The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books

by Tim LaHaye

  Seeing nothing due west, Chloe began her incremental scan to the right. It was just past three o’clock in the morning in California.

  Rayford had walked perhaps a quarter of a mile north from the terminal, easily slipping past men and women clearly younger than he but who shuffled along with the painful gait of the elderly.

  “In our effort to keep you totally informed,” Fortunato announced, “we bring some encouraging news. While it remains true that no light is being emitted in New Babylon, this puzzling phenomenon has not affected telephone or radio transmission. Our heating and cooling systems remain functional. Your stoves even work, unless they are solar powered. Electric and gas stoves will still burn and radiate heat, though you will not see it, so be extremely careful.

  “Pilots flying from New Babylon or toward her when this darkness occurred report that it is confined to the city. As we do not know how long this will last, be assured that if you can follow a path that leads you beyond our borders, you will eventually reach light.”

  From all around, Rayford heard determination on the parts of the sufferers. “I’m going,” one said.

  “Me too. I don’t know where or how, but I’m getting to the light somehow.”

  “Does anyone have a Braille compass? We’ll wander in circles without one.”

  “Attention,” Fortunato broke in again, “all senior command personnel are to meet in the potentate’s office at 1500 hours.”

  Rayford studied his watch. It’s one fifteen. How are they going to pull that off by three in the afternoon?

  “Use audio clocks,” Fortunato said. “It is now 1315 hours. At 1430 hours we shall turn off all loudspeakers except for the ones on the tower near the west entrance of the palace. Follow the sound there and you should be able to make your way to the meeting. Elevators are operational. The bottom right button is the top floor. Attendance is mandatory but limited to command-level personnel.”

  “I’m going anyway,” someone said.

  “So am I. Get to the bottom of this.”

  “Find out what the deal is.”

  “He’s supposed to be god incarnate; why can’t he do something?”

  Rayford blinked, then blinked again. In the distance he thought he saw light. He was getting farther from the plane and from where Chang and Naomi and Abdullah were, but if worse came to worst, he could follow command personnel to the palace entrance at two thirty and find his people from there. For now, he had to investigate the light.

  Chloe was four clicks into her intermittent scan now, looking due east. As she studied the dark landscape she detected a pair of pinpricks of light. She held her breath as they became larger. Whatever they represented was drawing closer. Soon it became clear it was a car or truck. It rolled to within a block of the compound, stopped, and turned around. Now she saw only the red taillights. And there it sat. For ten minutes, then another five.

  Chloe hurriedly scanned the rest of the way around. Nothing. One more click and she was back to the east section and the idle vehicle. No way she was going to wake Buck for this. It wasn’t as if those in the compound expected no traffic outside. But there wasn’t much else in the area, certainly nothing worth stopping for at this time of the night.

  Chloe wished the periscope had a telescope feature so she could home in on the vehicle and see whether anyone was emerging. The compound’s hidden vehicle bay, used only at night when they knew the area was clear, opened to the east. Dare she head that way for a closer look? An individual service door, hidden next to the big one, would allow her to peek out if she kept the inside lights off. She would be a hundred yards closer. And it wasn’t like she was planning to actually venture outside.

  Chloe pulled a black sweat suit with a hood from the closet and put it on over her pajamas and sweatshirt. Over thick woolen socks she laced high-top hiking boots. She took the Uzi but not the walkie-talkie. She didn’t want any unintended transmission to give her away. And she did not intend to get herself into a situation where she’d need to call for help. The Uzi was just for peace of mind. So was the prayer: “Lord, help me or forgive me, one of the two.”

  Chloe quietly opened Kenny’s door yet again. He hadn’t moved. She felt his cheek. Moist with sleep but comfortably warm. She kissed his forehead. Cool and soft.

