Nicolae High (5 page)

The four were strangely silent on the way home, and Vicki assumed that was because they had all been so moved by Bruce and his sermon. They ate as if they hadn’t eaten for hours—which was true. Just before Vicki finished, the phone rang. Ryan, who loved to answer it, announced it was for her.

“Guy named Deacon,” Ryan whispered. “Sounds old.”

“T
HIS
Bub guy,” Deacon said, “you know him well?”

“Never met him,” Vicki said. “I told you. He was a friend of my brother’s.”

“You sure you got his name right? Beryl Gaylor, right?”

“Right. Why?”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Just tell me.”

“He’s dead, Vicki. When did you say you talked to him last?”

Vicki could hardly speak. “The day of the Rapture,” she managed. “He was fine. What happened?”

“Here’s what I heard from my friend in the police department,” Deacon said. “Gaylor was missing for a few days, so they searched his and your brother’s apartment. They already knew Edward—that’s your brother’s name, right?”

“Right.”

“Had disappeared out of his car. There was no evidence Bub had disappeared, no pile of clothes, that kind of a thing. His answering machine had a message from a friend, asking him to come over and check the friend’s basement with him. This guy reported a gas leak the night before. The gas company repairman came out to check the lines in the basement, and then told Bub’s friend to find another place to stay for the night while he worked on it. When the guy called the gas company in the morning to see if he could move back in, he couldn’t get through—you know, with the vanishings and everything.

“So he was asking Gaylor to go with him to see if his house was OK. The police went to the guy’s house and found the gas truck in the driveway, the owner’s car and Bub’s car parked behind it. The house had blown.”

Vicki let out a huge sigh. “So all three of them were killed?”

“No. It looks like the gas company guy disappeared. Because the house didn’t blow until Bub and his friend got there. The cops figure the gas guy disappeared when everyone else did, before he could fix the leak. Those guys coming inside in the morning to check on him must have sparked something that ignited the gas.”

Vicki didn’t know what to say. “I hate this,” she said finally. “It’s like we have to talk to everyone right away because you never know what’s going to happen to them.”

“Had your brother tried to tell him?”

“Yes.”

“You never know, Vicki,” Deacon said. “Something may have gotten through to him, even after you talked to him.”

Vicki couldn’t imagine, but she could hope. She thanked Deacon and said she hoped to run into him again sometime. She moved to the couch in the living room and sat crying softly. In a few minutes, Judd came looking for her.

She told him what had happened. “You see why school is going to be such a waste of time?” she said.

He shook his head. “I know it seems that way, but more kids might listen to us there than anywhere else.”

“But will we be allowed to say anything? I wonder what everybody else makes of the disappearances and Carpathia and all that.”

“I wonder, who’ll be there and who won’t,” Judd said. “How many teachers and coaches and office people were raptured, and how many students?”

Late that afternoon, as Judd surfed the Internet, he realized how dramatically his life had changed in just a couple of weeks. He used to look for reasons to do anything but study or read. Now he had become a newshound, an information freak. He read his Bible, studied his notes from Bruce’s sermons and private messages. Now he was searching the Net for anything else he could find about what was going on.

He heard a ping and saw the mail icon appear at the lower right side of his screen. Judd clicked on it and found a message from Bruce. “Judd, I will tell you and perhaps Vicki things I would not feel comfortable sharing with Lionel and Ryan. It isn’t that I don’t trust them, but these would be highly confidential matters, potentially dangerous if spread around. The younger boys might not know how to keep secrets or understand how important that is.

“Two members of the Tribulation Force, Captain Steele and Buck Williams (whom you know), run in some very interesting circles and may be able to shed light on international matters that others wouldn’t be exposed to. I won’t be able to tell you everything, but when I do, I’ll count on your confidence—you know what that means: total secrecy. OK?”

Judd felt special that Bruce would trust him like that. When he answered, he would assure Bruce he could be trusted. Meanwhile, Bruce told him the story of Buck Williams having met Israel’s Chaim Rosenzweig, the botanist who had created a formula that allowed desert sands to bloom like a greenhouse. The result had made Israel one of the richest nations in the world. Buck Williams had interviewed him and become his friend after Rosenzweig had been named
Global Weekly’s
Man of the Year. Rosenzweig had introduced Buck to Nicolae Carpathia.

“I’ve been most encouraged by your attitude, your intelligence, and your curiosity, Judd,” Bruce wrote. “You might be interested in the text of an interview with Dr. Rosenzweig. You will find it at the following Web site.”

Judd quickly clicked on it. Bruce was right. Judd found it fascinating.

