. But as he backed away from the image, so real he believed he could touch it, other dark spaces of relief came into view. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he pulled back far enough to make out a face. It was as if he dangled between the nose and cheekbone of some heavenly Mount Rushmore image.
But this was neither carved from stone nor made of flesh and bone. Huge and bright and strong, it was also at once translucent, and Tsion was tempted to will himself to pass through it. But as it should have been frightening and was not, he wanted to see the whole. If a head, then a body? He pulled back to see the face ringed with hair massive as prairie grass. It framed a face kindly and yet not soft, loving and yet confident and firm.
Tsion knew beyond doubt he was imagining this, and at the same time it was the most sensory-rich experience of his life. It burned into his mind’s eye, and he believed he would never forget it nor experience anything like it again as long as he lived.
His voice nearly failed him, but he managed to croak, “Are you Jesus the Christ?”
A rumble, a chuckle, a terrestrial laugh? “No,” came a gentle voice that surrounded him and, coming from a mouth that size, should have blown him into oblivion. “No, son of the earth, I am merely one of his princes.”
