The Left Behind Complete Set, Series 1-12

by Tim LaHaye

Rayford slapped his phone shut and hurried back to the lurching, mumbling man. As he drew near, Rayford was horrified to see why his gait was so strange and why he trailed a river of blood. He had been impaled by a gleaming white chunk of metal, apparently some piece of a fuselage. Why he was still alive, how he survived or climbed out, Rayford couldn’t imagine. The shard was embedded from his hip to the back of his head. It had to have missed vital organs by centimeters. Rayford touched the man’s shoulder, causing him to wrench away. He sat heavily, and with a huge sigh toppled slowly in the sand and breathed his last. Rayford checked for a pulse, not surprised to find none. Overcome, he turned his back and knelt in the dirt. Sobs wracked his body.

Yeah, you just didn’t notice that when the guy walked past the first time?

A woman crawled out from the wreckage of her home, a bloody stump at her shoulder where her arm had been. She screamed at Buck, “Kill me! Kill me!” He shouted, “No!” and leaped from the Rover as she bent and grabbed a chunk of glass from a broken window and dragged it across her neck. Buck continued to yell as he sprinted to her. He only hoped she was too weak to do anything but superficial damage to her neck, and he prayed she would miss her carotid artery. He was within a few feet of her when she stared, startled. The glass broke and tinkled to the ground. She stepped back and tripped, her head smacking loudly on a chunk of concrete. Immediately the blood stopped pumping from her exposed arteries. Her eyes were lifeless as Buck forced her jaw open and covered her mouth with his. Buck blew air into her throat, making her chest rise and her blood trickle, but it was futile. Buck looked around, wondering whether to try to cover her. Across the way an elderly man stood at the edge of a crater and seemed to will himself to tumble into it. Buck could take no more. Was God preparing him for the likelihood that Chloe had not survived?

Look Buck, I don’t think these horrible deaths (setting aside how lovingly described they are for now) are a message meant for you. That’s the most selfish way to view a disaster of this scale.

Buck had never believed in extrasensory perception or telepathy, even before he had become a believer in Christ. Yet now he felt such a deep longing for Chloe, such a desperate grief at even the prospect of losing her, that he felt as if his love oozed from every pore. How could she not know he was thinking of her, praying for her, trying to get to her at all cost?

The cop nodded. “Don’t be trying to get into any of these homes!” Buck let go and slid to the ground. He walked toward the fire truck as it slowed to a stop. “I heard the announcement, but what are you guys talking about?” “We’re worried about looters. But we’re also worried about danger. These places are hardly stable.”

A weirdly prescient moment, given when I’m reading this

Of those who emerged, some ran from the scene, while most, like the Asian, staggered trancelike through the desert.

Stop calling him that! This poor man’s ghost is gonna haunt Rayford and the readers throughout the whole book at this rate.

He knew what he was looking for. Amanda’s scheduled flight had been on a Pan-Continental 747, the airline and equipment he used to fly. It would not have surprised him if she were on one of the very aircraft he had once piloted. It would have been scheduled to land south to north on the big runway. If the earthquake occurred with the plane in the air, the pilot would have tried to stay airborne until it was over, then looked for a flat patch of ground to put down. If it occurred at any time after landing, the plane could be anywhere on that strip, which was now fully underground and covered with sand. It was a huge, long runway, but surely if a plane was buried there, Rayford ought to be able to sight it before the sun went down.

This is maybe the first time that travel logistics have been justified within the plot of one of these books. Knowing exactly when and how Amanda’s and Hattie’s plane was traveling is actually important in tracking them down, so this adds to the tension instead of feeling like filler. Jenkins, my boy, you are learning.

To get to the runway in question, Rayford had to cross paths with a zombied and bleeding queue of fortunates who staggered out of a crater.

I unironically love the word “zombied” in this sentence

As he came to within a hundred feet of the back of the monstrous plane, it became clear what had happened. The plane had been near mid-runway when the pavement simply dropped at least fifty feet beneath it. The weight of that pavement pulled the sand in toward the plane, which now rested on both wingtips, its body hanging precariously over the chasm.

Aw man, this has the potential for some Uncharted-style action!

Rayford’s heart sank when he drew close enough to see that this was not a Pan-Con 747 at all but a British Airways jet. He was struck with such conflicting emotions that he could barely sort them out. What kind of a cold, selfish person is so obsessed with the survival of his own wife that he would be disappointed that hundreds of people might have been saved on this plane? He had to face the ugly truth about himself that he cared mostly for Amanda. Where was her Pan-Con flight?

