CHAPTER 12

Rayford Steele enjoyed a hunger for the Word of God from the day he had received Christ. He found, however, that as the world slowly began to get back to speed following the disappearances, he became busier than ever. It became increasingly difficult to spend the time he wanted to in the Bible.

His first pastor, the late Bruce Barnes, had impressed upon the Tribulation Force how important it was that they “search the Scriptures daily.” Rayford tried to get himself in that groove, but for weeks he was frustrated. He tried getting up earlier but found himself involved in so many late night discussions and activities that it wasn’t practical. He tried reading his Bible during breaks on his flights, but that caused tension between him and his various copilots and first officers.

Finally he hit upon a solution. No matter where he was in the world, regardless of what he had done during the day or evening, sometime he would be going to bed. Regardless of the location or situation, before he turned out the light, he would get his daily Bible study in.

Bruce had at first been skeptical, urging him to give God the first few minutes of the day rather than the last. “You have to get up in the morning too,” Bruce had said. “Wouldn’t you rather give God your freshest and most energetic moments?”

Rayford saw the wisdom of that, but when it didn’t seem to work, he went back to his own plan. Yes, he had at times fallen asleep while reading or praying, but usually he was able to stay alert, and God always showed him something.

Since losing his Bible in the earthquake, Rayford had been frustrated. Now, in the wee hours, he wanted to get online, download a Bible, and see if Tsion Ben-Judah had posted anything. Rayford was grateful he had kept his laptop in his flight bag. If only he had kept his Bible there, he would still have that too.

In his undershirt, trousers, and socks, Rayford lugged his laptop to the communications center, found a hot spot, and sat where he could see his own door down the hall.

As information began appearing on his screen, he was distracted by footsteps. He lowered the screen and stared down the hall. A young, dark-haired man stopped at Rayford’s door and knocked quietly. When there was no answer, he tried the knob. Rayford wondered if someone had been assigned to rob him or look for clues to the whereabouts of Hattie Durham or Tsion Ben-Judah.

The young man knocked again, his shoulders slumped, and he turned away. Then it hit Rayford. Could it be Hassid? He gave a loud “Psst!”

The young man stopped and looked toward the sound. Rayford was in the dark, so he raised his computer screen. The young man paused, clearly wondering if the figure at the computer was whom he wanted to see. Rayford imagined his concocting a story in case he encountered a superior officer.

Rayford signaled him, and the young man approached. His nameplate read David Hassid.

“May I see your mark?” Hassid whispered. Rayford put his face near the screen and pulled his hair back. “Like the young Americans say, that is so cool.”

Rayford said, “You were looking for me?”

“I just wanted to meet you,” Hassid said. “By the way, I work here in communications.” Rayford nodded. “Though we don’t have phones in our rooms, we do have wireless.”

“I don’t. I looked.”

“They are covered with stainless steel plates.”

“I did see that,” Rayford said.

“So you don’t need to risk getting caught out here, Captain Steele.”

“That’s good to know. It wouldn’t surprise me if they could tell where I’ve been on the Web through here.”

“They could. They can trace it through the lines in your room, too, but what will they find?”

“I’m just trying to find out what my friend, Tsion Ben-Judah, is saying these days.”

“I could tell you by heart,” Hassid said. “He is my spiritual father.”

“Mine too.”

“He led you to Christ?”

“Well, no,” Rayford admitted. “That was his predecessor. But I still see the rabbi as my pastor and mentor.”

“Let me write down for you the address of the central bulletin board where I found his message for today. It’s a long one, but it’s so good. He and a brother of his discovered their marks yesterday too. It’s so exciting. Do you know that I am probably one of the 144,000 witnesses?”

“Well, that would be right, wouldn’t it?” Rayford said.

“I can’t wait to find out my assignment. I feel so new to this, so ignorant of the truth. I know the gospel, but it seems I need to know so much more if I’m going to be a bold evangelist, preaching like the apostle Paul.”

“We’re all new at this, David, if you think about it.”

“But I’m newer than most. Wait till you see all the messages on the bulletin board. Thousands and thousands of believers have already responded. I don’t know how Dr. Ben-Judah will have time to read them all. They’re pleading with him to come to their countries and to teach them and train them face-to-face. I would give everything I owned for that privilege.”

