"Tim LaHaye & Jerry Jenkins - Left Behind Series 4 - Soul Harvest" - читать интересную книгу автора (LaHaye Tim)

“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