Wallace Theodore of ABC TV’s
Nightline
had interviewed Rosenzweig, and the text had been stored on the site. Judd found the following most intriguing and looked forward to when he might talk with Buck Williams personally about it.

WT:
Dr. Rosenzweig, what can you tell us about Nicolae Carpathia?

CR:
I found him most impressive. So bright, so engaging, so articulate, so humble—

WT:
Excuse, me, sir. Humble?

CR:
Probably as humble as any leader I have ever met. Never have I seen a man like this.

When he was invited to speak at the United Nations not a month ago, he almost declined, he felt so unworthy. But you heard the speech. I would have nominated him for Prime Minister of Israel, if he were eligible!

Mr. Theodore, he has ideas upon ideas! He speaks so many languages that he hardly ever needs an interpreter, even for some of the remotest tribes.

WT:
How can Carpathia give away
your
formula?

NC:
I was more than happy to offer it. Botswana will soon be one of the most fertile countries in all of Africa, if not the world.

WT:
Having the formula made Israel a wealthy nation. Russia attacked you for the formula alone.

CR:
It’s not about money, Mr. Theodore. I need none. Israel needs none.

WT:
Then what could Carpathia offer that is worthy of trade?

CR:
What has Israel prayed for since the beginning of time as the chosen people of God?
Shalom.
Peace. ‘Pray for the peace of Israel.’

WT:
Many say God supernaturally protected you against the Russian attack. With God on your side, do you need to barter with Nicolae Carpathia for protection?

CR:
We pray, we seek God, but in the meantime we believe he helps those who help themselves.

WT:
And you’re helping yourselves by . . . ?

CR:
The formula is tied to Carpathia’s disarmament policy. Once the world is disarmed, Israel should not have to worry about her borders. Any nation threatening Israel will suffer immediate extinction, using the weaponry available to the UN, 10 percent from each donating country. Imagine the firepower.

WT:
But Carpathia doesn’t believe in war.

CR:
He also knows that the best way to keep the peace is to have the weapons to enforce it.

WT:
And how long does this agreement between Israel and Carpathia last?

CR:
Mr. Carpathia suggested that full rights to the formula would return to us after only seven years.

Judd froze. So there it was, the seven-year agreement between Israel and the Antichrist. Judd called Bruce at the church office. “Does this say what I think it says?”

“It sure does,” Bruce said. “How many will recognize it for what it is, I can’t say. But here’s another tidbit for you, and please tell no one other than Vicki, and swear her to secrecy as well: Buck Williams has been invited to Israel for the signing of the treaty.”

Judd shook his head. “Can you get him to tell us about it when he gets back?”

“No promises. He may have to lie low and not be seen with believers for a while. But if he can and we find a way to make it happen, I’ll do my best.”

On Monday a week later, Vicki awoke at the crack of dawn. Her schoolbooks had burned with her trailer, she barely remembered her class schedule, and she dreaded the thought of going back. She would miss Clarice Washington, Lionel’s older sister, with whom she had sat on the school bus. Clarice had been raptured, and Vicki would not ride the bus anyway; she would ride with Judd. He would drop Lionel and Ryan off at Global Community Junior High on the way. What a joke.

She knew the first day back to high school would be chaotic when she saw what was happening at the junior high.

J
UDD
felt queasy when he joined the heavy traffic wending its way to the junior high school. Lionel had fallen strangely silent since the four kids got into the car, but Ryan had kept up a steady stream of chatter. The only thing Vicki had said was that she wondered if anyone would recognize her. Judd did not recall noticing her in the past, but there was a vast difference between the hard-looking, black-lipped, and black-eyelidded girl he had met and this preppy version that sat beside him now.

For many of the junior highers, this merely looked like the first day of school again. Everyone seemed carefully dressed and equipped, and their mothers or fathers dropped them off, watching anxiously as they headed inside.

“Wonder how many kids lost parents,” Ryan said. “Man, have I got something for show-and-tell.”

“They still do show-and-tell?” Vicki asked.

“No, but for sure everybody’s gonna want to be telling where they were and what they saw and who they know who’s gone and all that.”

Judd glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed Lionel nodding, but he was gazing out the window. Judd spoke softly to Vicki. “You gonna go to the office and see about getting new books?”

“I guess,” she said. “They’ll probably charge me.”

“If you need any mon—”

“I know, Judd,” she said quickly. “Thanks. I’ll let you know. But I’m going to find a job soon.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, yes I do. I’m not a freeloader or a charity case.”

