Left Behind: A Novel Of Earth's Last Days by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Page B

wonder. He’d been awake nearly twenty-four hours. “I don’t know, Dad. I’ve already filed a lot of stuff. My guess is this next issue will be a huge special with lots of stuff from all over. It’s unlikely my piece would be the sole cover article. It looks like I do have the assignment for a pretty major treatment two weeks from now.”
    He hoped that would satisfy his dad. He wanted to get off and get some sleep. But it didn’t.
    “What’s that mean? What’s the story?”
    “Oh, I’ll be pulling together several writers’ pieces on the theories behind what’s happened.”
    “That’ll be a big job. Everybody I talk to has a different idea. You know your brother is afraid it was like the last judgment of God or something.”
    “He does?”
    “Yeah. But I don’t think so.”
    “Why not, Dad?” He didn’t really want to get into a lengthy discussion, but this is surprised him.
    “Because I asked our pastor. He said if it was Jesus Christ taking people to heaven, he and I and you and Jeff would be gone, too. Makes sense.”
    “Does it? I’ve never claimed any devotion to the faith.”
    “The heck you haven’t. You always get into this liberal, East Coast baloney. You know good and well we had you in church and Sunday school from the time you were a baby. You’re as much a Christian as any one of us.”
    Cameron wanted to say, “Precisely my point.” But he didn’t. It was the lack of any connection between his family’s church attendance and their daily lives that made him quit going to church altogether the day it became his choice.
    “Yeah, well, tell Jeff I’m thinking about him, huh? And if I can work it out at all, I’ll get back there for whatever he’s going to do about Sharon and the kids.”
    Buck was grateful the Midpoint at least had plenty of hot water for a long shower. He had forgotten about the nagging throb at the back of his head until the water hit it and loosened the bandage. He didn’t have anything to redress it, so he just let it bleed a while, then found some ice. In the morning he would find a bandage, just for looks. For now, he had had it. He was bone weary.
    There was no remote control for the TV and no way he would get up once he stretched out. He turned CNN on low so it wouldn’t interrupt his sleep, and he watched the world roundup before dozing off. Images from around the globe were almost more than he could take, but news was his business. He remembered the many earthquakes and wars of the last decade and the nightly coverage that was so moving. Now here was a thousand times more of the same, all on the same day. Never in history had more people been killed in one day than those who disappeared all at once. Had they been killed? Were they dead? Would they be back?
    Buck couldn’t take his eyes, heavy as they were, off the screen as image after image showed disappearances caught on home videotape. From some countries came professional tapes of live television shows in progress, a host’s microphone landing atop his empty clothes, bouncing off his shoes, and making a racket as it rolled across the floor. The audience screamed. One of the cameras panned the crowd, which had been at capacity a moment before. Now several seats were empty, clothes draped across them.
    Nothing could have been scripted like this, Buck thought, blinking slowly. If somebody tried to sell a screenplay about millions of people disappearing, leaving everything but their bodies behind, it would be laughed off.
    Buck was not aware that he was asleep until the cheap phone jangled so loudly it sounded as if it would rattle itself off the table. He groped for it.
    “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Williams, but I just noticed you was off the phone there. While you was talkin’, you got a call. Guy name of Ritz. Says you can call him or you can just be waitin’ for him outside at six in the mornin’.”
    “OK. Thanks.”
    “What’re you gonna do? Call him or meet him?”
    “Why do you need to