The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books (365 page)

The rusty thing, blackened by blood, flipped at an angle just before it bit into the victim’s neck. Chloe recoiled as it sliced only halfway into the man, causing him to lurch and pull back, flailing at the collectors who tried to hold him.

He somehow broke free and spun and staggered, flinging blood and gore. The collectors ducked and laughed and made sport of him as the executioner quickly banged at the blade, straightened it, and raised it again.

Two collectors grabbed the man and pushed him headlong into position again, whereupon the cord was pulled yet again and the job done right this time. The reaction of the crowd showed they thought it was the perfect way to start the day.

“Next,” Jock said, “we begin with the first of ten in a row who refused to take the mark, minus our guest of honor, of course, as we save the best till last.”

But before he could say anything else, Caleb appeared in all his brightness in the middle of the courtyard, between Chloe and Jock. He appeared fifteen or sixteen feet tall in raiment so white that when Chloe turned to see the crowd’s reaction, it was clear it hurt people’s eyes.

They shrieked and froze. Chloe saw Jock turn to see what scared them so. He fell, holding the microphone, and stared, seemingly unable to move.

When Caleb spoke, the ground shook and a wind blew dust about. Chloe was sure everyone wanted to flee, but they could not.

“I come in the name of the Most High God,” he began. “Hearken unto my voice and hear my words. Ignore me at your peril. ‘Oh, that men would give thanks to the Lord for His goodness, and for His wonderful works to the children of men!’

“For He satisfies the longing soul and fills the hungry soul with goodness. You who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death are bound in affliction because you rebelled against the words of God and despised the counsel of the Most High.

“Cry out to the Lord in your trouble, and he will save you out of your distress. He will bring you out of darkness and the shadow of death and break your chains in pieces.

“Thus says the Son of the Most High God: ‘I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believes in Me shall never die.’

“But woe to you who do not heed my warning this day. Thus says the Lord: ‘If anyone worships the beast and his image, and receives his mark on his forehead or on his hand, he himself shall also drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is poured out full strength into the cup of His indignation. He shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb.

“‘And the smoke of their torment ascends forever and ever; and they have no rest day or night, who worship the beast and his image, and whoever receives the mark of his name.’”

Chang sat deep in the bowels of the tech center at Petra, finally understanding the Western expression about having one’s eyes glued to the TV screen. He was prepared to take over the broadcast, to yank it off the air before anyone anywhere saw Chloe’s execution.

Yet the appearance of this messenger of God, warning the undecided against taking the mark, pleading with them to receive Christ—this was something the globe needed to see and hear yet again.

For months reports had come from around the world that angels were showing up at mark application and guillotine sites. Some accounts were hard to believe, but Tsion Ben-Judah said they fit perfectly with the loving-kindness he knew of God.

Chang glanced over to where the elders sat before a big screen, and beyond them, hundreds of computer keyboarders awaited instructions. The fading late-afternoon sun cast slanted rays through the door a hundred feet from Chang, and he was moved nearly to tears by the gently falling manna. Providing food for his chosen, protecting and thrilling Chang, comforting Chloe, and sending messengers with the everlasting gospel . . . God was the ultimate multitasker.

A phone rang and Naomi answered. Chang read her lips as she leaned close to Tsion. “It’s Buck for you.”

“Cameron, my friend! How difficult this must be for you. . . . No, I am sorry, son. I know of no instance where the bearer of the everlasting gospel has intervened in the sentencing. . . . Yes, of course God could miraculously deliver, but I caution you to be prepared for either result. . . .”

Rayford second-guessed his decision to be in the air during the broadcast. He put the jet on autopilot and watched, but he dreaded the moment that was surely to come and wondered when he would recover enough to trust himself with the controls. Well, he decided, he had no choice. Maybe this was the best therapy. Unless he was willing to see Chloe and Buck and himself die the same day, he had to stay disciplined regardless.

Poor Buck. On the phone with Tsion and apparently not hearing what he hoped. Rayford wanted to comfort him, but Buck was not the type who took soothing until well after a crisis was over. Right now he was arguing his case. As the messenger of God stared down at the apoplectic crowd and saw the nine remaining undecideds on their knees, weeping, Buck pressed Tsion.

“But he has his man right there, Doctor! How hard would it be to intervene? Why can’t he just sweep her out of there and deliver her back to us? You know he could! He could have arranged for us to get word of where she was too. What have I done or not done that makes me so unworthy of a little consideration?”

Chang turned back to the screen to be sure he didn’t miss anything, but he could still hear Tsion earnestly counseling Buck.

“Cameron,” Tsion said, “that is your emotion talking. You know as well as anyone that this whole period, the entire Tribulation, is not about us individually. God has a master plan. It is the culmination of the battle between good and evil that has spanned millennia. He is reconciling his people to himself. We should be grateful we have been included. He has a bigger picture in mind, but it is also evidence of his eternal love for us. Trust him, my friend. Trust him no matter what.”

Chloe felt as if she were already in heaven. Caleb’s glow had blocked from her vision the hideous death of the first victim. She watched Jock struggle to his feet and dust himself off.

“Please, people, no one leave. We have had reports of these apparitions at other sites, though this is the first visit we have had here. This is a trick perpetrated by the spiritualists within the camp of the rebellion. Perhaps we should ask permission of the intruder if we may proceed with our program.” He turned to look at Caleb, pretending to be even more afraid than he was. Chloe could tell he had not persuaded the crowd that this was other than real.

