The Remnant: On the Brink of Armageddon

by Tim LaHaye

  “Look there,” Albie said.

  Almost directly below them was a serpentine line of several hundred exiting the mile-long Siq that led into and out of Petra. They were headed for the concertlike setup in the middle of the desert. As Mac focused on the airstrip and began his descent, he saw the chopper hopping from inside Petra to the end of the runway from where Abdullah would ferry them in.

  “You think Smitty would want to get a closer look at this deal?” Albie said.

  “Why? Would you?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m game. We protected that far out?”

  “In the air we are. Might be takin’ a chance on foot.”

  “Let’s go in the copter.”

  “This is an answer to prayer,” Abdullah said a few minutes later. “I so want to see what is going on out there.”

  “It’s a risk though, Smitty,” Mac said. “You’ve got a pretty good cover, lookin’ like you belong out here. Albie and I have had our covers blown, and we got no disguises, no aliases, no fake marks, no nothin’. You’d better decide if we’re worth being seen with.”

  Abdullah could not hide a smile.

  “You rascal,” Mac said, grinning. “I set myself up for a shot there, didn’t I? And you almost took it.”

  “I was not about to shoot you, Mac.”

  “Verbally you were. You sure were.”

  “I guess I have decided I would rather not be seen with you when we get back to Petra.”

  “Cute. But seriously now . . .”

  “I believe God will protect us. We should stick together, look official, but not make it plain that we do not have marks.”

  “Your turban covers you, and we’ve got caps. You think that’s enough? Should we be armed?”

  “I have no idea how many GC will be there,” Albie said, “but I’m guessing once we get there we’re going to be vulnerable. Guns won’t help is what I guess I’m saying.”

  Abdullah rubbed his forehead. “We should stay in the chopper. If we can see and hear from there.”

  “And if we’re approached?”

  “You speak Texan at them and they will be puzzled long enough for me to lift off.”

  “Oh, you’re hot today, Smitty.”

  “Who would want to come close to a helicopter when the blades are turning?”

  Abdullah studied his friends. It was clear they were as curious as he was.

  “Should we check in with someone?” Mac said.

  “Who?” Abdullah said. “Your mommy?”

  Mac nodded, conceding that Abdullah was developing a sense of humor, but not rewarding him with more than that. “Rayford’s in the air somewhere. It’s on us. What’re we gonna do?”

  “I’m in,” Albie said.

  Abdullah nodded.

  Mac climbed in the back of the chopper. Abdullah slid in behind the controls. Albie sat next to him.

  When they were in the air, Abdullah shouted over the din, “We could check with Chang. Have him put something in the computer.”

  Neither responded, so Abdullah abandoned the idea. He wondered if they were being foolish. Down deep he knew they were. But he could not stop himself from going.

  It was clear to Mac that this show was set up exclusively for the rebels from Petra. He tried to get out of Abdullah why anybody would want to leave the safety of that city, but it was an unanswerable rhetorical question.

  Abdullah was clearly taking his time, but the chopper quickly overtook the walking masses and set down about a hundred feet from the stage, whipping up a cloud of dust that a light breeze carried directly to the people on the platform. They stared at the chopper.

  Mac saw several armed GC looking and talking among themselves. One approached, a young, thick-chested man who would have been stocky even without the bulletproof vest that became apparent as he drew near. Abdullah had shut down and the blade had just stopped.

  “Just sit here and look at him,” Mac said. “Make him make the first move.”

  Vest Chest stood with his weapon dangling, totally nonthreatening, but he looked expectantly at Albie, who sat in the second seat by the door. “You going to open up?” the young man said.

  “Not if we don’t have to,” Albie said. “The AC still has this thing cooled.”

  “You have to,” the Peacekeeper said.

  Albie looked back at Mac. Mac nodded. Albie opened the door.

  Mac leaned forward and spoke in a gruff voice, “You don’t want to be too close to this machine, son! Engine’s still hot, and she’s been known to spit some oil. And we might want to fire her up again, just for a little air.”

