The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (135 page)

Ritz struggled to his feet and appeared woozy, covering his eyes. Buck whipped open his door, but Ken said, “Stay there. I’m all right.”

He squeezed himself in, knees pushing against the dashboard and his head pressing against the roof. He chuckled. “Buddy boy, I have to duck to see out.”

“There’s not much to see,” Buck said. “Try to relax.”

Ritz snorted. “You must’ve never been hit in the back of the head with an airplane.”

“Can’t say I have,” Buck said, pulling onto the shoulder and passing several cars.

“Relaxing isn’t the point. Surviving is. Why did you let me out of that hospital anyway? I needed another day or two of shut-eye.”

“Don’t put that on me. I tried to talk you out of leaving.”

“I know. Just help me find my dope, would ya? Where’s my bag?”

The Twin Cities’ expressways were in relatively decent shape, compared to the Chicago area. By snaking between lane closures and detours, Buck moved at a steady pace. With his eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel, he reached behind Ken and grabbed his big leather bag. He strained, pulling it over the back of Ken’s seat, and in the process dragged it hard across the back of Ken’s head, causing him to screech.

“Oh, Ken! I’m so sorry! Are you all right?”

Ken sat with the bag in his lap. Tears streamed, and he grimaced so hard his teeth showed. “If I thought you did that on purpose,” he rasped, “I’d kill you.”

Rayford Steele enjoyed a hunger for the Word of God from the day he had received Christ. He found, however, that as the world slowly began to get back to speed following the disappearances, he became busier than ever. It became increasingly difficult to spend the time he wanted to in the Bible.

His first pastor, the late Bruce Barnes, had impressed upon the Tribulation Force how important it was that they “search the Scriptures daily.” Rayford tried to get himself in that groove, but for weeks he was frustrated. He tried getting up earlier but found himself involved in so many late night discussions and activities that it wasn’t practical. He tried reading his Bible during breaks on his flights, but that caused tension between him and his various copilots and first officers.

Finally he hit upon a solution. No matter where he was in the world, regardless of what he had done during the day or evening, sometime he would be going to bed. Regardless of the location or situation, before he turned out the light, he would get his daily Bible study in.

Bruce had at first been skeptical, urging him to give God the first few minutes of the day rather than the last. “You have to get up in the morning too,” Bruce had said. “Wouldn’t you rather give God your freshest and most energetic moments?”

Rayford saw the wisdom of that, but when it didn’t seem to work, he went back to his own plan. Yes, he had at times fallen asleep while reading or praying, but usually he was able to stay alert, and God always showed him something.

Since losing his Bible in the earthquake, Rayford had been frustrated. Now, in the wee hours, he wanted to get online, download a Bible, and see if Tsion Ben-Judah had posted anything. Rayford was grateful he had kept his laptop in his flight bag. If only he had kept his Bible there, he would still have that too.

In his undershirt, trousers, and socks, Rayford lugged his laptop to the communications center, found a hot spot, and sat where he could see his own door down the hall.

As information began appearing on his screen, he was distracted by footsteps. He lowered the screen and stared down the hall. A young, dark-haired man stopped at Rayford’s door and knocked quietly. When there was no answer, he tried the knob. Rayford wondered if someone had been assigned to rob him or look for clues to the whereabouts of Hattie Durham or Tsion Ben-Judah.

The young man knocked again, his shoulders slumped, and he turned away. Then it hit Rayford. Could it be Hassid? He gave a loud “Psst!”

The young man stopped and looked toward the sound. Rayford was in the dark, so he raised his computer screen. The young man paused, clearly wondering if the figure at the computer was whom he wanted to see. Rayford imagined his concocting a story in case he encountered a superior officer.

Rayford signaled him, and the young man approached. His nameplate read David Hassid.

“May I see your mark?” Hassid whispered. Rayford put his face near the screen and pulled his hair back. “Like the young Americans say, that is so cool.”

Rayford said, “You were looking for me?”

“I just wanted to meet you,” Hassid said. “By the way, I work here in communications.” Rayford nodded. “Though we don’t have phones in our rooms, we do have wireless.”

“I don’t. I looked.”

“They are covered with stainless steel plates.”

“I did see that,” Rayford said.

“So you don’t need to risk getting caught out here, Captain Steele.”

