Emma can see the news anchor’s mouth moving but can’t process what he’s saying anymore. “What happened to the old couple I picked up off the street? What happened to the teenage kid who was alone, or the people crammed into the truck with me?”
“They’re home, Em,” Matt says. “Just like you.”
“With their families? Or are they gone?” Her eyes are heavy and dark rings have formed beneath them.
“It had to be aliens or Satan,” Rick says, squeezing Brandon’s hand. “Those are the only things that make sense.”
Emma becomes angry. “How does Satan taking people make any more sense than Jesus taking his followers?”
“Come on, Em,” Matt says. “Nobody believes that theory.”
She stands, pacing in front of the TV. “How is that any more outlandish than aliens or chemical warfare or people being vaporized by some satanic force?”
Matt attempts to calm her. “Come on, sit down. You’re exhausted and upset. You still miss your dad and now your mom…”
His voice is kind and Emma doesn’t want to sound shrill, but she does. “My mom wasn’t abducted by aliens! What kind of answer is that? It’s insane!”
“We’re all just trying figure it out, Em,” Brandon says. “But maybe we don’t have as much at stake as you do.”
He smiles, and her heart softens. Throughout the night as texts confirmed where their loved ones were, she has wondered if they have all secretly sighed in relief that it was her mom that was taken and not theirs. She slumps into a chair and looks at them. “That guy on TV said that Christians believed that one day Jesus would call for his followers and take them up to where he is. My mom followed him. So did my dad. They took Sarah and me to church, but we never believed like they did.”
Her voice is cracking, and Matt moves from his chair and sits on the floor in front of her, holding her hand. “You believe in God, Emma. I believe in God and Rick and Brandon believe in God.”
“I don’t believe in God,” Rick says.
“But you do believe in Satan?” Emma snaps. “You believe in evil but not in good. Makes sense.”
Rick opens his mouth, but Matt lifts his hand. “Rick doesn’t believe but we do, and we all believe in Jesus.”
She shakes her head. “But it’s different. There’s something different in just believing but I don’t know what it is. My mom told me several times that even demons believe.”
Matt grips her hand tighter. “What does that have to do with anything? You can’t compare yourself to demons. You are a good, honest person. You are one of the kindest people I’ve ever known in my life. You are helpful and generous and sweet and sincere. Your mom wasn’t taken because she was any better than you. We don’t know why she was taken, but it wasn’t because she believed in God any stronger than you did or than I did or than Brandon did.” Her eyes are full looking at him. She wants to believe him.
“Mrs. Ramos was right there in front of me. My hands were on her shoulders when her eyes darted upward as if she saw or heard something.”
“Like she was scared?” Matt asks.
“No. It was…” She tries to find the right word, remembering. “It was like somebody she knew had just called her name. Her eyes flicked upward and…” She begins to cry. “And she was gone. Right out of my hands.” Matt squeezes her shoulder, pulling her tighter to him. “Even some of the footage on TV shows some people at malls or grocery stores, work, or wherever, and some of them glanced up.” She looks at Brandon and Rick. “I think they heard Jesus.” Matt and Rick exchange glances but remain quiet, not wanting to upset her more.
“How could Jesus make all those people disappear?” Brandon asks.
She looks at him. “How could aliens? How could Satan?”
Rick shakes his head. “We’re just going to have to wait for some answers. Someone will figure it out.”
To discover more about the biblical facts behind the story, read Where in the Word? on page 199, or continue reading the novel.
CHAPTER 9
Queens, NY
Elliott has barely moved from the TV during the last twelve hours. After he heard the noise of an apartment down the hall being ransacked and looted, he has been afraid to leave. He hasn’t slept and has scarcely eaten; he can’t tear himself away from the news coverage.
Countless numbers of people are crossing the border from Mexico into California, New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas; on the video on TV, they look like ants scurrying along the ground and over the border. North Korea has fired nuclear warheads at South Korea, inflicting incalculable loss. India and Pakistan, both powder kegs before the vanishings, are now engaged in a war that’s already killed thousands. Sects in Lebanon are in battles of bloodletting; many African countries have erupted in conflicts against each other throughout the continent, resulting in gruesome images on the screen; Vietnam, Japan, and the Philippines are in a war against China over the South China Seas; and countless other conflicts are raging around the globe. In a blood-soaked attempt to take over the government of Egypt, the Muslim Brotherhood has assassinated key leaders, but their attempt against the president’s life has failed. Despite the peace agreement drawn up by President Banes between Israelis and Palestinians, clashes are already raging in their lands. Unprecedented unrest saturates the globe, and thoughts reel in Elliott’s mind. It’s unfathomable that this nightmare is the world’s new reality.
Noise from the TV jolts Elliott awake at five in the morning. He works out the kinks in his neck, unaware he fell asleep twenty minutes ago. He stands up from the chair and stares at the screen. The US Capitol, the Pentagon, the White House, and much of DC is in rubble as smoke and ash rise from bomb-cratered buildings and roads.
“An unprecedented attack against our nation’s capital took place less than ten minutes ago,” the breathless anchor says. “It is unclear who is behind the attack, but much of the city’s main houses of power were targeted. This is complete devastation. My God! Look at those images! The president, speaking from a safe house, has issued a warning to all major cities to evacuate.” The president is seen standing in front of a background that is the great seal of the United States, appearing to maintain composure in light of his own personal loss, and urging people to flee.
Elliott falls back into the chair; his ears are ringing with a deafening noise. His body feels paralyzed. The woman on the subway was right: Satan and his demons have been let loose and the world is now gripped by darkness. He tries calling his parents again; this must be the hundredth time. The call won’t go through and he clicks on text messages, typing Get out of city! Nukes r coming! He pushes send and hopes it will go through. He cries when his phone buzzes.
Ur alive! We love u! We’l try. Pleas get out too! Meet at Harold’s
His uncle’s house in southern Ohio. He texts I love u! B careful! C u in OH. I promise!
He pushes send and holds the phone to his forehead, weeping. The sound of an explosion hurls him to his feet and he runs for the door, but falls, crippled by intense, blinding light.
“Look up, Elliott.” It’s an unfamiliar voice, terrifying and awful, yet good and kind, and Elliott covers his head on the floor. “Look up, Elliott.” Elliott lifts his head, shielding his eyes from the light, and screams. He struggles to see but the light is too powerful, filling the room and moving in waves. He wants to stand but his body is at peace, floating, filled with indescribable warmth. It seems he’s been like this for hours when the voice says, “Look at me, Elliott.”