  “What’s your business here?”

  “Same as yours. Security. Monitoring. Now I’m going to have to ask you to back away from the craft.”

  It was gutsy, but after what Mac had been through the last year, to him it was like a walk in the park. If the guy wanted to get into a contest of wills, Mac would stall him long enough for Smitty to get the engine roaring again, and they would be out of there. Of course, even small-weapons fire could bring down a chopper from close range, but maybe planting in his mind about the spitting of hot oil would give the GC pause.

  Mac’s ruse worked. The man just nodded and backed off.

  “Start ’er up, Smitty,” Mac said. “Got to give him a reason to concede.”

  The dust blew again. Abdullah shut down quickly. The GC returned. Mac took the offensive. He leaned past Albie and opened the door himself. “Don’t worry,” he said, “that’s the last time we do that till we leave. We don’t want to get people dusty or keep ’em from hearin’ or anything, okay?”

  “Just what I was going to say, sir.”

  Mac gave him an index-finger salute, and the people began showing up, already looking exhausted.

  It took only a few minutes for the crowd to gather, and it appeared that an otherwise normal-looking guy, whom Mac thought looked like a younger version of Leon Fortunato, grabbed the microphone. He wore white shoes, white slacks, a white shirt, and sounded like a motivational speaker, all peppy and crisp. He said he was the whole show—announcer, performer, everything.

  “But I’m not typical. No, folks. People have called me a type of Christ. Well, you be the judge. All I can tell you is that I am not from here. That was not a joke. I am not even from this world. There’s no music today, no dancing girls, just me, a wonder-worker. I come under the authority of the risen lord, Nicolae Carpathia, and I have been imbued with power from him.

  “If you are skeptical, let me ask you to look at the sky. I know the sun is still high and hot and bright, but would you agree with me that there are no clouds? None. Not one. Anyone see one anywhere? On the distant horizon? Forming somewhere in the great beyond? Shade your eyes, that’s all right. But do me the favor of removing your sunglasses, those of you who have them. You’re squinting, and that’s all right. Some of you are frowning, but you won’t be in a moment.

  “Would you like a nice cloud? Something to block the sun for just an instant? I can provide one. You’re skeptical, I can tell. Don’t look at me; you’ll miss it. You’ll think it was a trick. But what do you call that?”

  A shadow fell over the crowd. Even the GC gawked at the sky. Abdullah leaned over. Albie bent forward. Mac turned his body between them and looked up. A thick, white cloud blotted out the sun. The people oohed and aahed.

  “How does he do that?” Abdullah said.

  “He already told you,” Mac said. “Power from Nicolae.”

  “Too quick?” the miracle worker said. “Did the sudden change in temperature chill you, even out here in the desert? Maybe that’s enough shade for the moment, hmm?”

  The cloud disappeared. It didn’t move, fade, or dissipate. It was there, and then it was gone.

  “How about half shade, but still enough of the sun coming through to keep you warm?” It was instantaneous.

  A woman near the stage dropped to her knees and began worshiping the man.

  “Oh, ma’am, thank y
ou ever so kindly. But what is the cliché? You have seen nothing yet. How about this microphone stand? A solid steel base, long two-piece shaft, separate microphone and cord, attached at the top. Anyone want to come up and prove it is what I say it is?”

  An older man limped up the steps to the platform. He felt the mike and stand and then rapped on the upper shaft, causing thudding noises through the sound system. “Oops, look at that!” Miracle Man said. And the mike stand and mike had been replaced by a snake that led from his hand all the way to the transformer box.

  The people recoiled and some cried out, but as quickly as it had appeared, the snake disappeared and the mike and stand were as before.

  “Magic tricks? You know better. Had trouble getting enough water lately? Or shall we believe the stories coming from inside Petra? Think a spring in there was an act of God? Then what does that make me?”

  He pointed into the middle of the crowd, and a spring gushed from the ground, splashing over their heads. “Cool, crisp, and refreshing, no?” he said. “Enjoy! Go ahead!” And they did.

