The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (121 page)

“I am weak from hunger, Cameron,” Tsion said. They had dug halfway through the rubble, Buck despairing more with every shovelful. There was plenty of evidence Chloe lived in this place, but none that she was still there, dead or alive.

“I can dig to the basement within the hour, Tsion. Start on the kitchen. You might find food there. I’m hungry too.”

Even with Tsion just around the side of the house, Buck felt overwhelmed with loneliness. His eyes stung with tears as he dug and grabbed and lifted and tossed in what was a likely futile effort to find his wife.

Early in the evening Buck climbed wearily out of the basement at the back corner. He dragged his shovel to the front, willing to help Tsion, but hoping the rabbi had found something to eat.

Tsion lifted a split and crushed secretary desk and flung it at Buck’s feet. “Oh, Cameron! I did not see you there.”

“Trying to get to the refrigerator?”

“Exactly. The power has been out for hours, but there must be something edible still in there.”

Two large beams were lodged in front of the refrigerator door. As Buck tried to help move them, his foot caught the edge of the broken desk, and papers and phone books flopped out onto the ground. One was the membership directory at New Hope Village Church.
That might come in handy,
he thought. He rolled it up and stuck it in his pants pocket.

A few minutes later Buck and Tsion sat back against the refrigerator, munching. That took the edge off his hunger, but Buck felt he could sleep for a week. The last thing he wanted was to finish digging. He dreaded evidence that Chloe had died. He was grateful Tsion finally didn’t need to converse. Buck needed to think. Where would they spend the night? What would they eat tomorrow? But for now, Buck wanted to just sit, eat, and let memories of Chloe wash over him.

How he loved her! Was it possible he had known her less than two years? She had seemed much older than twenty when they had met, and she had the bearing of someone ten or fifteen years older now. She had been a gift from God, more precious than anything he had ever received except salvation. What would his life have been worth following the Rapture, had it not been for Chloe? He would have been grateful and would have enjoyed that deep satisfaction of knowing he was right with God, but he would have also been lonely and alone.

Even now, Buck was grateful for his father-in-law and Amanda. Grateful for his friendship with Chaim Rosenzwieg. Grateful for his friendship with Tsion. He and Tsion would have to work on Chaim. The old Israeli was still enamored of Carpathia. That had to change. Chaim needed Christ. So did Ken Ritz, the pilot Buck had used so many times. He would have to check on Ken, make sure he was all right, see if he had planes that still flew. He pushed his food aside and hung his head, nearly asleep.

“I need to go back to Israel,” Tsion said.

“Hm?” Buck mumbled.

“I need to go back to my homeland.”

Buck raised his head and stared at Tsion. “We’re homeless,” he said. “We can barely drive to the next block. We don’t know we’ll survive tomorrow. You are a hunted criminal in Israel. You think they’ll forget about you, now that they have earthquake relief to do?”

“On the contrary. But I have to assume the bulk of the 144,000 witnesses, of whom I am one, must come from Israel. Not all of them will. Many will come from tribes all over the globe. But the greatest source of Jews is Israel. These will be zealous as Paul but new to the faith and untrained. I feel a call to meet them and greet them and teach them. They must be mobilized and sent out. They are already empowered.”

“Let’s assume I get you to Israel. How do I keep you alive?”

“What, you think
you
kept me alive on our flight across the Sinai?”

“I helped.”

“You helped? You amuse me, Cameron. In many ways, yes, I owe you my life. But you were as much in the way as I was. That was God’s work, and we both know it.”

Buck stood. “Fair enough. Still, taking you back to where you are a fugitive seems lunacy.”

He helped Tsion stand. “Send word ahead that I was killed in the earthquake,” the rabbi said. “Then I can go in disguise under one of those phony names you come up with.”

“Not without plastic surgery you won’t,” Buck said. “You’re a recognizable guy, even in Israel where everybody your age looks like you.”

The sunlight softened and faded as they finished picking through the kitchen. Tsion found plastic bags and wrapped food he would store in the car. Buck wrenched a few clothes out of the mess that had been his and Chloe’s bedroom while Tsion collected Chloe’s computer and phone from the garage.

