Free Nicolae: The Rise Of The Antichrist by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins

clapped him on the back, Rayford caught Amanda’s eye and resolutely shut the cockpit door.
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    Verna Zee’s car was a junky old import. It was rattly and drafty, a four-cylinder automatic. In short, it was a dog. Buck decided to test its limits and reimburse Verna later, if necessary. He sped to the Kennedy and headed toward the Edens junction, trying to guess how far Chloe might have gotten from The Drake in heavy traffic that would now be impassable.
    What he didn’t know was whether she would take Lake Shore Drive (which locals referred to as the LSD ) or the Kennedy. This was more her bailiwick than his, but his question soon became moot. Chicago was in flames, and most of the drivers of cars that clogged the Kennedy in both directions stood on the pavement gaping at the holocaust.
    Buck would have given anything to have had the Range Rover at that moment.
    When he whipped Verna’s little pile of junk onto the shoulder, he found he wasn’t alone. Traffic laws and civility went out the window at a time like this, and there was almost as much traffic off the road as on. He had no choice. Buck had no idea whether he was destined to survive the entire seven years of the Tribulation anyway, and he could think of only one better reason to die than trying to rescue the love of his life.
    Ever since he had become a believer, Buck had considered the privilege of giving his life in the service of God. In his mind, regardless of what really killed Bruce, he believed Bruce was a martyr to the cause. Risking his life in traffic may not have been as altruistic as that, but one thing he was sure of: Chloe would not have hesitated had the shoe been on the other foot.
    The biggest jam-ups came at the bridge overpasses, where the shoulders ended and those fighting to go around stalled traffic had to take turns picking their way through.
    Angry motorists rightfully tried to block their paths. Buck couldn’t blame them. He would have done the same in their places.
    He had stored the number of the phone in the Range Rover and continued to redial every chance he got. Every time he first heard a hint of the message “The mobile cus-
    tomer you have called-“, he disconnected and tried again.
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    Just before the initial descent into San Francisco, Rayford huddled with Amanda. “I’m gonna get that door open and get you off this plane as soon as possible,” he said. “I’m not going to wait for the postflight checklist or anything. Don’t forget, it’s imperative that whatever flight you find is off the ground before we are.”
    “But why, Ray?”
    “Just trust me, Amanda. You know I have your best interests in mind. As soon as you can, call me on my universal cell phone and let me know Chloe and Buck are all right.”
    Buck left the expressway and picked his way through side streets for more than an hour until reaching Evanston. By the time he got to Sheridan Road along the lake, he found it barricaded but not guarded. Apparently every law enforcement officer and emergency medical technician was busy. He thought about ramming one of the construction horses, but didn’t want to do that to Verna’s car. He stepped out and moved the horse enough to drive through. He was going to leave the opening there, but someone hollered from an apartment, “Hey! What are you doing?”
    Buck looked up and waved in the direction of the voice. “Press!” he shouted.
    “All right, then! Carry on!”
    To make himself look more legitimate, Buck took the time to get out of the car and replace the barrier before driving on. He saw the occasional police car with lights flashing and some uniformed men standing at side streets. Buck merely put on his emergency flashers and kept going. No one stood in his way. No one drew down on him.
    No one so much as shined a light at him. To Buck it seemed as if they assumed that if he had gone to the trouble of getting so deep into a prohibited area and was now proceeding with such confidence, he must be all