Free Soul Harvest: The World Takes Sides by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins

check.”
    Buck read the street address. “I don’t know where that is.” He saw a squad car ahead, lights flashing. “Let’s ask him.” The cop was leaning against his car, having a cigarette. “You on duty?” Buck asked.
    “Takin’ a break,” the cop said. “I’ve seen more in one day than I cared to see in a lifetime, if you know what I mean.” Buck showed him the address. “I don’t know what I’ll tell you as far as landmarks, but, ah, just follow me.”
    “You sure?”
    “There’s nothin’ more I can do for anybody tonight. In fact, I didn’t do anybody any good today. Follow me, and I’ll point out the street you want. Then I’m gone.”
    A few minutes later Buck flashed his lights in thanks and pulled in front of a duplex. Tsion opened the passenger door, but Buck put a hand on his arm.
    “Let me see Chloe’s phone.”
    Tsion crawled back and fished it from a pile he had wrapped in a blanket. Buck flipped it open and found it had been left on. He rummaged in the glove box and produced a cigarette lighter adapter that fit the phone and made it come to life. He touched a button that brought up the last dialed number. He sighed. It was his own.
    Tsion nodded, and they got out. Buck pulled a flashlight from his emergency toolbox. The left side of the duplex had broken windows all around and a foundational brick wall that had crumbled and left the front of the place sagging. Buck got into position where he could shine his light through the windows.
    “Empty,” he said. “No furniture.”
    “Look,” Tsion said. A For Rent sign lay in the grass.
    Buck looked again at the directory. “Donny and Sandy lived on the other side.”
    The place looked remarkably intact. The drapes were open. Buck gripped the wrought iron railing on the steps and leaned over to flash his light into the living room. It looked lived-in. Buck tried the front door and found it unlocked. As he and Tsion tiptoed through the house, it became obvious something was amiss in the tiny breakfast nook at the back. Buck gaped, and Tsion turned away and bent at the waist.
    Sandy Moore had been at the table with her newspaper and coffee when a huge oak tree crashed through the roof with such force that it flattened her and the heavy wood table. The dead girl’s finger was still curled around the cup handle, and her cheek rested on the Tempo section of the Chicago Tribune. Had not the rest of her body been compressed to inches, she might have appeared to be dozing.
    “She and her husband must have died within seconds of each other,” Tsion said quietly. “Miles apart.”
    Buck nodded in the faint light. “We should bury this girl.”
    “We will never get her out from under that tree,” Tsion said.
    “We have to try.”
    In the alley Buck found planks, which they forced under the tree as levers, but a trunk with enough mass to destroy roof, wall, window, woman, and table would not be budged.
    “We need heavy equipment,” Tsion said.
    “What’s the use?” Buck said. “No one will ever be able to bury all of the dead.”
    “I confess I am thinking less of respect for her body than for the possibility that we have found a place to live.” Buck shot him a double take. “What?” Tsion said. “Is it not ideal? There’s actually a bit of pavement out front. This room, open to the elements, can be easily closed off. I don’t know how long it would take to get power, but—”
    “Say no more,” Buck said. “We have no other prospects.”
    Buck threaded the Rover between the duplex and the burned-out shell of whatever had been next door. He parked out of sight in the back, and he and Tsion unloaded the car. Coming through the back door Buck noticed they might be able to extricate Mrs. Moore’s body from underneath. Branches were lodged against a huge cabinet in the corner. That would keep the tree from dropping further if they could somehow cut under the floor.
    “I am so tired I can barely stand, Cameron,” Tsion said