Neither had the strength to climb over the pavement barrier, so they took the long way around. When they reached the Range Rover, both had to get in the passenger side.

“And so what do you think now?” Tsion said. “If Chloe were alive somewhere in there, she would have heard us and called out to us, would she not?”

Buck nodded miserably. “I’m trying to resign myself to the fact that she’s at the bottom. I was wrong, that’s all. She wasn’t in the bedroom or the kitchen or the basement. Maybe she ran to another part of the house. It would take heavy equipment to pull all the trash out of that place and find her. I can’t imagine leaving her there, but neither can I think about more digging tonight.”

Buck drove toward the church. “Should we stay in the shelter tonight?”

“I worry it is unstable,” Tsion said. “Another shift and it could come down on us.”

Buck drove on. He was a mile south of the church when he came to a neighborhood twisted and shaken but not broken. Many structures were damaged, but most still stood. A filling station, illuminated by butane torches, serviced a small line of cars.

“We’re not the only civilians who survived,” Tsion said.

Buck pulled into line. The man running the station had a shotgun propped up against the pumps. He shouted over a gasoline generator, “Cash only! Twenty-gallon limit! When it’s gone, it’s gone.”

Buck topped off his tank and said, “I’ll give you a thousand cash for—”

“The generator, yeah, I know. Take a number. I could get ten thousand for it by tomorrow.”

“Know where I could get another one?”

“I don’t know anything,” the man said wearily. “My house is gone. I’ll be sleeping here tonight.”

“Need some company?”

“Not especially. If you get desperate, come back. I wouldn’t turn you away.”

Buck couldn’t blame him. Where would you start and end taking in strangers at a time like this?

“Cameron,” Tsion began when Buck got back in the car, “I have been thinking. Do we know whether the computer technician’s wife knows about her husband?”

Buck shook his head. “I met his wife only one time. I don’t remember her name. Wait a minute.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out the church directory. “Here it is,” he said. “Sandy. Let me call her.” He punched in the numbers, and while he was not surprised the call did not go through, he was encouraged to get as far as a recorded message that all circuits were busy. That was progress, at least.

“Where do they live?” Tsion said. “It’s not likely standing, but we could check.”

Buck read the street address. “I don’t know where that is.” He saw a squad car ahead, lights flashing. “Let’s ask him.” The cop was leaning against his car, having a cigarette. “You on duty?” Buck asked.

“Takin’ a break,” the cop said. “I’ve seen more in one day than I cared to see in a lifetime, if you know what I mean.” Buck showed him the address. “I don’t know what I’ll tell you as far as landmarks, but, ah, just follow me.”

“You sure?”

“There’s nothin’ more I can do for anybody tonight. In fact, I didn’t do anybody any good today. Follow me, and I’ll point out the street you want. Then I’m gone.”

A few minutes later Buck flashed his lights in thanks and pulled in front of a duplex. Tsion opened the passenger door, but Buck put a hand on his arm.

“Let me see Chloe’s phone.”

Tsion crawled back and fished it from a pile he had wrapped in a blanket. Buck flipped it open and found it had been left on. He rummaged in the glove box and produced a cigarette lighter adapter that fit the phone and made it come to life. He touched a button that brought up the last dialed number. He sighed. It was his own.

Tsion nodded, and they got out. Buck pulled a flashlight from his emergency toolbox. The left side of the duplex had broken windows all around and a foundational brick wall that had crumbled and left the front of the place sagging. Buck got into position where he could shine his light through the windows.

“Empty,” he said. “No furniture.”

“Look,” Tsion said. A For Rent sign lay in the grass.

Buck looked again at the directory. “Donny and Sandy lived on the other side.”

The place looked remarkably intact. The drapes were open. Buck gripped the wrought iron railing on the steps and leaned over to flash his light into the living room. It looked lived-in. Buck tried the front door and found it unlocked. As he and Tsion tiptoed through the house, it became obvious something was amiss in the tiny breakfast nook at the back. Buck gaped, and Tsion turned away and bent at the waist.