Putting a pin in this, because it’s at least a character choice, and that’s something that rarely happens in Rayford’s storyline. If it goes nowhere, I’ll have some questions later. (Update: in less than a page, Rayford comes back, but only after he can’t find his wife’s plane. So, yeah, this had no consequences, and I doubt it will prompt much soul-searching.)

What a cauldron of death!

Adding this phrase to my lexicon, alongside “thronelike chair” and “veritable dervish”

Rayford cupped his hands and called out to her, “I am a pilot! I have some ideas!”

Lolol, Rayford’s character summed up so succinctly

He had no boots, no gloves, no work clothes, no goggles, no helmet. All he had were the filthy, flimsy clothes on his back, normal shoes, and his bare hands. It was too late to worry about tetanus.

It felt solid, though unsteady.

He couldn’t get it open at first. The door was jammed. It seemed such a frail thing, but having shifted in the earthquake, the shed had bent upon itself and was unwilling to budge. Buck lowered his shoulder and rammed it like a football player. It groaned in protest but snapped back into position. He karate kicked it six times, then lowered his shoulder and barreled into it again. Finally he backed up twenty feet and raced toward it, but his slick shoes slipped in the grass and sent him sprawling. In a rage he trotted back farther, started slower, and gradually picked up speed. This time he smashed into the side of the shed so hard that he tore it from its moorings. It flipped over the tools inside, and he went with it, riding it to the ground before bouncing off. A jagged edge of the roof caught his rib cage as he hurtled down, and flesh gave way. He grabbed his side and felt a trickle, but unless he severed an artery, he wouldn’t slow down.

Some slapstick just in case the mood was too heavy for you. Also, we haven’t heard anything about Buck practicing martial arts, so his karate kicks definitely looked like any mediocre white guy doing “karate” on Youtube.

Buck shoveled debris away until he hit bigger pieces that had to be removed by hand. He was in decent shape, but this was beyond his routine. His muscles burned as he tossed aside heavy hunks of wall and flooring.

My dude, we’re in the fourth book. We know what kind of shape Buck is in. No need to recap his physique every chance you get. I guess it could be worse, given that Buck is Jenkin’s self-insert character.

He finally reached the bed frame, which had been snapped like kindling.

Damn! Edward and Bella got here first.

He stood helpless, hoping.

Helplessly hoping? Is a harlequin hovering nearby? Awaiting a word?

The left wing gave way first but was not totally sheared off. The fuselage rotated left, and it was clear passengers inside fell that way too. The rear of the plane was going down first. Rayford could only hope the right wing would give way in time to even it out. At the last instant, that happened. But though the plane landed nearly perfectly flat on its tires, it had dropped much too far. People had to have been horribly bounced against each other and the plane. When the front tire collapsed, the nose of the plane drove so hard into the pavement that it shook more sand avalanches loose from the sides, which quickly filled the gorge. Rayford stuffed his phone in his pants pocket and tossed his jacket aside. He and others dug with their hands and began burrowing to the plane to allow air and escape passages. Sweat soaked through his clothes. The shine of his shoes would never return, but when might he ever again need dress shoes anyway?

This is not the time to be thinking about you dress shoes! And I was just about to complement this as Rayford’s first real moment of heroism.

Rayford picked up speed, still in shape in his early forties.

Rayford stood and rubbed a painful knee,

Dammit! My knee! That one just recovered from the last time!

It was afternoon in the Central Standard Time zone when Buck pulled within sight of the wreckage of the church.

We already know Buck is in Chicago; you don’t need to tell us the time zone. For that matter, I don’t really even need to know the time.

The pews that had escaped the ravages of the quake now cracked and flipped. Buck could only imagine what had happened to poor Donny Moore’s body. Perhaps God himself had handled the burial.

No body will go un-tarnished

“One thing you can be sure of,” Tsion said in his thick Israeli accent, “is that if Rayford was near Nicolae, he is likely safe. The Scriptures are clear that the Antichrist will not meet his demise until a little over a year from now.”

Once again, no tension allowed with Nicolae, because we have a timetable to keep, and the authors refuse to get creative with it.

Once Rayford’s headset was in place, Mac said, “What the blazes is going on? What is Carpathia up to? What’s all this about the ‘wrath of the Lamb,’ and what in the world was I lookin’ at earlier when I thought I was lookin’ at the moon? I’ve seen a lot of natural disasters, and I’ve seen some strange atmospheric phenomena, but I swear on my mother’s eyes I’ve never seen anything make a full moon look like it’s turned to blood. Why would an earthquake do that?” Man, Rayford thought, this guy is ripe.

