Tim LaHaye - Left Behind Kids 01 - Vanishings

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Book 01
The Vanishings
LEFT BEHIND
> THE KIDS <
Jerry B. Jenkins
______________
Tim LaHaye
Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Wheaton, Illinois
_________________________
To our own kids
_________________________
_________________________
PART ONE
THE FOUR KIDS
_________________________
CHAPTER ONE
Judd-
The Runaway
JUDDThompson Jr. had always hated having the same name as his father. Until now.
Every time the phone rang and someone asked for Judd, it was "Which one? Big Judd or Little Judd?"
The funny thing was, Little Judd was already taller than his father. He had just gotten his driver's license,
and the whiskers on his chin formed a thin goatee. He was tired of being calledjunior , and if he were
never called Little Judd again for the rest of his life, it would be too soon.
But now, for once, being Judd Thompson Jr. was working in Judd's favor.
This break was meant to be, Judd decided. After days of fighting with his parents about where he was
going, who he was with, what he was doing, and how late he would be in, he had just happened to be
home one afternoon. And his mother picked that day to ask him to bring in the mail. If that didn't prove
this was meant to be, Judd didn't know what did.
Judd sighed loudly at his mother's request. She said he acted like any small chore or favor was the
biggest burden in the world. That was exactly how he felt. He didn't want to be told to do anything.
"Why can'tyou get it?" he asked her.
"Because I asked you to," she said.
"Why do I have to do everything?"
"Would you like to compare what you do around here with what I do?" she asked, and that began the
usual argument. Only when his mother threatened to ground him did he stomp out to the mailbox. He was
glad he did.
On the way back to the house, idly flip-ping through catalogs and letters and maga-zines, he had found
it---an envelope addressed to him. It was clearly a mistake---obviously intended for his father. He knew
that as soon as he saw it. It was busi-ness mail. He didn't recognize the return address.
Just to be ornery, he slipped it inside his jacket and gave the rest of the mail to his mother. Well, he
didn't actually give it to her. He tossed it onto the kitchen table in front of her, and half of it slid to the
floor. He headed to his room.
"Just a minute, young man," she said, using another of his least favorite names. "Get back here and give
me this mail prop-erly."
"In a minute," he said, jogging up the steps.
"Oh, never mind," she said. "By the time you get back here, I'll have it picked up, read, and answered."
"You're welcome!" he hollered.
"A job not finished is not worthy of a thank-you," she said. "But thanks anyway."
Judd took off his jacket, cranked up his music, and lay on his bed, opening the enve-lope. Onto his
chest dropped a credit card in his name, Judd Thompson Jr. A sticker on it told him to call a toll-free
number and answer a few questions so he could begin using the card. The letter told him they had
honored his request. He could spend tens of thousands of dollars using that card alone.
Judd couldn't believe his luck. He dialed the number and was asked his mother's maiden name and his
date of birth. He knew enough to use his grandmother's maiden name and his father's birthday. This was,
after all, really his father's card, wrong name or not. The automated voice told Judd he could begin using
the card immediately.
It was then that he planned his escape.
Judd felt desperate to get away. He wasn't sure what had happened or why, but he was sure his family
was the problem.
Judd's father owned a business in Chicago and was wealthy. His mother had never had to work outside
the home. Judd's little brother and sister, nine-year-old twins Marc and Marcie, were young enough to
stay out of his hair. They were OK, he guessed.
Marc's and Marcie's rooms were full of tro-phies from church, the same as Judd's had once been. He
had really been into that stuff, memorizing Bible verses, going to camp every summer, all that.
But when Judd had gone from the junior high to the senior high youth group at New Hope Village
Church in Mount Prospect, Illi-nois, he seemed to lose interest overnight. He used to invite his friends to
church and youth group. Now he was embarrassed to say his parents made him go.
Judd felt he had outgrown church. It had been OK when he was a kid, but now nobody wanted to dress
like he did, listen to his kind of music, or have a little fun. At school he hung with kids who got to make
their own decisions and do what they wanted to do. That was all he wanted. A little freedom.
Even though they could afford it, Judd's parents refused to buy him his own car. How many other high
school juniors still rode the bus to school? When Judd did get to drive one of his parents' cars, one of
them told him where he could go, whom he could go with, what he could do, and when he had to be
back.
If only his parents knew what he was doing when they thought he was "just out with the guys," Judd
thought. How he hated his curfew, his parents' constant watch over his schoolwork, their criticizing his
hair, his clothes, and his friends.
Worst of all, he was grounded if he didn't get up for Sunday school and church every Sunday. Just the
Sunday before, he had put up such a fuss that his mother had come into his room and sat on his bed.
"Don't you love Jesus anymore?" she asked.