  “Hungry? Tired of the fare in your new home? How about a basket of real bread, warm and chewy and more than enough for all?”

  He reached behind him and brought out a wicker basket with a linen napkin in it. Five popover-sized chunks of bread, warm and golden brown, were piled in it. “Start that around. Here you go. Sure, take one. No, a whole one! Take two if you’d like. There’s more where that came from.”

  The basket passed from hand to hand and everyone took at least one piece, several two, and yet the basket was never depleted.

  “Who am I? Who do you say that I am? I am a disciple of the living lord, Potentate Carpathia. Have I persuaded you that he is all-powerful? His patience has run out with you people, however. He would like me to administer the mark of loyalty to you, which I can do without technology. You don’t doubt me anymore, do you?”

  People shook their heads. “Who will be first? I will do four simultaneously. You, you, you, and you. Ask your friends what they see.”

  Even Mac could see that they had Carpathia’s mark on their foreheads.

  “More? Yes, raise your hands. Now those of you who have your hands raised right now, hear me. No, no new ones. Hands down if you did not have them up when I said that. Why have you waited so long? What was the holdup? The one I serve wants me to slay you, and so, you’re dead.”

  More than a hundred dropped to the desert floor, causing the rest to shriek and cry out.

  “Silence! You do not think I could slay the lot of you? If I can slay them, can I not also raise them? These six, right up here, arise!”

  The six stood as if they had just awakened. They looked embarrassed, as if they didn’t know why they had been on the ground.

  “Think they were merely sleeping? in a trance? All right, they’re dead again.” They dropped again. “Now if you know them, check their vital signs.”

  He waited. “No breath, no pulse, correct? Let that be a lesson to those who remain. You see that, in the distance? Yes, there. The little cloud of dust, what appears to be tumbleweed rolling this way? Those are vipers of the deadliest sort. They are coming for you.”

  Some turned and began to run, but they froze in place.

  “No, no. Surely you do not think escape is possible from one who can create a cloud to cover the sun? If you want the mark of loyalty, raise your hand now and receive it.”

  The rest of the crowd raised their hands, frantic. “But more of you should die before the vipers get here.” About three dozen keeled over.

  “Why do the vipers keep coming?” a woman cried. “We have all obeyed! We have all taken the mark!”

  “The vipers are wise, that is all,” he said. “They know who was serious and loyal and who acted only out of fear for their lives.”

  The spring turned to blood, and the people near it backed away.

  “Fools!” he said. “You’re all fools! Do you think a god like Nicolae Carpathia wants you as his subjects? No! He wants you dead and away from the clutches of his enemies. You are free to run now, and it is entertaining to me to see you run as fast and as frantically as you can. But let me warn you. You will not outrun the vipers. You will not reach Petra in time to save yourselves. Your bodies will lie bloated and baking in the sun until the birds have their way with your flesh. For as I leave, I take with me the shade I provided.”

  The people burst from the scene, screaming and staggering madly in the sand toward Petra. The GC guards seemed apoplectic and stared as the vipers changed course to chase down the people. The spring dried up, the cloud disappeared, and dozens of chunks of bread lay in the sand.

  Mac looked at Albie and Smitty and they all shook their heads, trembling. Suddenly the wonder-worker stood directly in front of the chopper. Though he did not open his mouth, Mac heard him as if he were inside the craft. “I know who you are. I know you by name. Your god is weak and your faith a sham, and your time is limited. You shall surely die.”

  Mac had difficulty finding his voice. “Let’s go,” he croaked, and Abdullah started the engines. The cloud of sand blew up and then away, and as Smitty lifted off, Mac looked down to see nothing but a long stretch of undisturbed sand, dotted only by the dead who had dropped at the site. No GC. No miracle man. No platform. No bread. No vehicles.

  What about the snakes? He didn’t see them either. But stretched for a quarter mile were the rest of the people, still and flat and grotesque on the desert floor, limbs splayed.