I don’t much care for Rayford in this moment

Tsion brought only his phone, his laptop, and a few changes of clothes that had been smuggled in to him. Buck waited until they parked near the torn-up pavement in front of Loretta’s house to tell him about Donny Moore. “That is a tragedy,” Tsion said. “And he was—?”

Lol, Tsion doesn’t even know who Donny is!

“What do you think I ought to do about the briefcase?” Buck asked. “Do about it?” “Donny must have something very important in there. I saw him with it constantly. But I don’t know the combinations. Should I leave it alone?”

I have no idea where this is going, but I’m intrigued that Jenkins and LaHaye felt the need to introduce a mystery box into this story for some reason.

Tsion and Buck clambered out of the Rover. As soon as they had tossed their tools over the wall and climbed over, Tsion said, “Buck! Where is Chloe’s car?”

Dun dun dun!

Rayford could not swear to the credibility of Mac McCullum. All he knew was that the freckled, twice-divorced man had just turned fifty and had never had kids.

Okay then. Too bad you didn’t know his blood type, maybe that would have given you a hint to his credibility. That’s about as related as everything you just listed.

Mac had proved a friendly, interested listener, earthy in expression.

Wtf does “earthy in expression” mean? Does his face look like dirt?

Though he seemed a bright and engaging guy, their limited relationship had involved only surface cordiality.

All Rayford could see across the expanse of inky desert was moon and stars. If he hadn’t known better, he might have been persuaded that the little craft was drifting along on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the ocean.

Hey look, another well-written passage.

“Didn’t you ask me just the other day about that new utility road Carpathia had built?” “That single-lane thing that seemed to lead only to the fence at the edge of the airstrip?” “Yeah. Well, now there’s a gate in the fence where that road ends.” “So you open the gate,” Rayford said, “and you go where, across desert sand, right?” “That’s what it looks like,” Mac said. “But a huge expanse of that sand has been treated with something. Wouldn’t you think a craft as big as the 216 would sink in the sand if it ever got that far?” “You’re telling me you taxied the 216 down that little utility road to a gate in the fence? How big must that gate be?” “Only big enough for the fuselage. The wings are higher than the fence.” “So you ferried the Condor off the airstrip and across the sand to where?” “Three and a half clicks northeast of headquarters, just like Carpathia said.”

Here’s our first travel logistics proper for book 4.

“It gave me chills, Ray. A bunch of people gathered around, I’d say about a hundred. Fortunato, real emotional, calls for order. Then he claims he went crying and screaming down in the rubble along with everybody else. He said halfway down he was wondering if it was possible to get lucky enough to be wedged in somewhere where he could breathe and stay alive until rescuers might find him. He said he felt himself free-falling and smacking into huge chunks of building; then something caught his feet and flipped him so he was going straight down, headfirst. When he hit, he said, it felt and sounded like he’d cracked his head open. Then it was like the whole weight of the building came down on him. He felt his bones breaking and his lungs bursting and everything went black. He said it was like somebody pulled the plug on his life. He believes he died.” “And yet there he is, wearing a dusty suit and not a scratch on him?” “I saw him with my own eyes, Ray. He claims he was lying there dead, not conscious of anything, no out-of-body experience or anything like that. Just black nothingness, like the deepest sleep a person could ever have. He says he woke up, came back from the dead, when he heard his name called. At first he thought he was dreaming, he says. He thought he was a little boy again and his mother was softly calling his name, trying to rouse him. But then, he says, he heard Nicolae’s loud call, ‘Leonardo, come forth!’”

“He’s no god-man,” Rayford said. “He’s an anti-god-man.”

Though only in his middle forties, Tsion suddenly looked old to Buck. He moved with a shaky gait and stumbled, dropping to his knees.

Rayford looked uncertainly into Mac’s eyes, dimly illuminated by the glow from the control panel. For the moment, God seemed silent. He had not made a habit of speaking directly to Rayford, though Rayford had enjoyed his share of answers to prayer. There was no turning back now. While he sensed no divine green light, neither did he sense a red or even a yellow. Knowing the outcome could be a result of his own foolishness, he realized he had nothing to lose.

Out of context, this 100% reads like Rayford trying to decide whether to have sex with Mac. I don’t know why these passages never come up for any heterosexual pairings — maybe the playing field would be leveled if there were more women doing things in these books.

“Mac, I’m gonna tell you my whole story

We can’t keep doing this, Rayford!

“Maybe,” Mac said, but Rayford detected flatness in his voice. Clearly, Mac was dubious.