What a stupid question,Judd thought. He didn't remember ever really loving Jesus. Oh, he had liked all
the stories and knew a lot of verses. But loving Jesus? Loving God? That was for little kids and old
ladies. But what could he say to his mother?
"If you want the truth, I only go to church so I can go out on weekends and use the car."
That was clearly not what she had wanted to hear. "All right then, just forget it!" she said.
"I can stay home from church?"
"If you don't want to go anywhere for a week."
Judd swore under his breath. It was a good thing his mother hadn't heardthat . He'd have been
grounded for life.
In Sunday school, Judd copped an atti-tude. He wore clothes his parents only barely approved of, and
he stayed as far away as possible from the "good" kids. What losers! They never had any fun. Judd didn't
smile, didn't carry a Bible, didn't look at the teacher, didn't say anything. When the teacher asked his
opinion of something, he shrugged. He wanted everyone to know he was there only because he had to
be.
In church, he slouched when his father wasn't looking. He wanted to burrow within himself and just
make it through to the end of the service. He didn't sing along, he didn't bow his head during prayer, he
didn't shut his eyes. No one had ever said those were rules; Judd was simply trying to be different from
everyone else. He was way too cool for this stuff.
As usual, Pastor Vernon Billings got off on his kick about what he called the Rapture. "Someday," he
said, "Jesus will return to take his followers to heaven. Those who have received him will disappear in the
time it takes to blink your eye. We will disappear right in front of disbelieving people. Won't that be a
great day for us and a horrifying one for them?"
The kindly old pastor talked about how important it was for everyone to be sure of his own standing
before God and to think and pray about friends and loved ones who might not be ready. Judd's little
secret was that he had never really believed any of that.
He'd had enough chances. At vacation Bible school, his friends had prayed and received Christ. He was
embarrassed. He told them he had already done that at home. At camp a few years later, Judd felt guilty
and sinful when a young speaker talked about church kids who weren't really Christian believers. He had
wanted to go forward; he really had. But he had also just been named Camper of the Week for
memorizing a bunch of Bible verses and being the fastest to look up some others. What would people
say?
Judd knew he didn't have to go forward or talk with anyone to receive Christ. He knew he could do it
by himself. He could pray sin-cerely and ask God to forgive his sins and make Jesus the Lord of his life.
But later, when the meeting was over and the emotion wore off, he told himself that was something he
could do anytime.
Judd felt the most guilty when he was twelve years old and many of his Sunday school classmates signed
up to be baptized. Their teacher and Pastor Billings made clear to them that this was an act of obeying
Christ, a step taken by Christians to declare themselves followers of Jesus.
As the students were baptized, they were asked to tell about when they had received Christ. Judd had
done the unthinkable. He had quoted Scripture and made up a story about when he had become a
Christian "once by myself at camp."
He felt guilty about that for weeks, never having the guts to tell his parents or his Sun-day school
teacher. Yet something kept him from confessing to God and getting things right with Christ. Now he was
sixteen and had feelings and thoughts he believed no one would understand. He was bored with his
church, frustrated with his parents, and secretly proud that he wasn't really part of the church crowd. He
went because he had to, but someday soon he would make his own decisions.
With the small error on that credit card, Judd Thompson Jr. had his ticket to freedom. He had seen his
dad get cash with his credit card at the bank and at the automatic teller machines. And he knew that
almost anything could be paid for with that magic card.
Of course, one day the bill would come and his parents would be able to trace where he had been. But
he could put a lot of miles between himself and them in the meantime.
For several days, Judd saved cash, with-drawing as much as he could each day from the automatic teller
machine. He hid the money with the passport he had gotten the year before when his father took him
along on a business trip to Asia. He had been mis-erable on that trip and let his dad know it every chance
he got. Judd Sr. had finally given up trying to convince Judd Jr. that this was "the opportunity of a
lifetime."
Secretly Judd had to admit that he enjoyed the hotels, the meals, and even learning how to get around in
foreign cities with different cultures and languages. But he wasn't about to tell his dad that. Judd knew
Dad had dragged him along only to get him away from his new friends, the ones his mother called the
"evil influences." It was also sup-posed to be a time for him and his dad to bond---whatever that meant.
Dad had tried, Judd had to give him that, but there had been no bonding. Mostly it was just Judd
scowling, complaining, arguing, and begging to go home.
At least he got a passport out of the deal. That, along with his new driver's license and the credit card,
gave him what he thought was complete freedom. A friend had told him he looked old enough to pass for
twenty-one and that he should get a fake identification card that would allow him to buy liquor in Illinois.
It was cheaper and easier than he thought to get both his driver's license and his passport copied with a
new birth date.
His plan was to take his stash of cash and go to O'Hare International Airport some night. He would take
the first flight he could get to another English-speaking country. Beyond that, his plan was not clear. One
thing was sure: He wasn't going to bum around begging for a place to stay. He would live first-class all
the way.