“Kind sir,” Jock said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “may we continue?”

Caleb’s voice, louder than ever, resounded off the prison walls. “You have been tried and found guilty for your crimes against the Most High God. That you bear the mark of the evil one condemns you to death. Nothing you do can improve your fate. Because you have worshiped the beast and his image and received his mark, you shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God. You shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb. And you shall have no rest day or night.

“That which the Lord God even thinks shall surely happen, and what he decides shall never change, for as the Scripture says, ‘The Lord of hosts has sworn, saying, “Surely, as I have thought, so it shall come to pass, and as I have purposed, so it shall stand.”’”

Jock stared up at Caleb with brows raised, then looked back at the crowd with a shrug. “Ask a simple question . . . ,” he said, and they laughed nervously. “I’ll take that as an indication that we may proceed, because, hey, bottom line, if he’s right and God’s got us in his sights, he can pull the trigger anytime he wants. But look who’s dying here today. Huh? Are you with me? Who’s dying? Let me hear you!”

No one responded.

“The so-called people of God!” Jock said. “The ones who chose him instead of the real god and our supreme potentate, Nicolae J. Carpathia! Come on, people, don’t be intimidated by big, shiny, transparent ghosts. Yeah, he’s scary. But all he’s done is interrupt a TV show and—get this—make it better! Is this great theater or what? The enemy shows up to rattle his saber, but he hasn’t changed a thing! You came to see heads chopped off, and that’s what you’ll see. These people can cry and pray and beg all they want, but they’re still gonna die!”

Chloe was thrilled to see the formerly undecided nine rise and find that six of them had the mark of the believer on their foreheads. Something within them must have confirmed this, because they lifted their hands and smiled despite their impending fate. The other three looked miserable, and Chloe assumed they were among the hard-hearted who may have been desperate to change their minds but had waited too long.

Jock, for all his bluster, was either more intimidated by Caleb than he let on or he still had the TV schedule in mind. “Let’s shake things up a little, shall we?” he said. “I want one of the ten without the mark of Carpathia at each of the guillotines, all at the same time. Now! Move! Collectors, see to it! We’ll do them all at once and get back on schedule. Any of you who still want the mark, say so now.”

The woman ahead of Chloe and the six others she had seen with the mark of the believer stayed where they were, while the other three scrambled to the mark applicators.

The collectors grabbed the remaining seven without Carpathia’s mark, including the woman ahead of Chloe. She turned and they embraced. “Be strong and trust God,” Chloe said. They dragged the woman to the middle machine.

Not one of the seven struggled or fought or had to be forced to kneel and lay their necks in place. “We’ll do it on three!” Jock shouted, and the crowd, though still clearly wary of the huge, glowing stranger, began to come alive with anticipation.

Chloe lowered her head and closed her eyes, determined not to be one who watched the execution of children of God. But even with her eyes shut, she noticed something and looked up to see that Caleb had filled the entire courtyard with a light so bright that no one could see anything. It wreaked havoc on the TV cameras, and cameramen and technicians began hollering for help, pleading with Jock to wait.

“We will not be delayed by this trick of the enemy!” Jock said and counted to three. The sickening sound of the heavy blades echoed, and the people cheered, but because of the blinding light, no one saw the deaths, there or on television anywhere in the world.

Chang sat back and studied the screen. He signaled to Naomi to come over. “Did you see that?” he said. “If the angel does that for Chloe as well, we won’t need to switch the feed. He’ll accomplish the same thing for us.”

“But he’s gone,” Naomi said. “Look.”

She was right. The prison courtyard looked normal again. The executions proceeded on schedule for the next half hour, each death preceded by the typical preliminaries—graphic depictions of the condemned’s crimes.

With the absence of Caleb, the crowd had returned full-throated—hissing, booing, cheering, applauding. The collectors were filthy with splattered blood and dust, and they seemed drunk with the thrill of their task.

Chloe had stood in the hot sun for more than an hour, mostly averting her eyes from the ghastly panorama of horror. Weak from hunger, parched with thirst, and dizzy from standing, she fought to maintain her emotions. She prayed and prayed that God would grant her an opportunity to speak for him, and that she would be able to articulate what was in her mind.

Chloe missed Caleb. When he was there it seemed she basked in the glow of glory and felt the presence of God. Now she knew God was with her, but it took more faith. She tried to anticipate that she was just moments from the presence of almighty God, and she thrilled to the idea that she would soon fall at Jesus’ feet.

But now she stood in the heat of the day, dust kicking up around her, and noticed the sympathetic looks of the mark applicators and the other officials at each desk who had processed the condemned. They had been through this before, had seen the so-called guest of honor ridiculed and humiliated, as if beheading weren’t enough.

More than thirty minutes after Caleb had interrupted him, Jock was full of himself. He had warmed to the task and, Chloe assumed, could taste his promotion, could picture himself in the corridors of power in Al Hillah with the potentate himself.

Still facing the crowd, Jock switched to a cordless microphone and began moving toward Chloe. “And now the moment we have all been waiting for,” he announced, and the people began to clap.

As he reached Chloe, he touched her shoulder and turned her to face the stands. He stood there with his arm around her, and though repulsed, Chloe was struck by how gentle he was. His fingers were spread, palm open, as he enveloped her shoulder. In her flesh she wanted to wrench away and spit at him, but she was aware of the international television audience and that this was her last opportunity to impact anyone for Christ.