“You know, of course, that Dr. Ben-Judah is a fugitive.”

“Yes, but he believes he is one of the 144,000 as well. He’s teaching that we are sealed, at least for a time, and that the forces of evil cannot come against us.”

“Really?”

“Yes. That protection is not for everyone who has the mark, apparently. But it is for the converted Jewish evangelists.”

“In other words, I could be in danger, but you couldn’t, at least for a while.”

“That seems to be what he’s teaching. I’ll be eager to hear your response.”

“I can’t wait to plug in.”

Rayford unplugged his machine and the two strolled down the corridor, whispering. Rayford discovered Hassid was just twenty-two years old, a college graduate who had aspired to military service in Poland. “But I was so enamored of Carpathia, I immediately applied for service to the Global Community. It wasn’t long before I discovered the truth on the Internet. Now I am enlisted behind enemy lines, but I didn’t plan it that way.”

Rayford advised the young man that he was wise in not declaring himself until the time was right. “It will be dangerous enough for you to be a believer, but you’ll be of greater help to the cause right now if you remain silent about it, as Officer McCullum is doing.”

At Rayford’s door, Hassid gripped his hand fiercely and squeezed hard. “It is so good to know I am not alone,” he said. “Did you want to see my mark?”

Rayford smiled. “Sure.”

Still shaking Rayford’s hand, Hassid reached with his free hand and pulled his hair out of the way.

“Sure enough,” Rayford said. “Welcome to the family.”

Buck found parking at the hospital similar to what it had been at the airport. The original pavement had sunk, and a turnaround had been scraped from the dirt at the front. But people had created their own parking places, and the only spot Buck could find was several hundred yards from the entrance. He dropped Ken off in front with his bag and told him to wait.

“If you promise not to smack me in the head again,” Ken said. “Man, gettin’ out of this car is like being born.”

Buck parked in a haphazard line of other vehicles and grabbed a few toiletries from his own bag. As he headed toward the hospital, he tucked in his shirt, brushed himself down, combed his hair, and applied a few sprays of deodorant. When he got near the entrance he saw Ken on the ground, using his bag as a pillow. He wondered if pressing him into service had been a good idea. A few people stared at him. Ken appeared comatose. Oh no! Buck thought.

He knelt by Ken. “Are you all right?” he whispered. “Let me get you up.”

Ken spoke without opening his eyes. “Oh, man! Buck, I did something royally stupid.”

“What?”

“‘Member when you got me my medicine?” Ken’s words were slurred. “I popped ’em in my mouth without water, right?”

“I offered to get you something to drink.”

“That’s not the point. I was s’posed to take one from one bottle and three from the other, every four hours. I missed my last dose, so I took two of one and six of the other.”

“Yeah?”

“But I mixed up the bottles.”

“What are they?”

Ritz shrugged and his breathing became deep and regular.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, Ken. I’ve got to get you inside.”

Buck pawed through Ken’s bag and found the bottles. The larger recommended dose was for local pain. The smaller appeared to be a combination of morphine, Demerol, and Prozac. “You took six of these?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Come on, Ken. Get up. Right now.”

“Oh, Buck. Let me sleep.”

“No way. Right now, we have to go.”

Buck didn’t think Ken was in danger or had to have his stomach pumped, but if he didn’t get him inside, he’d be a dead weight and worthless. Worse, he would probably be hauled away.

Buck lifted one of Ken’s hands and stuck his own head under Ken’s arm. When he tried to straighten, Ken was no help and too heavy. “Come on, man. You’ve got to help me.”

Ken just mumbled.

Buck held Ken’s head gently and pulled the bag out from under him. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

“You mm-hmm.”

Buck feared Ken’s head was the only place still sensitive, and that might be dulled soon too. Rather than risk contaminating the wound, Buck looked for inflammation other than at the opening. Below where Ken had been gouged the hairline was fiery red. Buck spread his feet and braced himself, then pressed directly on the spot. Ritz leaped to his feet as if he’d been shot from a gun. He swung at Buck, who ducked, wrapped one arm around Ken’s back, scooped up the bag with the other, and marched him to the entrance.

Ken looked and sounded like the deliriously injured man that he was. People moved out of the way.