Now Judd was a criminal. He told himself he wasn't scared. Breaking the law only made him bolder
about his plan, and he began making up reasons why he had to get away from home as soon as possible.
As he made his plans, Judd became more and more angry. He disagreed with every-thing his parents did
or said. He was mean and sarcastic.
One day after school his little brother came into his room.
"What doyou want?" Judd asked Marc.
"I just wanted to ask you a question. Are you still a Christian?"
Judd lied. "Of course," he said. "What's it to you?"
"I was just wonderin' because it doesn't seem like you're happy or acting like one."
"Why don't you get out of here and mind your own business!"
"Will you be mad at me if I pray for you?"
"Don't waste your breath."
"You're makin' Mom cry, you know that?"
"She shouldn't waste her tears either."
"Judd, what's the matter? You used to care---"
"Out! Get out!"
Marc looked pale and tearful as he left. Judd shook his head, disgusted, and told himself Marc would be
a lot better off when he outgrew his stupidity.l used to be just like that, Judd thought.What a wuss!
Judd stuffed some of his favorite clothes in his book bag and jogged downstairs. "And where do you
think you're going, mister?" his mother said. Did she always have to talk like that? Couldn't she just ask a
simple question?
"I'm going to the library to study," Judd said. "I'll be there till closing, so don't wait up for me."
"Since when did you get interested in studying?" his mother asked.
"You said you wanted my grades to improve! "
"You don't need to go to the library to study, Judd. Why don't you stay here and---"
"I need some peace and quiet, all right?"
"What will you do for dinner?"
"I'll get something out."
"Do you need some money?"
"No! Now leave me alone!"
"All right! Just go! But don't be late!"
"Mom! I already told you! I'm staying till closing, so---"
"Don't wait up, yeah, I know. Are you meeting someone there?"
"No!"
"I'd better not find out you've been out with your friends, young man ...."
But Judd was already out the door.
----- + -----
At O'Hare, Judd found a flight on Pan-Continental Airlines that left early in the evening and was
scheduled to arrive in Lon-don the following morning. His phony iden-tification cards worked perfectly,
and he enjoyed being referred to as Mr. Thompson. His first-class ticket was very expensive, but it was
the only seat left on the 747.
Judd knew it wouldn't be long before his parents started looking for him. They would discover his car at
the airport, and they would quickly find his name on the passen-ger list of the Pan-Con flight. He'd better
enjoy this freedom while he could, he decided. He would try to hide in England for as long as possible,
but even if he was found and hauled back to the United States, he hoped he would have made his point.
What was his point, exactly, he wondered. That he needed his freedom. Yeah, that was it. He needed to
be able to make some deci-sions on his own, to be treated like an adult. He didn't want to be told what
to do all the time. He wanted the Thompson family to know that he was able to get along in the world on
his own. Going to London by him-self, based on his own plans, ought to prove that.
Judd sat on the aisle. On the other side of the aisle sat a middle-aged man who had three drinks set
before him. Beyond him, in the window seat, a younger man sat hunched over his laptop computer.
Judd was stunned at the beauty of the flight attendant, whose name badge read "Hattie." He'd never
known anyone with that name, but he couldn't work up the courage to say so. He was excited and
pleased with himself when she didn't even ask to see any identification when she offered him cham-
pagne.
"How much?" he asked.
"It's free in first class, Mr. Thompson," she said.
He had tried champagne a few times and didn't like it, but he liked the idea of its sit-ting on the tray table
in front of him. He would pretend to be on business, on his way to London for important meetings.
Captain Rayford Steele came over the intercom, announcing their flight path and altitude and saying he
expected to arrive at Heathrow Airport at six in the morning.
Judd Thompson Jr. couldn't wait. This was already the most exciting night of his life.
_________________________
CHAPTER TWO
Vicki
The Rebel
VICKIByrne was fourteen and looked eigh-teen. Tall and slender, she had fiery red hair and had
recently learned to dress in a way that drew attention, from girls and guys. She liked leather. Low cut
black boots, short skirts, flashy tops, lots of jewelry, and a dif-ferent hairstyle almost every day.
She was tough. She had to be. Other kids at school considered kids who lived in trailer parks lower
class. Vicki's friends were her "own kind," as her enemies liked to say. When she and her trailer park
neighbors boarded the bus on Vicki's first day of high school, they quickly realized how it was going to
be.
The bus was full. It was obvious the trailer park was the last stop on the route. Only the first two kids of
the twelve boarding from the trailer park found a seat even to share. Every morning they jostled for
position to be one of the lucky first ones aboard. Vicki had given up trying. Two senior boys, smelling of
tobacco and bad breath and never, ever, car-rying schoolbooks, muscled their way to the front of the
line.