“Let me get out here!” Ryan said. “I see some of the guys!”

“Just wait,” Judd said. “We’ve got to talk about what you’re going to say about your situation.”

“My situation? What do you mean? My parents are dead. How else can I say it? You think I’m going to start crying or something? I don’t think I can cry anymore.”

Judd pulled into the line circling the entrance, and they crawled along. “Both you and Lionel have to come up with some story about where you’re staying.”

“You mean lie?”

“’Course not. But you don’t have to tell people you’re living with other kids. Just say you’re staying with someone from church.”

“Good idea,” Lionel said. “I’m not sure I’m ready to tell everybody that I’m the only one left in my family. But I’ll bet they try to get us talking about what we think happened. If they ask me, I’ll tell ’em.”

Judd pulled over and shifted into Park. “You guys are sure you want to walk all the way home after school?”

“It’s not that far,” Lionel said. “Anyway, it’s either wait here for you for an hour or go home. Nothing else to do.”

Judd nodded. Vicki said, “We’re going to want to hear all about it, so try to remember everything.”

“All right, all right,” Ryan said. “Let’s go already! Unlock the doors.”

“They might ask kids whose parents are gone to fill out new emergency forms,” Judd said.

“And we’ll put down Bruce Barnes’s name and the church’s phone number,” Ryan said. “We’ve been through this a gazillion times.”

Judd unlocked the doors, and it seemed Lionel was out as quickly as Ryan. “All of a sudden I feel like a parent,” Judd said, pulling back into traffic. “I could’ve waited ten years to start worrying about what a couple of junior highers are going to do all day.”

Vicki just smiled and nodded. She looked tense.

In the parking lot at the former Prospect High School, teachers and coaches and office staff directed traffic and spoke through bullhorns. “Don’t worry about parking stickers today! We’ll deal with that later! Check the bulletin boards for class and schedule changes! We’ll be on a shortened program today, starting in the field house for an all-school assembly! Sit with your class!”

“Homeroom?” Judd asked through the window.

“No, your whole class. Freshmen in the west balcony, sophomores in the east balcony, juniors in the back on the main floor, seniors in front.”

Vicki appeared pale and on the verge of tears as she got out of the car. “You want to stay with me for that opening assembly?” Judd said.

She sighed. “I really would. You think they’d let me?”

“You don’t look like a freshman anyway,” he said. “You may have to join your class if they go together, but otherwise, what are they going to do, kick you out?”

Judd waited as she stopped to ask a teacher what she should do about her books. “If that’s all you lost, girl,” the teacher said, “consider yourself lucky. We’ll deal with that at the assembly. Don’t be late.”

The halls were as crowded as ever until they got into the field house. When the opening bell rang it was clear that the place, usually jammed for an all-school assembly, was only 70 to 75 percent filled. The teaching staff was depleted by about the same percentage, made obvious because they were sitting in rows on the platform behind the lectern.

As Judd and Vicki sat with the juniors, the principal, Mrs. Laverne Jenness, stepped to the microphone. “Welcome back,” she said. “I’m proud to announce, in case you were under a rock and missed the news or the brand-spanking-new sign out front, that you are no longer Prospect Knights. You are Nicolae Carpathia Doves!”

She may have expected an enthusiastic response, because she appeared taken aback at a smattering of boos and laughter. But when the teachers jumped to their feet in applause, most of the students began cheering too. Judd thought at first that they were just mocking the teachers—as usual—but it soon became clear the celebrants were serious.

Mrs. Jenness beamed. “I’m so pleased that you’re pleased,” she said. “We recognize that this decision was made without your input, but there was nearly unanimous support at the administrative level. Really, your response is most gratifying. There had long been talk that our school name, steeped in history as it was, was unimaginative, merely echoing the name of the town in which we reside. And a knight is, of course, a warrior, which has long been an offensive mascot.

“To be named after so great and humble a leader and pacifist like UN Secretary-General Nicolae Carpathia, well, that should make us all proud.”

The students chanted, “Nicolae High! Nicolae High! Nicolae High!”

Mrs. Jenness smiled, then raised her hands for silence. “I recognize that we reconvene only weeks after the most tragic event to ever curse our planet. Many of you lost friends and loved ones and will be grieving. Thank you for recognizing the importance of returning for your education, regardless. As you can imagine, the counseling services offered by our school district have been taxed beyond their limits. But as you see a need for a professional to talk to, please put your name on the waiting list. Don’t be ashamed or afraid to ask. We’re all trying to get through this.”

Judd felt a nudge, and Vicki nodded toward a couple of seniors several rows ahead. “Are those Bibles?” she said.