Inside the hospital, things were worse. It was all Buck could do to hold Ken up. The lines at the front desk were five deep. Buck dragged Ken to the waiting area, where every chair was filled and several people were standing. Buck looked for someone who might give up his seat, and finally a stocky middle-aged woman stood. Buck thanked her and lowered Ken into the chair. Ken curled sideways, lifted his knees, drew his hands to his cheek, and rested on the shoulder of an old man next to him. The man caught sight of the wound, recoiled, then apparently resigned himself to serving as Ken’s pillow.

Buck stuffed Ken’s bag under his chair, apologized to the old man, and promised to be back as soon as he could. When he tried to move to the front at the receptionist’s desk, people in two lines rebuffed him. He called out, “I’m sorry, but I have an emergency here!”

“We all do!” one shouted back.

He stood in line for several minutes, worrying more about Chloe than Ken. Ken would sleep this off. The only problem was, Buck was still stuck. Unless . . .

Buck stepped out of line and hurried into a public washroom. He washed his face, watered down and slicked back his hair, and made sure his clothes were as neat as possible. He pulled his identification card from his pocket and clipped it to his shirt, turning it around so his picture and name were hidden.

He popped the remaining lens out of his broken sunglasses, but the frames looked so phony that he pulled them up into his hair. He looked in the mirror and affected a grim expression, telling himself, “You are a doctor. A no-nonsense, big ego, all-action doctor.”

He burst from the bathroom as if he knew where he was going. He needed a pigeon. The first two doctors he passed looked too old and mature for his ruse. But here came a thin, young doctor looking wide-eyed and out of place. Buck stepped in front of him.

“Doctor, did I not tell you to check on that trauma in emergency two?”

The young physician was speechless.

“Well?” Buck demanded.

“No! No, Doctor. That must have been someone else.”

“All right, then! Listen! I need a stethoscope—a sterile one this time!—a large, freshly laundered smock, and the chart on Mother Doe. You got that?”

The intern closed his eyes and repeated, “Stethoscope, smock, chart.”

Buck continued barking. “Sterile, big, Mother Doe.”

“Right away, Doctor.”

“I’ll be at the elevators.”

“Yes, sir.”

The intern turned and walked away. Buck called after him, “Sometime today, Doctor!” The intern ran.

Now Buck had to find the elevators. He slipped back into the reception area to find Ken still snoozing in the same position, the old man next to him looking as intimidated as ever. He asked a Hispanic woman if she knew where the elevators were. She pointed down the hall. As he hurried that way, he saw his intern behind the counter, hassling the receptionists. “Just do it!” he was saying.

A few minutes later the young doctor rushed to him with everything he had asked for. He held the smock open and Buck hastily slipped into it, draped the stethoscope around his neck, and grabbed the chart.

“Thank you, Doctor. Where are you from?”

“Right here!” the intern said. “This hospital.”

“Oh, well then, good. Very good. I’m from . . .” Buck hesitated a second. “Young Memorial. Thanks for your help.”

The intern looked puzzled, as if trying to think where Young Memorial was. “Any time,” he said.

Buck left the elevators and hurried to the washroom. He locked himself in a stall and flipped open Chloe’s chart. The photographs made him burst into tears. Buck set the clipboard on the floor and doubled over. “God,” he prayed silently, “how could you have let this happen?”

He clenched his teeth and shuddered, willing himself to calm down. He didn’t want to be heard. After about a minute, he opened the chart again. Staring at him from the photographs was the almost unrecognizable face of his young wife. Had she looked that swollen when she was brought to Kenosha, no doctor would have recognized her from Buck’s picture.

As the doctor in Kenosha had told him, the right side of her body had apparently been slammed full force by a section of roofing. Her normally smooth, pale skin was now blotched red and yellow and invaded by pitch, tar, and bits of shingling. Worse, her right foot looked as if someone had tried to fold it. A bone protruded from her shin. Bruising began on the outside of her knee and ran to the kneecap, which looked severely damaged. From the position of her body, it appeared her right hip had been knocked out of joint. Bruises and bumps in her midsection evidenced broken ribs. Her elbow had been laid open, and her right shoulder appeared dislocated. Her right collarbone pressed against the skin. The right side of her face appeared flatter, and there was damage to her jaw, teeth, cheekbone, and eye. Her face was so misshapen that Buck could hardly bear to look. The eye was swollen huge and shut. The only abrasion on her left side was a raspberry near her hip, so the doctor had probably correctly deduced that she had been knocked off her feet by a blow to her right side.

