Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 4 - Soul Harvest

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Soul Harvest:
The World Takes Sides
Book 4 of the Left Behind Series
TIM LAHAYE & JERRY B. JENKINS
ONE
Rayford Steele wore the uniform of the enemy of his soul, and he hated himself for
it. He strode through Iraqi sand toward Baghdad Airport in his dress blues and was
Struck by the incongruity of it all.
From across the parched plain he heard the wails and Screams of hundreds he
wouldn't begin to be able to help. Any prayer of finding his wife alive depended on
how quickly he could get to her. But there was no quick here. Only sand. And what
about Chloe and Buck in the States? And Tsion?
Desperate, frantic, mad with frustration, he ripped off his natty waistcoat with its
yellow braid, heavy epaulettes, and arm patches that identified a senior officer of
the Global Community. Rayford did not take the time to unfasten the solid-gold
buttons but sent them popping across the desert floor. He let the tailored jacket slide
from his shoulders and clutched the collar in his fists. Three, four, five times he
raised the garment over his head and slammed it to the ground. Dust billowed and
sand kicked up over his patent leather shoes.
Rayford considered abandoning all vestiges of his connection to Nicolae Carpathia's
regime, but his attention was drawn again to the luxuriously appointed arm patches.
He tore at them, intending to rip them free, as if busting himself from his own rank
in the service of the Antichrist. But the craftsmanship allowed not even a fingernail
between the stitches, and Rayford slammed the coat to the ground one more time.
He stepped and booted it like an extra point, finally aware of what had made it
heavier. His phone was in the pocket.
As he knelt to retrieve his coat, Rayford's maddening logic returned—the
practicality that made him who he was. Having no idea what he might find in the
ruins of his condominium, he couldn't treat as dispensable what might constitute his
only remaining set of clothes.
Rayford jammed his arms into the sleeves like a little boy made to wear a jacket on
a warm day. He hadn't bothered to shake the grit from it, so as he plunged on toward
the skeletal remains of the airport, Rayford's lanky frame was less impressive than
usual. He could have been the survivor of a crash, a pilot who'd lost his cap and
seen the buttons stripped from his uniform.
Rayford could not remember a chill before sundown in all the months he'd lived in
Iraq. Yet something about the earthquake had changed not only the topography, but
also the temperature. Rayford had been used to damp shirts and a sticky film on his
skin. But now wind, that rare, mysterious draft, chilled him as he speed-dialed Mac
McCullum and put the phone to his ear.
At that instant he heard the chug and whir of Mac's chopper behind him. He
wondered where they were going.
“Mac here,” came McCullum's gravely voice.
Rayford whirled and watched the copter eclipse the descending sun. “I can't believe
this thing works,” Rayford said. He had slammed it to the ground and kicked it, but
he also assumed the earthquake would have taken out nearby cellular towers.
“Soon as I get out of range, it won't, Ray,” Mac said. “Everything's down for as far
as I can see. These units act like walkie-talkies when we're close. When you need a
cellular boost, you won't find it.”
“So any chance of calling the States—”
“Is out of the question,” Mac said. “Ray, Potentate Carpathia wants to speak to you,
but first—”
“I don't want to talk to him, and you can tell him that.”
“But before I give you to him,” Mac continued, “I need to remind you that our
meeting, yours and mine, is still on for tonight. Right?”
Rayford slowed and stared at the ground, running a hand through his hair. “What?
What are you talking about?”
“All right then, very good,” Mac said. “We're still meeting tonight then. Now the
potentate—”
“I understand you want to talk to me later, Mac, but don't put Carpathia on or I
swear I'll—”
“Stand by for the potentate.”
Rayford switched the phone to his right hand, ready to smash it on the ground, but
he restrained himself. When avenues of communication reopened, he wanted to be
able to check on his loved ones.
“Captain Steele,” came the emotionless tone of Nicolae Carpathia.
