The growling pop of a loud exhaust suddenly thundered into Delroy’s ears. The side mirror showed the approach of a yellow-andred Harley-Davidson motorcycle. The lone rider, dressed in scarred black leather, kicked his feet out as the motorcycle drew even with the cruiser.
Drawn by the noise and the closeness of the motorcycle, Delroy looked at the rider.
He was young and blond, his bare arms and neck covered with tattoos. He wore wraparound mirror sunglasses. As Delroy watched, the rider’s skin switched from tan and tattoos to a hint of reptilian scales.
The rider grinned. Somehow his voice carried over the thunder of the cycle’s exhaust. “Glad to see you’re hanging around here, Preacher.” The thing glanced over his shoulder and made a show of taking in the town. “Lotta people here to hurt. And as long as you’re around, I get to hurt them.” He smiled, bright and cruel and cold. “I have to admit, playing with you has become more exciting than I thought it would be. You’re being stubborn, but that just makes the chase better.” He twisted the accelerator and revved the engine, cracking ominous thunder all around them. “But in the end, I’m going to bring you down. Your faith is weak.”
Delroy fumbled for the door lock and pushed the button down.
The thing on the motorcycle laughed uproariously. He made a pistol of his thumb and forefinger and shot Delroy with it.
“Are you all right?”
Surprised by the deputy’s voice, Delroy turned to look at Walter.
“I said, are you all right?” Walter asked again. He nodded at the lock. “You afraid of falling out?”
Delroy glanced back at the side of the cruiser, only then realizing the sound of the throbbing engine had disappeared. The street beside him was empty.
2
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0941 Hours
Megan pulled Goose’s pickup truck to a halt in front of the counseling center where she worked during the day. She felt guilty about getting here late. Anger at Major Augustus Trimble, commanding officer of the chaplains at the post, still pounded her temples.
She had confronted the major in his office only a short time ago. Megan had wanted Trimble to acknowledge that the Rapture had happened and start classes for the young people on the base that would explain what was going to happen during the coming seven years of the Tribulation.
Trimble had refused, had shouted her down, and had her escorted from his office. Megan hadn’t gone graciously, but she had gone.
Maybe Trimble hadn’t come around in his faith to the Lord, but she had. Somewhere up there, she knew Chris was in heaven with God and would be safe from all the coming savagery. It was a lot to be thankful for. However, she wasn’t convinced that God cared much about the present situation she was in.
Gerry Fletcher had been a child in her care. As one of the civilian counselors for the post, Megan saw a number of children and teenagers who had problems with drugs, alcohol, and emotional trauma. Gerry’s problem had been his father, Private Boyd Fletcher, who had a history of violent behavior.
The night of the Rapture, Gerry had been in the post ER with Megan, recovering from his latest session of abuse from his father. Megan had made the choice—against hospital, counseling, and military policy—to not inform the parents. She and the hospital staff had hoped that she could convince Gerry to testify against his father this time and break free of the cycle of abuse.
Instead, Gerry had ended up on top of a building in an attempt to commit suicide. He’d fallen by mistake, though, and Megan had barely managed to get hold of him. But that respite lasted only seconds. Despite Megan’s best efforts, Gerry had slipped from her, plummeting to certain doom.
But halfway down, Gerry had been raptured. He’d never had to endure the horrible death from the four-story plummet. His empty clothing had landed on the pavement below.
But no one believed that Megan had truly dropped the boy. They believed that she had faked the fall.
“Boyd Fletcher retained a civilian attorney who is waiting in the wings for the deposition of the provost marshal’s case against you,” Lieutenant Doug Benbow informed her.
“A civilian attorney?” Megan paid only a little attention to the young lieutenant sitting next to her in the truck. He was currently assigned to act as her military legal representative in the matter of the dereliction of duty charges against her regarding Gerry Fletcher.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why would he want a civilian attorney?” Megan asked, knowing there was something she’d missed.
“Megan.” Benbow frowned a little as he looked at her. “Have you heard a word I’ve said on the trip over here?”
It hadn’t been Megan’s idea to bring him along. But when Benbow had seen how upset she’d been after leaving Trimble’s office, he had volunteered to accompany her. He was planning to catch a ride to his office in one of the jeeps ferrying people back and forth across the post. He’d said he hoped that the time would give them the opportunity to talk.
He’d talked, Megan realized. She just hadn’t listened. Her mind had been too full of the things she needed to do for the kids she cared for. If Trimble and the post chaplains—at least the ones who believed in the Rapture and the coming Tribulation, which not even all Christian churches believed in—wouldn’t teach the kids about the trials and horrors ahead, she had to make other arrangements to take care of her young charges.
“I was listening, Lieutenant.” Megan felt defensive and she hated that. “I heard a word or two. Now and then. Sometimes complete sentences. I just didn’t get the whole civilian-attorney part.” She switched the truck’s ignition off. The engine died and left the cab full of strained silence and distant noise muted by the glass. “I’m listening now.”
“Not including last night,” Benbow said,