Buck determined he would not recoil when he saw her in person. Of course, he wanted her to survive. But was that best for her? Could she communicate? Would she recognize him? He flipped through the rest of the chart, trying to interpret the notations. It appeared she had escaped injury to her internal organs. She suffered several fractures, including three in her foot, one in her ankle, her kneecap, her elbow, and two ribs. She had dislocated both hip and shoulder. She had also sustained fractures of the jaw, cheekbone, and cranium.

Buck scanned the rest quickly, looking for a key word. There it was. Fetal heartbeat detected. Oh, God! Save them both!

Buck didn’t know medicine, but her vital signs looked good for someone who had suffered such a trauma. Though she had not regained consciousness at the time of the report, her pulse, respiration, blood pressure, and even brain waves were normal.

Buck looked at his watch. The GC contingent should arrive soon. He needed time to think and to collect himself. He would be no good to Chloe if he went off half-cocked. He memorized as much of the chart as he could, noted that she was in room 335A, and tucked the clipboard under his arm. He left the restroom with rubbery knees, but he affected a purposeful stride once he was in the corridor. While he pondered his options, he moved back into the reception area. The old man was gone. Ken Ritz no longer leaned on anyone, but his gigantic frame was curled in a fetal position like an overgrown child, the healthy part of his head resting on the back of the chair. He looked as if he could sleep for a week.

Buck took the elevator to the third floor to get the lay of the land. As the doors opened, however, something struck him. He whipped open the chart. “335A.” She was in a double room. What if he was the doctor for the other patient? Even if he wasn’t on a security list, they’d have to let him in, wouldn’t they? He might have to bluster, but he would get in.

Two uniformed GC guards stood on either side of the 335 doorway. One was a young man, the other a slightly older woman. Two strips of white adhesive tape were attached to the door, both written on in black marker. The top said, “A: Mother Doe, No Visitors.” The other read, “B: A. Ashton.”

Buck was weak with longing to check on Chloe. With the clock working against him, he wanted to get in there before GC officials did. He passed the room, and at the end of the hall turned and walked directly back to 335.

Rayford had not been prepared for what he found on the Internet. Tsion had outdone himself. As David Hassid had said, thousands upon thousands had already responded. Many put messages on the bulletin board identifying themselves as members of the 144,000. Rayford scrolled through the messages for more than an hour, still not coming to the end. Hundreds testified that they had received Christ after reading Tsion’s message and the verses from Romans that showed their need of God.

It was late, and Rayford was bleary-eyed. He had intended to spend not more than an hour on the Net, but he had spent that and more merely working through Tsion’s message. “The Coming Soul Harvest” was a fascinating study of biblical prophecy. Tsion made himself so understandable and personable that it did not surprise Rayford that thousands considered themselves his protégés, though they had never met him. From the looks of the bulletin board, however, that would have to change. They clamored for him to come where they could meet him and sit under his tutelage.

Tsion responded to the requests by telling his own story, how as a biblical scholar he had been commissioned by the State of Israel to study the claims of the coming Messiah. He explained that by the time of the rapture of the church, he had come to the conclusion that Jesus of Nazareth fulfilled every qualification of the Messiah prophesied in the Old Testament. But he did not receive Christ as his own savior until the Rapture convinced him.

He kept his belief to himself until he was asked to go on international television to reveal the results of his lengthy study. He was astounded that the Jews still refused to believe that Jesus was who the Bible claimed he was. Tsion revealed his finding at the very end of the program, causing tremendous outcry, especially among the orthodox. His wife and two teenage children were later slaughtered, and he barely escaped. He told his Internet audience he was now in hiding but that he would “continue to teach and to proclaim that Jesus Christ is the only name under heaven given among men through whom one can be saved.”

Rayford forced himself to stay awake, poring over Tsion’s teachings. A meter on his screen showed the number of responses as they were added to the central bulletin board. He believed the meter was malfunctioning. It raced so fast he could not even see the individual numerals. He sampled a few of the responses. Not only were many converted Jews claiming to be among the 144,000 witnesses, but Jews and Gentiles were also trusting Christ. Thousands more encouraged each other to petition the Global Community for protection and asylum for this great scholar.