Tons of words that could have been omitted here

If you know something about Amanda that I need to know, you’ve got to tell me.” Mac drew a hesitant breath. “You really don’t want to know. Trust me, you don’t want to know.” “Is she dead?” “Probably,” he said. “I honestly don’t know that, and I don’t think Carpathia does either. But this is worse than that, Rayford. This is worse than her being dead.”

Okay, what would Jenkins and LaHaye imagine a fate worse than death is for a woman in this universe? Impregnated by the Antichrist is already taken, so they have to get more imaginative. Something that takes her out of the story, so that Jenkins doesn’t need to write her into scenes. I’m gonna guess plane captured by terrorists in (throws figurative dart at figurative map) Qatar.

To Buck, every whack at the wood with his ax felt as if he were crashing steel against steel.

Not a helpful description, but probably above-average for this series, since it sticks to the same ballpark as the sensation it’s trying to describe.

This was a quality door, made only more solid by the crush of nature.

Loretta should have made her whole house out of the wood this door is made from

Tsion Ben-Judah was in good shape for his age. Up until he had gone into hiding, he had worked out every day. He had told Buck that though he had never been an athlete, he knew that the health of his scholar’s mind depended also on the health of his body.

Okay, we get it! All our our middle-aged protagonists are strapped. You weren’t fumbling at the doorstep of credulity when these dudes knew how to use an ax.

“All right, here it is. Don’t forget you made me tell you. . . . Carpathia talks about Amanda like he knows her.” Rayford grimaced and held his hands out, palms up. He shrugged. “He does know her. So what?” “No! I mean he talks about her as if he really knows her.” “What’s that supposed to mean? An affair? I know better than that.” “No, Ray! I’m saying he talks about her as if he’s known her since before she knew you.” Rayford nearly dropped in the sand. “You’re not saying—” “I’m telling you that behind closed doors, Carpathia makes comments about Amanda. She’s a team player, he says. She’s in the right place. She plays her role well. That kind of stuff. What am I supposed to make of that?”

*Flashback noises* My notes from book 3, chapter 2: “Oh man, if Amanda becomes a sleeper agent for Carpathia, that would be so fun! Bet it’s not gonna happen though, because that would mean giving her a character.” Well well well, I stand potentially corrected. Still need to see if this is just a red herring, but at least that was intentional foreshadowing I was picking up on in the last book.

“Mac, I can’t say I’ve known Amanda long in the larger scheme of things. I can’t say she bore me children like my first wife did. I can’t say we’ve been together twenty years like I was with Irene. I can say, though, that we are not just husband and wife. We are brother and sister in Christ. If I had shared Irene’s faith, she and I would have been true soul mates too, but that was my fault. Amanda and I met after we had both become believers, and so we shared an almost instantaneous bond. It is a bond no one could break. That woman is no more a liar or a betrayer or a subversive or a turncoat than anyone. No one could be that good. No one could share my bed and hold my gaze and pledge her love and loyalty to me that earnestly and be a liar without my suspecting. No way.”

Spoken like a real person

Rayford was furious with Carpathia. If he had not pledged to maintain Mac’s confidentiality, it would have been difficult to stop himself from jumping on the radio right then and demanding to talk directly to Nicolae.

All Rayford does these days is restrain himself from doing something interesting

By the time they gave up the search and Mac promised the dispatcher they were finally on their way in, a sliver of doubt had crept into Rayford’s mind. He felt guilty for entertaining it at all, but he could not shake it. He feared the damage that sliver could do to his love and reverence for this woman who had completed his life, and he was determined to eradicate it from his mind.

Well, Rayford finally has an interesting internal conflict. Maybe this will shut him up about how he always wanted to smooch Hattie, but never did.

he still possessed the practical, analytical, scientific mind that made him the airman he was. He hated that he couldn’t simply dismiss a doubt because it didn’t fit what he felt in his heart. He would have to exonerate Amanda by somehow proving her loyalty and the genuineness of her faith—with her help if she was alive, and without it if she was dead.

What a sucky outlook. Plus, the whole “test your wife’s loyalty” thing never went well in *any* of Shakespeare’s plays.

“Cameron, Chloe’s car is here. I can get the door open just far enough to put the inside light on. It is empty except for her phone and computer.” “I’ll meet you at the back of the house!” Buck shouted. “Hurry, Tsion! If her car’s still here, she’s still here!”

What was the point of a whole chapter where Tsion and Buck dig through rubble for Chloe’s car, if it just confirms that they need to keep digging in the same spot? The whole car diversion did nothing — we would have saved a bunch of page turns if they just saw Chloe’s car parked in the street.

Rayford ate even as he ladled choices onto his plate. It might be the enemy’s food, he thought, but it does the job.

He felt well fed and suddenly logy