“I'm here,” Rayford said, allowing his disgust to come through. He assumed God
would forgive anything he said to the Antichrist, but he swallowed what he really
wanted to say.
“Though we both know how I could respond to your ^egregious disrespect and
insubordination,” Carpathia said, “I choose to forgive you.”
Rayford continued walking, clenching his teeth to keep from screaming at the man.
“I can tell you are at a loss for how to express your gratitude,” Carpathia continued.
“Now listen to me. I have a safe place and provisions where my international
ambassadors and staff will join me. You and I both know we need each other, so I
suggest—”
“You don't need me,” Rayford said. “And I don't need your forgiveness. You have a
perfectly capable pilot right next to you, so let me suggest that you forget me.”
“Just be ready when he lands,” Carpathia said, the first hint of frustration in his
voice.
“The only place I would accept a ride to is the airport,” Rayford said. “And I'm
almost there. Don't have Mac set down any closer to this mess.”
“Captain Steele,” Carpathia began again, condescendingly, “I admire your irrational
belief that you can somehow find your wife, but we both know that is not going to
happen.”
Rayford said nothing. He feared Carpathia was right, but he would never give him
the satisfaction of admitting it. And he would certainly never quit looking until he
proved to himself Amanda had not survived.
“Come with us, Captain Steele. Just reboard, and I will treat your outburst as if it
never—”
“I'm not going anywhere until I've found my wife! Let me talk to Mac.”
“Officer McCullum is busy. I will pass along a message.”
“Mac could fly that thing with no hands. Now let me talk to him.”
“If there is no message, then, Captain Steele—”
“All right, you win. Just tell Mac—”
“Now is no time to neglect protocol, Captain Steele. A pardoned subordinate is
behooved to address his superior—”
“All right, Potentate Carpathia, just tell Mac to come for me if I don't find a way
back by 2200 hours.”
“And should you find a way back, the shelter is three and a half clicks northeast of
the original headquarters. You will need the following password: 'Operation
Wrath.'”
“What?” Carpathia knew this was coming?
“You heard me, Captain Steele.”
Cameron “Buck” Williams stepped gingerly through the rubble near the ventilation
shaft where he had heard the clear, healthy voice of Rabbi Tsion Ben-Judah, trapped
in the underground shelter. Tsion assured him he was unhurt, just scared and
claustrophobic. That place was small enough without the church imploding above it.
With no way out unless someone tunneled to him, the rabbi, Buck knew, would
soon feel like a caged animal.
Had Tsion been in immediate danger, Buck would have dug with his bare hands to
free him. But Buck felt like a doctor in triage, having to determine who most
urgently needed his help. Assuring Tsion he would return, he headed toward the
safe house to find his wife.
To get through the trash that had been the only church home he ever knew, Buck
had to again crawl past the remains of the beloved Loretta. What a friend she had
been, first to the late Bruce Barnes and then to the rest of the Tribulation Force. The
Force had begun with four: Rayford, Chloe, Bruce, and Buck. Amanda was added.
Bruce was lost. Tsion was added.
Was it possible now that they had been reduced to just Buck and Tsion? Buck didn't
want to think about it. He found his watch gunked up with mud, asphalt, and a tiny
shard of windshield. He wiped the crystal across his pant leg and felt the crusty
mixture tear his trousers and bite into his knee. It was nine o'clock in the morning in
Mt. Prospect, and Buck heard an air raid siren, a tornado warning siren, emergency
vehicle sirens—one close, two farther away. Shouts. Screams. Sobbing. Engines.
Could he live without Chloe? Buck had been given a second chance; he was here
for a purpose. He wanted the love of his life by his side, and he prayed—selfishly,
he realized—that she had not already preceded him to heaven.
In his peripheral vision, Buck noticed the swelling of his own left cheek. He had felt
neither pain nor blood and had assumed the wound was minor. Now he wondered.