Rayford felt a tingle behind his knees that shot to his head. One bit of leverage with Nicolae Carpathia was the court of public opinion. It wasn’t beyond him to have Tsion Ben-Judah assassinated or “accidentally” killed and make it appear other forces were at work. But with thousands all over the globe appealing to Nicolae on Tsion’s behalf, he would be forced to prove he could deliver. Rayford wished there was some way to make him do the right thing by Hattie Durham as well.

Tsion’s main message for the day was based on Revelation 8 and 9. Those chapters supported his contention that the earthquake, the foretold wrath of the Lamb, ushered in the second twenty-one months of the Tribulation.

There are seven years, or eighty-four months, in all. So, my dear friends, you can see that we are now one quarter of the way through. Unfortunately, as bad as things have been, they get progressively worse as we race headlong toward the end, the glorious appearing of Christ.

What is next? In Revelation 8:5 an angel takes a censer, fills it with fire from the altar of God, and throws it to the earth. That results in noise, thunder, lightning, and an earthquake.

That same chapter goes on to say that seven angels with seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound. That is where we are now. Sometime over the next twenty-one months, the first angel will sound, and hail and fire will follow, mingled with blood, thrown down to the earth. This will burn a third of the trees and all the green grass.

Later a second angel will sound the second trumpet, and the Bible says a great mountain burning with fire will be thrown into the sea. This will turn a third of the water to blood, kill a third of the living creatures in the sea, and sink a third of the ships.

The third angel’s trumpet sound will result in a great star falling from heaven, burning like a torch. It will somehow fall over a wide area and land in a third of the rivers and springs. This star is even named in Scripture. The book of Revelation calls it Wormwood. Where it falls, the water becomes bitter and people die from drinking it.

How can a thinking person see all that has happened and not fear what is to come? If there are still unbelievers after the third Trumpet Judgment, the fourth should convince everyone. Anyone who resists the warnings of God at that time will likely have already decided to serve the enemy. The fourth Trumpet Judgment is a striking of the sun, the moon, and the stars so that a third of the sun, a third of the moon, and a third of the stars are darkened. We will never again see sunshine as bright as we have before. The brightest summer day with the sun high in the sky will be only two-thirds as bright as it ever was. How will this be explained away?

In the middle of this, the writer of the Revelation says he looked and heard an angel “flying through the midst of heaven.” It was saying with a loud voice, “Woe, woe, woe to the inhabitants of the earth, because of the remaining blasts of the trumpet of the three angels who are about to sound!”

In my next lesson, I will cover those last three Trumpet Judgments of the second twenty-one months of the Tribulation. But, my beloved brothers and sisters in Christ, victory is also coming. Let me remind you with a few choice passages of Scripture that the outcome has already been determined. We win! But we must share the truth and expose the darkness and bring as many as possible to Christ in these last days.

I want to show you why I believe there is a great soul harvest coming. But first, consider these statements and promises:

In the Old Testament book of Joel 2:28-32, God is speaking. He says, “And it shall come to pass afterward that I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions. And also on My menservants and on My maidservants I will pour out My Spirit in those days.

“And I will show wonders in the heavens and in the earth: blood and fire and pillars of smoke. The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the coming of the great and awesome day of the Lord.

“And it shall come to pass that whoever calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved. For in Mount Zion and in Jerusalem there shall be deliverance, as the Lord has said, among the remnant whom the Lord calls.”

Is that not a wonderful and most blessed promise? Revelation 7 indicates that the Trumpet Judgments I just mentioned will not come until the servants of God have been sealed on their foreheads. There will no longer be any question who the true believers are. Those first four angels, to whom it was granted to carry out the first four Trumpet Judgments, were instructed, “Do not harm the earth, the sea, or the trees till we have sealed the servants of our God on their foreheads.” Thus it is clear that this sealing comes first. Just within the last several hours, it has become clear to me and to other brothers and sisters in Christ that the seal on the forehead of the true believer is already visible, but apparently only to other believers. This was a thrilling discovery, and I look forward to hearing from many of you who detect it on each other.