“That’s good to know. It wouldn’t surprise me if they could tell where I’ve been on the Web through here.”

“They could. They can trace it through the lines in your room, too, but what will they find?”

“I’m just trying to find out what my friend, Tsion Ben-Judah, is saying these days.”

“I could tell you by heart,” Hassid said. “He is my spiritual father.”

“Mine too.”

“He led you to Christ?”

“Well, no,” Rayford admitted. “That was his predecessor. But I still see the rabbi as my pastor and mentor.”

“Let me write down for you the address of the central bulletin board where I found his message for today. It’s a long one, but it’s so good. He and a brother of his discovered their marks yesterday too. It’s so exciting. Do you know that I am probably one of the 144,000 witnesses?”

“Well, that would be right, wouldn’t it?” Rayford said.

“I can’t wait to find out my assignment. I feel so new to this, so ignorant of the truth. I know the gospel, but it seems I need to know so much more if I’m going to be a bold evangelist, preaching like the apostle Paul.”

“We’re all new at this, David, if you think about it.”

“But I’m newer than most. Wait till you see all the messages on the bulletin board. Thousands and thousands of believers have already responded. I don’t know how Dr. Ben-Judah will have time to read them all. They’re pleading with him to come to their countries and to teach them and train them face-to-face. I would give everything I owned for that privilege.”

“You know, of course, that Dr. Ben-Judah is a fugitive.”

“Yes, but he believes he is one of the 144,000 as well. He’s teaching that we are sealed, at least for a time, and that the forces of evil cannot come against us.”

“Really?”

“Yes. That protection is not for everyone who has the mark, apparently. But it is for the converted Jewish evangelists.”

“In other words, I could be in danger, but you couldn’t, at least for a while.”

“That seems to be what he’s teaching. I’ll be eager to hear your response.”

“I can’t wait to plug in.”

Rayford unplugged his machine and the two strolled down the corridor, whispering. Rayford discovered Hassid was just twenty-two years old, a college graduate who had aspired to military service in Poland. “But I was so enamored of Carpathia, I immediately applied for service to the Global Community. It wasn’t long before I discovered the truth on the Internet. Now I am enlisted behind enemy lines, but I didn’t plan it that way.”

Rayford advised the young man that he was wise in not declaring himself until the time was right. “It will be dangerous enough for you to be a believer, but you’ll be of greater help to the cause right now if you remain silent about it, as Officer McCullum is doing.”

At Rayford’s door, Hassid gripped his hand fiercely and squeezed hard. “It is so good to know I am not alone,” he said. “Did you want to see my mark?”

Rayford smiled. “Sure.”

Still shaking Rayford’s hand, Hassid reached with his free hand and pulled his hair out of the way.

“Sure enough,” Rayford said. “Welcome to the family.”

Buck found parking at the hospital similar to what it had been at the airport. The original pavement had sunk, and a turnaround had been scraped from the dirt at the front. But people had created their own parking places, and the only spot Buck could find was several hundred yards from the entrance. He dropped Ken off in front with his bag and told him to wait.

“If you promise not to smack me in the head again,” Ken said. “Man, gettin’ out of this car is like being born.”

Buck parked in a haphazard line of other vehicles and grabbed a few toiletries from his own bag. As he headed toward the hospital, he tucked in his shirt, brushed himself down, combed his hair, and applied a few sprays of deodorant. When he got near the entrance he saw Ken on the ground, using his bag as a pillow. He wondered if pressing him into service had been a good idea. A few people stared at him. Ken appeared comatose.
Oh no!
Buck thought.

He knelt by Ken. “Are you all right?” he whispered. “Let me get you up.”

Ken spoke without opening his eyes. “Oh, man! Buck, I did something royally stupid.”

“What?”

“‘Member when you got me my medicine?” Ken’s words were slurred. “I popped ’em in my mouth without water, right?”

“I offered to get you something to drink.”

“That’s not the point. I was s’posed to take one from one bottle and three from the other, every four hours. I missed my last dose, so I took two of one and six of the other.”

“Yeah?”

“But I mixed up the bottles.”

“What are they?”

Ritz shrugged and his breathing became deep and regular.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Ken. I’ve got to get you inside.”