He reached in his breast pocket for his mirror-lensed sunglasses. One lens was in
pieces. In the reflection of the other he saw a scarecrow, hair wild, eyes white with
fear, mouth open and sucking air. The wound was not bleeding, yet it appeared
deep. There would be no time for treatment.
Buck emptied his shirt pocket but kept the frames—a gift from Chloe. He studied
the ground as he moved back to the Range Rover, picking his way through glass,
nails, and bricks like an old man, assuring himself solid purchase.
Buck passed Loretta's car and what was left of her, determined not to look.
Suddenly the earth moved, and he stumbled. Loretta's car, which he had been
unable to budge moments before, rocked and disappeared. The ground had given
way under the parking lot. Buck stretched out on his stomach and peeked over the
edge of a new crevice. The mangled car rested atop a water main twenty feet
beneath the earth. The blown tires pointed up like the feet of bloated roadkill.
Curled in a frail ball atop the wreckage was the Raggedy Ann-like body of Loretta,
a tribulation saint. There would be more shifting of the earth. Reaching Loretta's
body would be impossible. If he was also to find Chloe dead, Buck wished God had
let him plunge under the earth with Loretta's car.
Buck rose slowly, suddenly aware of what the roller-coaster ride through the
earthquake had done to his joints and muscles. He surveyed the damage to his
vehicle. Though it had rolled and been hit from all sides, it appeared remarkably
roadworthy. The driver's-side door was jammed, the windshield in gummy pieces
throughout the interior, and the rear seat had broken away from the floor on one
side. One tire had been slashed to the steel belts but looked strong and held air.
Where were Buck's phone and laptop? He had set them on the front seat. He hoped
against hope neither had flown out in the mayhem. Buck opened the passenger door
and peered onto the floor of the front seat. Nothing. He looked under the rear seats,
all the way to the back. In a corner, open and with one screen hinge cracked, was his
laptop.
Buck found his phone in a door well. He didn't expect to be able to get through to
anyone, with all the damage to cellular towers (and everything else above ground).
He switched it on, and it went through a self-test and showed zero range. Still, he
had to try. He dialed Loretta's home. He didn't even get a malfunction message from
the phone company. The same happened when he dialed the church, then Tsion's
shelter. As if playing a cruel joke, the phone made noises as if trying to get through.
Then, nothing.
Buck's landmarks were gone. He was grateful the Range Rover had a built-in
compass. Even the church seemed twisted from its normal perspective on the
corner. Poles and lines and traffic lights were down, buildings flattened, trees
uprooted, fences strewn about.
Buck made sure the Range Rover was in four-wheel drive. He could barely travel
twenty feet before having to punch the car over some rise. He kept his eyes peeled
to avoid anything that might further damage the Rover—it might have to last him
through the end of the Tribulation. The best he could figure, that was still more than
five years away.
As Buck rolled over chunks of asphalt and concrete where the street once lay, he
glanced again at the vestiges of New Hope Village Church. Half the building was
underground. But that one section of pews, which had once faced west, now faced
north and glistened in the sun. The entire sanctuary floor appeared to have turned
ninety degrees.
As he passed the church, he stopped and stared. A shaft of light appeared between
each pair of pews in the ten-pew section except in one spot. There something
blocked Buck's view. He threw the Rover into reverse and carefully backed up. On
the floor in front of one of those pews were the bottoms of a pair of tennis shoes,
toes pointing up. Buck wanted, above all, to get to Loretta's and search for Chloe,
but he could not leave someone lying in the debris. Was it possible someone had
survived?
摘要：

SoulHarvest:TheWorldTakesSidesBook4oftheLeftBehindSeriesTIMLAHAYE&JERRYB.JENKINSONERayfordSteeleworetheuniformoftheenemyofhissoul,andhehatedhimselfforit.HestrodethroughIraqisandtowardBaghdadAirportinhisdressbluesandwasStruckbytheincongruityofitall.FromacrosstheparchedplainheheardthewailsandScreams...

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