Apocalypse Crucible

on them so much it’s terrible. Onliest reason I brought that up, you see, is ’cause a lotta folks—” he hesitated—“well … sir, … lotta folks done up and left Marbury.”
“I know.”
“They’s left places all around the world. Seen that on the TV.”
Delroy said nothing.
“One thing I been noticin’,” George continued cautiously, “an’ I might be wrong ‘cause I been wrong about a lot of things, but I taken a good look at all them what’s missing from Marbury.”
“All the children,” Delroy said. That fact still hurt him. If Terry had lived, if he’d gotten married as he’d intended, there might have been grandchildren by now. And if there had been, those grandchildren would have been taken.
“All the children,” George agreed. “An’ them growed-up folks what’s missing, far as I can see, was all good folks, God-fearin’ folk.”
“Good folk, indeed.” Delroy thought back to Master Chief Dwight Mellencamp, his best and closest friend aboard Wasp. Even though he had died hours before the Rapture, the chief’s body had disappeared, too. Researching news stories, Delroy had discovered that bodies had disappeared from hospitals, morgues, and funeral homes. “That they were,” Delroy said.
“An’ Miz Glenda, she’s a good ’un, too.” George carefully looked at Delroy. “What I’m sayin’ is that with her bein’ one of the best Godfearin’ women I know, could be she ain’t home when you go there knockin’.”
“I know.” Delroy had already accepted that. In fact, he hoped Glenda had disappeared. He really couldn’t see anything other than that happening.
“Just want you to be prepared is all,” George said softly.
“I am.” Delroy stared out at the misty rain still falling from the dark sky. “I don’t plan on going into town just yet. If you could drop me at Henderson Road outside of Marbury, I’d be much obliged.”
“Henderson Road?”
“Aye.”
“Why, boy, there ain’t nothing at the end of Henderson Road ’cept Sunshine Hills Cemetery.”
“I know.”
George took a final drag off his cigarette, then ground it out in the ashtray. “Goin’ to pay your final respects?”
“Aye,” Delroy answered, but he knew what he had planned—what he had to do—wasn’t respectful at all. “And if I can, I’d like to buy one of those shovels you have.”

3
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0422 Hours
Keeping one hand on the Kevlar-lined helmet she wore, Danielle Vinchenzo hunkered down at the base of the only remaining wall of the small building where the OneWorld NewsNet team had been grudgingly allowed to set up headquarters inside Sanliurfa. Neither they nor the other media teams on-site were welcomed by the military, since the soldiers’ first objective had been to move the civilians to safety. But they were tolerated. The power of the electronic media had become a recognized force in military warfare since the second war with Iraq.
But being a journalist doesn’t make you invulnerable, Danielle reminded herself. The concussive booms from a string of explosions a split second ago had rolled across the battle-torn city streets around her. Then a round of ammunition impacted against the building ahead of her. A shower of brick fragments peppered her back and shoulders, drumming against her Kevlar helmet.
Cezar Prodan, the young cameraman who had been assigned to her when she had accepted the job with OneWorld NewsNet three days ago, threw himself down beside her. He cursed in English and in his native Romanian tongue. His triangular goatee, coupled with his broad forehead, made him look a bit like a wide-eyed goat.
Curled up in a fetal position against the cracked and leaning wall, Gorca Bogasieru covered his head with his arms. Pale and overweight, he looked like a turtle that had pulled in its limbs to wait out certain disaster. His eyes were squeezed shut behind his round glasses. He spoke in Romanian, but Cezar quickly shouted him down. Gorca shifted his attention to Danielle. “What happened?”
Before Danielle could reply, a corpse plopped to the ground only a few feet from her.
Startled by the sudden movement and panicked by the grotesque sight, Danielle jerked back. Her head slammed into the wall behind her with enough force to blur her vision despite the helmet. When she drew in a breath, the stink of the dead soldier fallen from the sky filled her nostrils.
Hold it together, she told herself. You’re a professional reporter. An award winner. You saw worse than this when the SCUD attack hit Glitter City. More than that, Dani, you’ve got the inside track on the story here. Nobody else is capable of getting the kind of footage out of Turkey that you are. You’ve got OneWorld NewsNet backing you. Biggest communications net presently standing after all the disappearances. Get up. Get moving and do your job.
She forced herself to look at the dead man. At first, she was chilled by the fact that only half the torso lay there. One of the dead man’s arms was missing, as was half his face.
But something was wrong. Even more wrong than such a sight should be.
Then she noticed the blood. Rather, the lack of it.
If the man had died in the blast, his massive injuries should have been scarlet with freely running blood. It wouldn’t even have had time to coagulate. But all she saw across his tattered uniform—and now she saw that it was a U.S. Army Ranger day camo BDU—were the dark black stains of blood from old injuries, long since clotted and dried. Dying orange embers in the uniform, leftovers from the explosion that had blasted him into their path, glowed briefly then faded.
Despite the embers, the explosion hadn’t killed him. This man had already been dead when he’d been blown up. The realization almost sickened her.
A fresh wave of artillery fire lit up the night, punching holes in the dreadful silence that had fallen across the city after the series of explosions. Warning Klaxons screamed immediately after. Around her, all across the street, and up on the rooftops soldiers launched into motion. In a heartbeat, their uneasy battleground became a