  Shutting his door, she made her way to where Buck slept and planted a knee on the mattress next to his midsection. She leaned to kiss him, holding his head. If he were anything but sound asleep, that would have roused him. In the darkness Chloe was struck by the contrast between her dark clothing and her skin, which hardly ever saw the sun.

  She found gloves and a ski mask, and by the time she was in the corridor that led past other underground quarters to the vehicle bay, Chloe was sweating. Their place was in the center of the complex, and four wings led to everyone else’s places. She crept past the Sebastians’, three other families’ places, a bank of single men’s residences—including Ree Woo’s and her own father’s—two more family places, then a mixture of family and single quarters, including Ming’s.

  Everybody knew Big George was on watch tonight and that Buck Williams, in charge when Rayford was gone, was first alternate. That must have been why everyone seemed to be sleeping so soundly.

  Rayford broke away from the tentative crowd and headed toward the light. Was it his imagination? Past twenty feet all was foggy anyway, and no one near him seemed able to see anything, let alone what he saw. The closer he got, the more the light appeared to be the silhouette of a person, but he saw nothing else and guessed it was still fifty yards away. When he had worked at the palace and lived nearby, the garages and motor pool had been in that area.

  Had someone figured a way to produce light? Rayford had passed through small groups of limping people, and now it appeared nothing stood between him and this . . . this what? Apparition? It looked merely bright from a distance, but soon the color became more distinct. First red, then yellowish, and finally, a deep burnt orange. Yes, clearly a person, specifically a man, tall and lithe. And moving.

  Others were within a few feet of the man, using his light to work on vehicles. They seemed in pain like everyone else, but they worked with dispatch, as if invigorated by the light. The glowing man appeared to be able to see as far as he radiated, about three feet. Anyone who needed light had to be that close to him.

  Rayford realized it was Carpathia. Dr. Ben-Judah had often taught that this same person came first as a lying snake, then as a roaring lion, and finally as an angel of light. Rayford had to stifle a chuckle. The devil in Nicolae surely wished he could emit more than this pathetic glow that allowed him to identify only those within a few feet of him.

  Rayford moved until he was among a small crowd just outside the circle of mechanics trying to ready several vehicles for some purpose he did not yet understand.

  “All systems are functional?” Carpathia said.

  “Yes, Potentate. The Jeep is operational.”

  “Turn on the lights.”

  The mechanic did. “You can hear the drain on the electrical system, so juice is flowing, Excellency, but as you can see—”

  “As we can all see or not,” Carpathia said, “no lights. Well, if I must, I will walk ahead of the convoy until we pass through the darkness on the way to Al Hillah. I do not care how long it takes.”

  What kind of a strategy was this? The brass will meet in Carpathia’s office, and then he will lead them to Al Hillah? For what? And what about the thousands remaining in New Babylon? Wouldn’t they want to follow, to find relief?

  “What’s in Al Hillah?” Rayford said.

  “Who is asking?” Carpathia said. “And why do you not address me with a title of honor?”

  Nicolae was looking in Rayford’s direction, but it was obvious he could see no farther than anyone else within range of his hellish aura. As Nicolae moved forward, Rayford moved back and to his left, then circled around behind Carpathia.

  “Yeah,” Rayford said in a slightly different tone. �
��What is in Al Hillah, O Great One?”

  Nicolae whirled around, and Rayford slipped away again. “I was speaking to the original questioner! Who is asking?”

  “Perhaps he fled in fear,” Rayford said with a gravelly voice, “Excellency.”

  This could be fun.

  Chloe had known the long passageway to the vehicle bay to be cold and damp most of the time, and perhaps it was now. But in her getup and in her state of mind, moving quickly up the incline past the vehicles and toward where the doors opened to ground level, she had grown uncomfortably warm. She removed her gloves and ski mask, chiding herself for having them on before she needed them anyway. Chloe lowered the zipper on the sweatshirt, then squatted to cool down and catch her breath with her back against the dirt wall between the bay door and the service door.