No one on the bus looked at the trailer park kids. They seemed to be afraid that if they made eye
contact, they might have to slide over and make room for a third person in their seat. And, of course, no
one wanted to sit next to "trailer trash." Vicki had seen them hold their noses when she and her neighbors
boarded, and she had heard the whispers.
How was a freshman girl supposed to feel when people pretended not to see her, pre-tended she didn't
exist, acted as if she were scum?
The bus driver refused to pull away from the trailer park until everyone was seated, so the two senior
trailer boys---who had already found seats---rose and scowled and insisted that people make room.
Some "rich kids," which they all seemed to be if they didn't live near Vicki, begrudgingly made room.
The first day, Vicki had found herself the last to find a seat. She looked in the front, where most of the
black kids sat. They had to be among the first on the bus, because no one seemed to want to sit with
them either---espe-cially the trailer park kids. In fact, Vicki's friends called the black kids horrible names
and wouldn't sit with them even if they offered a seat.
Vicki had been raised to believe black kids were beneath her too. No black people lived in the trailer
park, and she didn't know why they were supposed to be inferior, other than that they were a different
color. Her father had said they were lazy, criminal, stupid. And yet that was how Vicki saw her father
himself. At least until two years before.
When she was twelve, something had hap-pened to her parents. Before that they had seemed the same
as most of their neighbors. Every Friday night there was a community dance where drunk and jealous
husbands fought over their wives and girlfriends. It was not unusual for the dances to be broken up by the
police, with one or more of the fight-ers being hauled off to jail for the night. Often, her mother bailed out
Vicki's dad, and then they would fight over that for the rest of the weekend.
Vicki's father had trouble keeping a job, and her mother's waitressing didn't pay enough to cover their
bills. Vicki's dad had been a mechanic, a construction worker, a short-order cook, and a cashier at a
conve-nience store. Being arrested or late or absent from work one too many times always cost him his
job, and then they would live on welfare for a few months until he could find something else.
Vicki had wished her parents would stay away from the community dance every Fri-day night, but they
seemed to look forward to it as the highlight of their week. She had to admit she used to love hanging
around with her older brother Eddie and little sister Jeanni and their friends during those dances. They
were always off sneaking around and getting into mischief while their parents danced, sang, drank, and
fought. It was while running with those kids that Vicki learned to smoke and drink. When Eddie
graduated from high school, he moved out on his own to Michigan.
There were a few trailer park families who never came to the dances. They, Vicki's father said, were the
"religious types. The goody--goodies. The churchgoers."
Vicki's mother often reminded him, "Don't forget, Tom, that was the way I was raised. And it's not all
bad. We could do with some church around here."
"I rescued you from all that superstitious mumbo jumbo," he had said.
That became Vicki's view of church. She believed there was a God out there some-where, and her
mother told her he had cre-ated the world and created her and loved her. She couldn't make that make
sense. If God created this lousy world and her lousy life, how could he love her?
One Friday night when Vicki was in sev-enth grade, the family heard the loud music signaling the weekly
dance and began moseying to the parking lot to hear the band. Vicki's plan was to ditch Jeanni as soon
as the party started and run off somewhere with her friends to sneak some cigarettes and maybe some
beer.
But before she could do that, the music stopped and everyone looked toward the small stage in surprise.
"Uh, 'scuse me," the lead singer said. "One of our neighbors here has asked if he can introduce a guest
who'd like to speak to us for a few minutes."
Sometimes local politicians said a few words at the dances, or the police reminded people to behave, or
the landlord reminded everyone that "this is a privilege and can be ended if there are more fights."
But the neighbor with a guest speaker had never been seen at one of these dances. He was one of those
church people Vicki's dad made fun of. And his guest was a preacher. As soon as he began to speak,
people groaned and began shouting to "get on with the music."
But the speaker said, "If you'll just indulge me for a few moments, I promise not to take more than five
minutes of your time. And I plead with you to let your children hear this too."
Somehow, that quieted the crowd. The man launched into a very fast, very brief mes-sage that included
verses from the Bible and a good bit of shouting. Vicki had been to church only once with a friend, and
she had no idea what he was talking about. She was struck, however, that everyone, even the bar-
tenders and musicians, seemed to stop and listen. No one ran around, no one spoke, no one moved.
The speaking didn't seem all that great, but there was a feeling, an atmosphere. The man seemed to
摘要：

 Book01TheVanishings LEFTBEHIND>THEKIDS< JerryB.Jenkins______________ TimLaHaye  TyndaleHousePublishers,Inc.Wheaton,Illinois  _________________________   Toourownkids  _________________________    _________________________    PARTONE THEFOURKIDS   _________________________   CHAPTERONE Judd­TheRunaw...

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