The Left Behind Collection: All 12 Books by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Page A

to happen to the life insurance industry? I’m not ready to start believing the tabloids. You just know they’re going to be saying the space aliens finally got us.
    Get in here, Buck.

CHAPTER 4
    Buck kept pressing a handkerchief soaked with cold water onto the back of his head. His wound had stopped bleeding, but it stung. He found another message in his e-mail in-box and was about to access it when he was tapped on the shoulder.
    “I’m a doctor. Let me dress your wound.”
    “Oh, it’s all right, and I—”
    “Just let me do this, pal. I’m going crazy here with nothing to do, and I have my bag. I’m workin’ free today. Call it a Rapture Special.”
    “A what?”
    “Well, what would you call what happened?” the doctor said, removing a bottle and gauze from his bag. “This is gonna be pretty rudimentary, but we will be sterile. AIDS?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “C’mon, you know the routine.” He snapped on rubber gloves. “Have you got HIV or anything fun like that?”
    “No. And, hey, I appreciate this.” At that instant the doctor splashed a heavy dose of disinfectant on the gauze and held it against Buck’s scraped head. “Yow! Take it easy!”
    “Be a big boy there, stud. This’ll hurt less than the infection you’d get otherwise.” He roughly scraped the wound, cleansing it and causing it to ooze blood again. “Listen, I’m going to do a little shave job so I can get a bandage to hold. All right with you?”
    Buck’s eyes were watering. “Yeah, sure, but what was that you said about rapture?”
    “Is there any other explanation that makes sense?” the doctor said, using a scalpel to tear into Buck’s hair. A club attendant came by and asked if they could move the operation into one of the washrooms.
    “I promise to clean up, hon,” the doctor said. “Almost done here.”
    “Well, this can’t be sanitary, and we do have other members to think about.”
    “Why don’t you just give them their drinks and nuts, all right? You’ll find this just isn’t going to upset them that much on a day like this.”
    “I don’t appreciate being spoken to that way.”
    The doctor sighed as he worked. “You’re right. What’s your name?”
    “Suzie.”
    “Listen, Suzie, I’ve been rude and I apologize. OK? Now let me finish this, and I promise not to perform any more surgery right out here in public.” Suzie left, shaking her head.
    “Doc,” Buck said, “leave me your card so I can properly thank you.”
    “No need,” the doctor said, putting his stuff away.
    “Now give me your take on this. What did you mean about the Rapture?”
    “Another time. Your turn for the phone.”
    Buck was torn, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to communicate with New York. He tried dialing direct but couldn’t get through. He set his computer to initiate a constant signal search while he looked at the message from Steve Plank’s secretary, the matronly Marge Potter.
    Buck, you scoundrel! Like I don’t have enough to do and worry about today, I’ve got to check on your girlfriends’ families? Where’d you meet this Hattie Durham? You can tell her I reached her mother out west, but that was before a flood or storm or something knocked phone lines out again. She’s perfectly healthy but rattled, and she was very grateful to know her daughter hadn’t disappeared. The two sisters are OK, too, according to Mom.
    You are a dear for helping people like this, Buck. Steve says you’re going to try to come in. It’ll be good to see you. This is so awful. So far we know of several staffers who disappeared, several more we haven’t heard from, including some in Chicago. Everybody from the senior staff is accounted for, now that we’ve heard from you. I hoped and prayed you’d be all right. Have you noticed it seems to have struck the innocents? Everyone we know who’s gone is either a child or a very nice person. On the other hand, some truly wonderful people are still here. I’m glad you’re