  Tsion was troubled in his spirit by a deep sense of foreboding. He knew he would not be able to shepherd all the way to the Glorious Appearing every person who had arrived in Petra. And yet he believed that when they had seen the mighty and miraculous hand of God, many of the undecided would be persuaded.

  Many had been; of that there was no doubt. That was what Chaim and the other elders were saying as Tsion despaired, deep in one of the caves. It was as if the Lord had told him that the rebels would not be returning—not any of them. But he didn’t know if God would slay them, as he did in the Korah rebellion in the days of Moses, or whether Antichrist would kill them after luring them into the desert with his great deception.

  He looked up when Naomi hurried in from the technology and communications center and went directly to her father. She stole a glance at Tsion as she whispered in her father’s ear, and when Tsion saw the slump of his shoulders and the sad shaking of his head, he knew.

  The young woman left, and her father made his way up to Chaim. Tsion leaned over. “Tell us both. I must know of this eventually anyway.”

  “But, sir,” Naomi’s father said, “could you not be spared the totality of this until even one day after your triumph over the False Prophet? Why must your rejoicing be tempered?”

  “I am not rejoicing, my friend. I was unable to keep the False Prophet from enticing the rebels to go their own way, no matter what I did or said. Tell me the whole of it. Spare me nothing.”

  “Three of your friends from the Tribulation Force were eyewitnesses and are just now returning. They request a moment with you.”

  Tsion stood. “Of course! Where are they?”

  “On their way from the helipad.”

  As he and Chaim neared the entrance to the cave, Mac, Albie, and Abdullah were coming in. They all embraced. The elders maintained a respectful distance as the five huddled and Mac told the story.

  “You should not have attended,” Tsion said sadly.

  “If we’d known what we were gonna see, we wouldn’t have,” Mac said. “But you know, sometimes us pilot types are as curious as little boys. This just mighta cured us.”

  “That man was not even human,” Tsion said. “Surely he was a demonic apparition. Revelation 12 says that when Satan, who will deceive the whole world, was cast down from heaven to earth, ‘his angels were cast out with him.’ And of course it is no surprise that these people were not even recruited for the Global Community. John 10:10 says Satan wants only to steal and to kill and to
destroy.”

  “I have a question, Dr. Ben-Judah,” Albie said. “Is it okay not to like this? I mean, everybody’s outraged about what happened, but just when I think I have an idea what God might be up to, he lets something like this happen, and I don’t understand him at all.”

  “Do not feel bad about that, my brother, unless your questioning of him makes you doubt him. He is in control. His ways are not our ways, and he sees a big picture we will not even be able to fathom this side of heaven. I too am distraught. I had so wished that some of these might run back to us, pleading that we intercede for them before God, the way the wayward children of Israel did in Old Testament times. I would have loved to pray for atonement for them or to hold up an image of a bronze snake so that those bitten could look upon it and be healed.

  “But God is doing his winnowing work. He is cleansing the earth of his enemies, and he is allowing the undecided to face the consequences of their procrastination. You know as well as I do that no one in his right mind should choose against the God who can protect them against weapons of mass destruction. But here were these fools, venturing out into the desert, outside of God’s blanket of protection, and there they lie. As the apostle Paul put it, ‘O the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out! For who hath known the mind of the Lord? Or who hath been his counselor? . . . For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things—to whom be glory for ever.’”

  Mac was up before dawn, eager to get going. But as he waited for Albie and Abdullah, he was aware of a buzz throughout Petra. An announcement was going out, through an elaborate word-of-mouth system, that Tsion and Chaim were calling for everyone to assemble after they had eaten their morning manna.

  Abdullah and Albie ate quickly and packed, joining Mac with the million others before the three of them were to lift off.

  Chaim addressed the crowd first. “Tsion believes the Lord has told him that no more indecision reigns in the camp. You may confirm that by looking about you. Is there anyone in this place without the mark of the believer? Anyone anywhere? We will not pressure or condemn you. This is just for our information.”