David was aghast at Medical Services. He had visited their indoor facility many times, which, despite their thinning ranks, was pristine and shipshape. What had begun as the main first-aid station, which serviced dozens of others throughout the area during the Carpathia wake, now looked like a mobile army surgical hospital.

The rest of the first-aid stations were being dismantled and leftover injured taken either to the courtyard triage center or into the indoor facility.

Row upon row of makeshift cots snaked across the courtyard. "Why aren't you moving these people inside?" David said, tugging at his stiff collar.

"Why don't you manage your area and let us manage ours," a doctor said, turning briefly from an ashen victim of the heat.

"I don't mean to criticize. It's just that-" "It's just that we're all out here now," the doctor said. "At least most of us. The majority of the treatable cases are heatstroke and dehydration, and most of the casualties are lightning victims."

"I'm looking for-"

"I'm sorry, Director, but whoever you're looking for, you're going to have to find on your own. We don't care about their names or their nationalities. We're just trying to keep them alive. We'll deal with the paperwork later."

"I had an employee stationed at-"

"I'm sorry! It's not that I don't care, but I can't help you! Understand?"

"She would have known how to avoid sun- or heatstroke."

"Good. Now, good-bye."

"She was at sector 53."

"Well, you don't want to hear about five-three," the doctor said, turning back to his patient.

"What about it?"

"Lots of lightning victims. Big bolt there."

"Where would the victims have been taken?"

The doctor was finished talking with David. He nodded to an assistant. "Tell him."

A young man in scrubs spoke with a French accent. "No specific place. Some came in here. Some were treated in that sector. Some inside."

David started on the cart but soon abandoned it to jog down the line of victims. This would be impossible. How could he tell who was who? Annie was in uniform, and while he was sure he could recognize her, with only shoes peeking out from sheets soaked to cool patients, he would have to check each face. And he would be interfering with the medical treatment.

As he trotted along in the heat, David reached in his belt for his water bottle and found it empty. His throat was parched, and he knew his thirst trailed by several minutes his real need for water. When had he last taken a swig? When had he eaten? When had he slept?

The huge screens showed Viv Ivins, Leon Fortunato, and Nicolae Carpathia moving the pilgrims along, cooing to them, blessing them, touching them. The waves of heat from the asphalt made David's uniform cling to him like a single, damp weight. He stopped and bent to catch his breath, but his throat felt swollen, his mouth unable to produce saliva, his windpipe constricted. Dizzy. Annie. Light-headed. Hot. Annie. Spinning. Thirst. Hands red.

David pitched forward, his cap sliding off and tumbling before him. His mind told him to reach for it, but his hands stayed planted above his knees. Break your fall! Break your fall! But he could not. His arms would not move. His face would take the brunt of it. No, he could tuck his chin.

The top of his head smacked the pavement, the jagged asphalt digging through his hair to his scalp. He shut his eyes in anticipation of the pain, and white streaks shot past his eyes. Hands still on his knees, his seat in the air, he slowly, slowly rolled sideways and crashed onto his hip. He opened his eyes and saw his own blood trickle past his face, quickly coagulating in a pool on the baked pavement. He tried to move, to speak. Unconsciousness pursued him, and all he could think of was that he was next in a long line of victims.

"You want me to fly while you make your call?" Albie said.

"Maybe you'd better," Rayford said. They switched places as he punched in Hattie's number. She answered in a hoarse, panicked whisper on the first sound.

"Rayford, where are you?"

"I don't want to say, Hattie. Talk to me. Where are you?"

"Colorado."

"Specifically."

"Pueblo, north end, I think."

"GC has you?"

"Yes. And they're going to send me back to Buffer." Rayford was silent. "Don't leave me hanging, Rayford. We go back too far."

"Hattie, I don't know what to say."

"What?!"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Come get me! I can't go back to Belgium! I'll die there."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"The right thing, Ray."

"In other words, jeopardize my life and expose the Force to-"

Click.

Rayford couldn't tell whether she hung up because he had insulted her or because she heard someone coming. He told Albie the conversation.

"What are you going to do, my friend?"

Rayford stared at Albie in the emerging light and shook his head. "That woman has caused us no end of grief." "But you care for her. You've told me before."

"I have?"

"Bits and pieces. Maybe Mac told me."

"Mac doesn't know her."

"But he knows you, and you talk, no?"

Rayford nodded. "We know they let her out of Buffer, thinking she-"

"Buffer?"

"Belgium Facility for Female Rehabilitation."

"Ah, I'd better remember that."

"Anyway, we know they were hoping she would lead them to us at the gala in Jerusalem, but she-"

"Excuse me, Rayford, but do you want me to set a course over the old safe house or just head directly for Palwaukee?"

"Depends on whether I decide to go to Colorado." "Your choice, but if I may say so, I expected you to be more decisive. I am just playacting, yet I appear more of a leader than you are. Your people admire and respect you-it's obvious." "They shouldn't. I-"

"You've reconciled with them, Rayford. They forgave you. Now become their leader again. What are you going to do about this Hattie Durham? Decide. Tell me, tell the people in the Strong Building, and do it." "I don't know, Albie."

"You'll never know. Just weigh your options, consider the pros and cons, and pull the trigger. Either way, the old safe house is fewer than ten minutes out of the way. Start with a small decision."

"Let's have a look at it."

"Good for you, Rayford."

"Don't patronize me, Albie. We're in a GC chopper. We won't look suspicious anyway."

"But you've made a decision. Now think aloud about the more important one. Are we going to Colorado?"

"I was saying, rather than lead the GC to us, she went straight there. Her family is gone, but maybe she thought she could hook up with friends in Colorado. Who knows? I couldn't even tell you whether her confounding the GC was a stroke of genius or dumb luck, but I'd lean toward the latter."

"So she may be leading you to them rather than the other way round."

Rayford turned away from Albie and looked out the window, praying silently. It hadn't been that many years since his lust for Hattie Durham had almost cost him his marriage. He took the blame for that, but since then she had been nothing but trouble. He and the others in the Tribulation Force had loved her and counseled her, provided for her, pled with her to receive Christ. But she would not be persuaded, and she pulled dangerous stunts that compromised the safety of the Force. For all he knew, she was the reason the GC had finally discovered the safe house.

Rayford's phone chirped. "Hattie?"

"I heard footsteps. They've got me in a small room in a bunker about an hour south of Colorado Springs."

"I'm a long way from there." "Oh, thank you, Rayford. I knew I could count-" "I haven't decided what I'm going to do, Hattie." "Of course you have. You won't leave me here to be sent back to prison or worse. What do I have to do, promise to become a believer?" "Not unless you mean it." "Well, if you don't come for me, you can kiss that idea good-bye."