  Being that close to the surface and the outside gave Chloe a delicious feeling of freedom. Less than a year to real freedom.

  Her knees soon burned, so she slid to the earthen floor and straightened her legs. Setting her weapon aside, she reached for the toes of her boots, alternately stretching her right and left sides. Despite her many serious injuries, she was proud that her duties in Greece had proved she was still in remarkable shape. She zipped her sweatshirt to her neck, pulled the ski mask over her face, raised the hood over that, tugged on her gloves, put the strap of the Uzi over her head so the weapon rested on her right hip and in her right hand, then stood and turned to the service door.

  There could be no slight opening of the bay door. That was an all or nothing deal. The glued-on sand and dirt and greenery moved as one, and the thing was either fully open or shut. But the service door, though camouflaged the same way, she could open as slowly and slightly as she wanted. She flipped off the light and gripped the doorknob.

  Rayford hurried toward the palace. He wanted to check on the others and tell them of his plan. He had experienced more bizarre events in six years than he ever could have imagined, and while many had been bigger and louder and wilder, this was unique. These poor people! Yes, they had made their choices, and yes, they had had their opportunities to turn to God. But what a price!

  They were in agony. Everywhere he went, more and more people came into the twenty-foot limit of his visibility. Many were dead. More sat rocking or lay weeping. All had given up looking for ways to see anything but a blackness so thick it disoriented them. Those who tried to follow the music or Fortunato’s voice limped or shuffled with arms extended to the front or sides, tipping one way and then the other as if drunk or dizzy. They ran into each other, into buildings, tripped over debris, and many simply seemed to run out of gas, slowing, stopping, and tumbling. Rayford wished he could help, but there was nothing he could do.

  On his way to Chang’s quarters, Rayford came up with an idea and changed course. He stayed on the elevator and reached the top floor of the palace. There he tiptoed past several executives and their aides, who talked on phones or sat before computers, trying to dictate but unable to see whether their messages were getting through.

  The phone calls all had the same theme and tone.

  Carpathia had a new assistant since the time when Rayford had worked with him. Chang had told him her name. He assumed she was the one on the phone at the desk outside Carpathia’s new office. Rayford noticed her double take when she heard him sit on a couch across from her area, but he said nothing and she continued her conversation.

  “I don’t know,” she said with a whine. “He wants me to try to carry on as if I am not suffering like all the others. But I am, Mom. There are little things I can do when he is in here, because he emits this glow of some sort and I can at least find a few things. But he’s called a meeting of the brass and they’re planning some sort of a pilgrimage. . . . No, I don’t get to go, and I don’t want to. He’s not even telling the rank and file that their bosses are leaving.

  “Ooh! Ouch . . . oh, I don’t know how to describe it. Cramps, I guess. A headache like nothing I’ve ever had, and I’ve had some doozies. . . .”

  She sounded American, but her back was to Rayford and he could not see the number on her forehead or hand.

  “And it feels as if I’m carrying a huge weight on my shoulders, pressing on my spine. My hips hurt, my knees, ankles, feet. Like your arthritis, I suppose. But, Mom, I’m thirty-six years old. I feel like I’m seventy-five. . . . Yes, I’m eating. I feel my way back to my apartment and I can manage, but when I lie down, I want to sleep for a hundred years. But I can’t. . . . Well, because of the pain! No position relieves it. It’s like this darkness itself is pushing on me and causing all this, and it’s the same for everybody.”

  Rayford shifted his weight and the woman froze. “Hold a minute, Mom.” She turned and Rayford saw the –6 on her forehead, confirming his guess. The United North American States. “Is someone there? May I help you?”

  He was tempted to tell her he had some questions about the meeting but that he would wait until she was off the phone. But he knew she knew who was left on the decimated senior staff, and she would not recognize his voice. He wished he could speak soothingly to her, to say something Jesus would say. But she was beyond help now. Rayford had never felt so hog-tied.