“Looks like it,” Judd said. “You know them?”

Vicki shook her head. “Hey, look.”

A football coach Judd recognized approached the seniors and knelt in the aisle. He spoke earnestly to them, smiling, but came away with both Bibles. As he hurried past, Judd reached out and whispered, “What was that all about, Coach Handlesman?”

“Mind your own business, Thompson,” Handlesman said. “We haven’t allowed Bibles here since before you were born.”

“But even now, after what happened?”

“Especially now,” the coach said, moving on.

“Remember what they look like, Vicki,” Judd said. “We’re going to need all the friends we can get.”

Mrs. Jenness droned on about the difficulties and trauma, the mixed classes, the complicated inconveniences. “Bear with us as we try to regroup and reschedule. The ratio of missing students and faculty seems fairly even, so class size should remain approximately the same as before.

“Those of you who lost textbooks, deal with that in each class and make your purchases in the bookstore by Friday. Now before I dismiss you, I would like to ask for your help. After an international tragedy that has struck so close to home, it’s only natural to want to talk about it. It’s therapeutic, and our counselors have advised me to let you have at it. Today in your abbreviated classes, we have asked faculty to get the housekeeping announcements out of the way, the book business taken care of, and any outlining of new class expectations dealt with quickly. Then they are free to supervise group discussions. Some of you will need to tell your stories of loss and fear. Others may choose not to speak of their ordeals. Please be respectful of those students and don’t badger them for details before they’re ready to be forthcoming.

“Now, here’s what you can do for me. As you know, there has been widespread speculation about the cause of the vanishings. According to our consultants, part of the healing process—the making sense of this—involves forming and expressing your opinions on this. But I must remind you of the strict rule of the separation of church and state that has helped make this country great. We are a public institution, and this is not a forum in which we should espouse religious views.

“I am aware that one of the many explanations for what happened is religious in nature. I’m not saying it has no validity. Like most of you, I lost extended family members. Their closest relatives reminded me that those who disappeared predicted this and told us exactly what to make of such an occurrence.

“Though this happened among my own kin, and while those stories may even bear some scrutiny, I will not discuss them on school property during school hours. I’m asking that you not either. Even if I believed with all my heart that this was the best explanation for the disappearances—which, you may rest assured, I emphatically do not—I would maintain that this is the wrong venue in which to propagate that view. Thank you for understanding. I urge you to hold your questions until class time, unless anyone has something pressing that is appropriate to ask in front of the corporate body.

“All right, then. Oh, yes, son. A question from a junior boy. Please stand and state your name and your question loudly enough for me to hear and repeat it into the microphone. And if it is not something that pertains to the whole school, I would ask—”

“It pertains, ma’am!” Judd called out, rising, his heart thundering. “Judd Thompson, and I was just wondering if you would clarify this then!”

“Clarify which part, Mr. Thompson? What is unclear?”

“Why freedom of speech is extended only to those who hold certain views of what has happened?”

“This is not a freedom-of-speech issue, young man. It’s a church-and-state issue. Thank you for raising it, but please don’t make something of it that it is not. Dismissed!”

Judd was short of breath and knew his face was red as he gathered up his stuff. “I can’t believe you did that,” Vicki said, and he looked close to see if she was embarrassed or seemed to disapprove.

“That wasn’t me,” he said, shaking his head. “That was my evil twin. I’ve never done anything like that before in my life. I don’t think I ever even paid attention in an assembly before.”

“Hey, Judd, way to go, man,” one of his classmates said, punching him on the shoulder. “Way to be raucous!”

Judd wanted to tell the boy he had been serious, but the guy was lost in the crowd. Coach Handlesman shouldered his way through to Judd and Vicki. “I liked you better when you made trouble by being a no-account, Thompson. Now you’re angling to be a smart aleck, eh?”

“Nah. I just don’t think there should be restrictions on people trying to figure out the truth.”

“Cry me a river,” the coach said, disappearing in the crowd.

“Be careful,” Vicki said as they prepared to split up. “We don’t want to be
too
conspicuous.”

“What’s your first class?” Judd said.

“Phys ed,” she said. “Yours?”

“Psych.”

“Should be interesting,” she said.

Judd nodded but noticed Vicki was distracted. She was looking past him, and her face paled. “Shelly?” she said. “Shelly! Is that you?”

Judd had wanted to tell Vicki he would be praying for her, but that sounded cheesy, and she was preoccupied anyway. And his psych class with Mr. Shellenberger was at the complete other end of the school.