Buck pawed through Ken’s bag and found the bottles. The larger recommended dose was for local pain. The smaller appeared to be a combination of morphine, Demerol, and Prozac. “You took six of
these
?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Come on, Ken. Get up. Right now.”

“Oh, Buck. Let me sleep.”

“No way. Right now, we have to go.”

Buck didn’t think Ken was in danger or had to have his stomach pumped, but if he didn’t get him inside, he’d be a dead weight and worthless. Worse, he would probably be hauled away.

Buck lifted one of Ken’s hands and stuck his own head under Ken’s arm. When he tried to straighten, Ken was no help and too heavy. “Come on, man. You’ve got to help me.”

Ken just mumbled.

Buck held Ken’s head gently and pulled the bag out from under him. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

“You mm-hmm.”

Buck feared Ken’s head was the only place still sensitive, and that might be dulled soon too. Rather than risk contaminating the wound, Buck looked for inflammation other than at the opening. Below where Ken had been gouged the hairline was fiery red. Buck spread his feet and braced himself, then pressed directly on the spot. Ritz leaped to his feet as if he’d been shot from a gun. He swung at Buck, who ducked, wrapped one arm around Ken’s back, scooped up the bag with the other, and marched him to the entrance.

Ken looked and sounded like the deliriously injured man that he was. People moved out of the way.

Inside the hospital, things were worse. It was all Buck could do to hold Ken up. The lines at the front desk were five deep. Buck dragged Ken to the waiting area, where every chair was filled and several people were standing. Buck looked for someone who might give up his seat, and finally a stocky middle-aged woman stood. Buck thanked her and lowered Ken into the chair. Ken curled sideways, lifted his knees, drew his hands to his cheek, and rested on the shoulder of an old man next to him. The man caught sight of the wound, recoiled, then apparently resigned himself to serving as Ken’s pillow.

Buck stuffed Ken’s bag under his chair, apologized to the old man, and promised to be back as soon as he could. When he tried to move to the front at the receptionist’s desk, people in two lines rebuffed him. He called out, “I’m sorry, but I have an emergency here!”

“We all do!” one shouted back.

He stood in line for several minutes, worrying more about Chloe than Ken. Ken would sleep this off. The only problem was, Buck was still stuck. Unless . . .

Buck stepped out of line and hurried into a public washroom. He washed his face, watered down and slicked back his hair, and made sure his clothes were as neat as possible. He pulled his identification card from his pocket and clipped it to his shirt, turning it around so his picture and name were hidden.

He popped the remaining lens out of his broken sunglasses, but the frames looked so phony that he pulled them up into his hair. He looked in the mirror and affected a grim expression, telling himself, “You are a doctor. A no-nonsense, big ego, all-action doctor.”

He burst from the bathroom as if he knew where he was going. He needed a pigeon. The first two doctors he passed looked too old and mature for his ruse. But here came a thin, young doctor looking wide-eyed and out of place. Buck stepped in front of him.

“Doctor, did I not tell you to check on that trauma in emergency two?”

The young physician was speechless.

“Well?” Buck demanded.

“No! No, Doctor. That must have been someone else.”

“All right, then! Listen! I need a stethoscope—a sterile one this time!—a large, freshly laundered smock, and the chart on Mother Doe. You got that?”

The intern closed his eyes and repeated, “Stethoscope, smock, chart.”

Buck continued barking. “Sterile, big, Mother Doe.”

“Right away, Doctor.”

“I’ll be at the elevators.”

“Yes, sir.”

The intern turned and walked away. Buck called after him, “Sometime today, Doctor!” The intern ran.

Now Buck had to find the elevators. He slipped back into the reception area to find Ken still snoozing in the same position, the old man next to him looking as intimidated as ever. He asked a Hispanic woman if she knew where the elevators were. She pointed down the hall. As he hurried that way, he saw his intern behind the counter, hassling the receptionists. “Just do it!” he was saying.

A few minutes later the young doctor rushed to him with everything he had asked for. He held the smock open and Buck hastily slipped into it, draped the stethoscope around his neck, and grabbed the chart.

“Thank you, Doctor. Where are you from?”

“Right here!” the intern said. “This hospital.”

“Oh, well then, good. Very good. I’m from . . .” Buck hesitated a second. “Young Memorial. Thanks for your help.”

The intern looked puzzled, as if trying to think where Young Memorial was. “Any time,” he said.