The word servants, from the Greek word doulos, is the same word the apostles Paul and James used when they referred to themselves as the bond slaves of Jesus Christ. The chief function of a servant of Christ is to communicate the gospel of the grace of God. We will be inspired by the fact that we can understand the book of Revelation, which was given by God, according to the first verse of the first chapter “to show His servants things which must shortly take place.” The third verse says, “Blessed is he who reads and those who hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written in it, for the time is near.”

Although we will go through great persecution, we can comfort ourselves that during the Tribulation we look forward to astounding events outlined in Revelation, the last book in God’s revealed plan for man.

Now indulge me for one more verse from Revelation 7, and I will conclude with why I anticipate this great harvest of souls.

Revelation 7:9 quotes John the revelator, “After these things I looked, and behold, a great multitude which no one could number [emphasis mine], of all nations, tribes, peoples, and tongues, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, with palm branches in their hands. . . .”

These are the tribulation saints. Now follow me carefully. In a later verse, Revelation 9:16, the writer numbers the army of horsemen in a battle at two hundred million. If such a vast army can be numbered, what might the Scriptures mean when they refer to the tribulation saints, those who come to Christ during this period, as “a great multitude which no one could number” [emphasis mine]?

Do you see why I believe we are justified in trusting God for more than a billion souls during this period? Let us pray for that great harvest. All who name Christ as their Redeemer can have a part in this, the greatest task ever assigned to mankind. I look forward to interacting with you again soon.

With love, in the matchless name of the Lord Jesus Christ, our Savior, Tsion Ben-Judah.

Rayford could barely keep his eyes open, but he was thrilled with Tsion’s boundless enthusiasm and insightful teaching. He returned to the bulletin board and blinked. The number at the top of the screen was in the tens of thousands and rising. Rayford wanted to add to the avalanche, but he was exhausted.

Nicolae Carpathia had addressed the globe on radio and television. No doubt the response would be monumental. But would it rival the reaction to this converted rabbi, communicating from exile to a new, growing family?

Buck reminded himself that, for the moment, he was not just a doctor, but also an egomaniac. He strode to room 335 without so much as a nod to the two Global Community guards. As he pushed open the door, they stepped into his path.

“Excuse me!” he said with disgust. “Miss Ashton’s alarm rang, so unless you want to be responsible for the death of my patient, you will let me pass.”

The guards looked at each other, appearing uncertain. The woman reached for Buck’s ID tag. He pushed her hand away and entered the room, locking the door. He hesitated before turning around, prepared to respond if they began banging. They didn’t.

Draperies hid both patients. Buck pulled back the first to reveal his wife. He held his breath as his eyes traveled over the sheet from feet to neck. It felt as if his heart was literally breaking. Poor sweet Chloe had no idea what she was getting into when she agreed to marry him. He bit his lip hard. There was no time to emote. He was grateful she seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Her right arm was in a cast from wrist to shoulder. Her left arm lay motionless at her side, an IV needle in the back of her hand.

Buck set the clipboard on the bed and slipped his hand under hers. The baby-soft skin he cherished made him long to gather her in his arms, to soothe her, to take her pain. He bent and brushed her fingers with his lips, his tears falling between them. He jumped when he felt a weak grip and looked at her. She stared at him. “I’m here!” he whispered desperately. He moved to where he could caress her cheek. “Chloe, sweetheart, it’s Buck.”

He leaned close. Her gaze followed him. He forced himself not to look at her shattered right side. She was his sweet, innocent wife on one side and a monster on the other. He took her hand again.

“Can you hear me? Chloe, squeeze my hand again.”

No response.

Buck hurried to the other side and pulled back the drape to peek through to the other bed. A. Ashton was in her late fifties and appeared to be in a coma. Buck returned, grabbed his clipboard, and studied Chloe’s face. Her look still followed him. Could she hear? Was she conscious?

He unlocked the door and stepped quickly into the hall. “She’s out of danger for the moment,” he said, “but we’ve got a problem. Who told you Miss Ashton was in bed B?”

“Excuse me, doctor,” the woman guard said, “but we have nothing to do with the patients. Our responsibility is the door.”

“So, you’re not responsible for this screwup?”

“Absolutely not,” the woman said.

Buck pulled the adhesive strips from the door and reversed them. “Ma’am, can you handle this post yourself while this young man finds me a marker?”

“Certainly, sir. Craig, get him a marker.”