Sandy Moore had been at the table with her newspaper and coffee when a huge oak tree crashed through the roof with such force that it flattened her and the heavy wood table. The dead girl’s finger was still curled around the cup handle, and her cheek rested on the Tempo section of the
Chicago Tribune.
Had not the rest of her body been compressed to inches, she might have appeared to be dozing.

“She and her husband must have died within seconds of each other,” Tsion said quietly. “Miles apart.”

Buck nodded in the faint light. “We should bury this girl.”

“We will never get her out from under that tree,” Tsion said.

“We have to try.”

In the alley Buck found planks, which they forced under the tree as levers, but a trunk with enough mass to destroy roof, wall, window, woman, and table would not be budged.

“We need heavy equipment,” Tsion said.

“What’s the use?” Buck said. “No one will ever be able to bury all of the dead.”

“I confess I am thinking less of respect for her body than for the possibility that we have found a place to live.” Buck shot him a double take. “What?” Tsion said. “Is it not ideal? There’s actually a bit of pavement out front. This room, open to the elements, can be easily closed off. I don’t know how long it would take to get power, but—”

“Say no more,” Buck said. “We have no other prospects.”

Buck threaded the Rover between the duplex and the burned-out shell of whatever had been next door. He parked out of sight in the back, and he and Tsion unloaded the car. Coming through the back door Buck noticed they might be able to extricate Mrs. Moore’s body from underneath. Branches were lodged against a huge cabinet in the corner. That would keep the tree from dropping further if they could somehow cut under the floor.

“I am so tired I can barely stand, Cameron,” Tsion said as they descended narrow stairs to the cellar.

“I’m about to collapse myself,” Buck said. He shined his light toward the underside of the first floor and saw that Sandy’s elbow had been driven through and hung exposed. They found mostly discarded computer parts until they came upon Donny’s stash of tools
. A hammer, chisels, a crowbar, and a handsaw should do it,
Buck thought. He dragged a stepladder under the spot, and Tsion held it as Buck wrapped his legs around the top step to brace himself. Then began the arduous task of driving the crowbar up through the floorboards with a hammer. His arms ached, but he stayed at it until he had punched out a few holes large enough to get the saw wedged in. He and Tsion traded off sawing the hardwood, which seemed to take forever with the dull blade.

They were careful not to touch Sandy Moore’s body with the saw. Buck was struck that the shape of the cut looked like the pine boxes in which cowboys were buried in the old west. When they had sawn to about her waist, the weight of her upper body made the boards beneath her give way, and she slowly dropped into Buck’s arms. He gasped and held his breath, fighting to keep his balance. His shirt was covered with her sticky blood, and she felt light and fragile as a child.

Tsion guided him down. All Buck could think of as he carried her broken body out the back door was that this was what he had expected to do with Chloe at Loretta’s. He lay her body gently in the dewy grass, and he and Tsion quickly dug a shallow grave. The work was easy because the quake had loosened the topsoil. Before they lowered her into the hole, Buck pulled Donny’s wedding ring from deep in his pocket. He put it in her palm and closed her fingers around it. They covered her with the dirt. Tsion knelt, and Buck followed suit.

Tsion had not known Donny or his wife. He pronounced no eulogy. He merely quoted an old hymn, which made Buck cry so loudly he knew he could be heard down the block. But no one was around, and he could not stop the sobs.

     
“I will love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death,

     
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath;

     
And say, when the death-dew lies cold on my brow;

     
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.”

Buck and Tsion found two tiny bedrooms upstairs, one with a double bed, the other with a single. “Take the bigger bed,” Tsion insisted. “I pray Chloe will join you soon.” Buck took him up on it.

Buck went into the bathroom and shed his mud- and blood-caked clothes. With only his flashlight for illumination, he hand dipped enough water out of the toilet tank for a sponge bath. He found a big towel to dry off with, then collapsed onto Donny and Sandy Moore’s bed.

Buck slept the sleep of the mourning, praying he would never have to wake up.