  “Sorry, Mom,” she said. “Now I’m hearing things. I’d better get off. This meeting’s coming up, and I don’t even know what he’s going to want. No one will be able to read anything unless they hold it up to his light, and there are twenty expected. . . . Yes, twenty. . . . I know. . . . Yeah, we’re down from thirty-six. Imagine.

  “Exciting? No. Not for a long time. He is not the man I thought he was. . . . Oh, in every way. Mean, cruel, vicious, egotistical, selfish. I swear, I’d need a thesaurus. . . . Well, I can’t! . . . No! Of course I can’t! Where would I go? What would I do? He knows what I know, and he wouldn’t be able to let me out of his control. . . . No, now I just have to live with it. . . . I don’t know, Mom. It can’t end well. I don’t care anymore. Death will be a relief. . . . Well, I’m sorry, but I mean it. . . . Now don’t, Mom. I’m not planning anything rash. . . . I know you have. We all have. All but Uncle Gregory, I guess. He’s still holding out, is he? . . . How does he live? You know what happens if he’s found out. . . . No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. That way if somebody asks, I’ll be able to tell them I don’t know. Just tell him I’m proud of him and keep it up, but be careful. You and Dad be careful too. If you’re caught aiding him in any way . . .”

  Rayford heard footsteps in the hall, and it was clear she did too. “Gotta go, Mom. Stay well.”

  She hung up and turned when the door swung open. A big, bony man of about fifty looked wide-eyed at Rayford and his mouth fell open. He pointed at Rayford’s forehead, and Rayford noticed the mark of the believer on him too.

  “May I help you?” Carpathia’s assistant said. “Who is it?”

  Rayford held a finger to his lips and pointed down the hall. He mouthed, “Five minutes,” and the man shut the door and ran off.

  The woman shrugged. “Thanks for dropping by,” she muttered, “whoever you were.”

  “Whoever it was has left,” Rayford said.

  She jumped. “And how long have you been here?”

  “Long enough to know about Uncle Gregory.”

  “I’m so stupid! I don’t know you, do I?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not senior staff.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Is anyone with you?”

  “No, Krystall.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “I can help your uncle.”

  “Tell a soul, I’ll deny every word.”

  “Don’t you want him helped?”

  “You’re trying to trap me.”

  “I’m not. If I was GC, I would not be able to see, would I?”

  “You can’t see.”

  “I can. And I can prove it. Your colors don’t match.”

  “You couldn’t prove that by me, idiot. I can’t see them either. I dress by
sense of touch these days, like everybody else.”

  “My mistake. Hold up some fingers; I’ll tell you how many. . . . Three, and your right hand is facing me, and the three fingers are your pinkie, ring, and middle.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You mean how can I see?”

  “You can’t see.”

  “Then how do I know you’re showing me six fingers now, all five on your left and the index on your right, the backs of your hands toward me? I can see by your face you’re starting to be convinced. You’re hiding your hands under the desk now.”

  Krystall pressed her lips together and looked as if she was about to cry. Rayford stood.

  “Stay where you are,” she said, voice quavery, hands in her lap.

  Rayford slipped around behind her. “That would be no fun,” he said, and she jumped and spun in her chair. “Now I can see your hands again,” he said. “They’re balled in your lap, thumbs pointing.”

  “Okay, so you can see me. How?”

  “Because this darkness is a curse from God, and I am one of his.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I can help your uncle, Krystall.”

  “How?”

  “Were you implying he has not yet taken the mark?”

  “What if I was?”

  “Then it’s not too late for him. Is he a believer in Christ?”

  “I don’t think so. I think he’s just a rebel.”

  “A lucky one, if he acts quickly.”

  “If you think you’re going to trick me into telling you where he’s hiding, you’re—”

  “I don’t need to know that. You’d be foolish to risk telling me, and anyway, didn’t you tell your mother not to even tell you where he was?”

  She didn’t respond.