Vanishing People

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Vanishing People

Witnessing Tools
Thursday, June 26, 2014
J.L. Robb

The Bible has several stories of disappearing people.

Enoch was one who never died and just disappeared. There is little information on this man who was the great-grandfather of Noah; but he was described as a man who “walked with God” until “God took him away.” It would not have been easy to walk-the-walk with God way back then, pre-Noah. That was the time when God lost all patience with His creation and decided to do away with it (us). Enoch prophesied to the people, but hardly anyone believed in God at the time. And they loved their decadence.

Some of us today get anxious at what we deem to be decadence in society, but today is nothing like it was then. In Enoch’s day, parents sacrificed their children to stone statues believing the statue would look on them kindly. Really! You can’t make this stuff up.

The Book of Enoch is in the Ethiopian Bible, though he could not have written it unless he returned about 200 B.C. when it was written. I have read this book, and it is pretty interesting, science-fictiony as well as thought provoking.

Elijah was the only other person to disappear without dying first and is considered one of the “great prophets,” if not the greatest. Living in the 9th century B.C. he continuously warned the Israelites that they needed to keep the Law and stop worshipping all the stone gods that others worshipped. The Israelites were supposed to be different; only like so many of us today, they succumbed to temptation.

Elijah is probably best known for his contest with the priests of the god, Baal. Elijah won that contest, and what an amazing contest it was. When Elijah demanded that all the Baal priests be put to death, Queen Jezebel had different ideas and ordered that Elijah be killed. Warned in advance that he would soon be going to heaven, he made preparations. The Bible says that his successor, Elisha, watched Elijah as he disappeared by rising into the air.

Then there are the stories of the coming disappearance, the Rapture. While there is debate among scholars as to when this will occur, most Christians acknowledge that this disappearance will occur at some point in time. It will be an awesome sight to those watching this event happen, probably just as awesome as it was for Elisha to watch another man simply disappear. I’m sure everyone thought he wasn’t playing with a full deck.

When these very supernatural events start occurring, the time frame covers the Bible’s predictions that have not yet happened, the Day of God’s wrath or the Tribulation. Lots of bad stuff starts happening. While many of the disastrous events predicted are seemingly a result of nature, i.e. Asteroids/meteors, volcanic eruptions, floods and great earthquakes, much of the tragedy is a result of man himself. The two predicted wars will be horrific.

The Islamic world is hard at work collecting nuclear weapons technology, and we would be foolish to believe that Iran doesn’t already have the bomb. They are readily available from North Korea and Pakistan. When this Pandora’s Box is opened, the end will definitely be near. Those who believe a nuclear bomb is just a big bomb are sadly mistaken.

When the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, people directly underneath the detonation vanished, evaporated before they could hit the ground. It wasn’t the blast that evaporated the people, animals, plants and buildings; it was the heat.

The temperatures at the core of the sun approach 25 million degrees Fahrenheit while the surface is only 10 thousand degrees F. While a typical chemical bomb creates temperatures of several thousand degrees F, directly beneath a nuclear explosion the temperatures range from 50 to 150 million degrees F, much hotter than the sun’s core. Though the first two atomic bombs are now considered to be low yield weapons, the largest nuclear bomb created was the Russian Tsar Bomba. At an estimated 100 megatons (100 million TONS of TNT), any building structure, animal or plant within 20 miles would vaporize, and the people would never make it to the ground.

From Zechariah, about 550 B.C. predicting the final war:

Quote :: This is the plague with which the LORD will strike all the nations that fought against Jerusalem: Their flesh will rot while they are still standing on their feet, their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouths. ~Zechariah 14:12 NIV

Dictionary.com defines rot as a verb: to undergo decomposition; decay.

There is only one thing I can think of that would cause a person’s eyes, tongue and skin to decay before an opportunity to make it to the ground; and that would be heat. Conventional bombs cannot make that happen.

As mankind continues to develop ever more powerful weapons, most will keep them in check as has been done since 1945. Islamic jihadists will not. Because of their 72-virgin philosophy, they believe they would be doing God a favor to blow up millions of innocent people. They do not believe in innocent people. Everyone is an infidel except them, and maybe their good buddies.

The war going on in the northern regions of Iraq and parts of Syria is simply a prelude to the big one in the plains of Megiddo. There no longer is a world policeman to correct the wrong, so we will all be able to watch it unravel on the big screen. When it turns nuclear, global warming will seem insignificant.

Last week, I posted Chapter One of the soon to be released The End Part Four: The Disappearance.

I received several emails asking me to post Chapter Two and that I should be ashamed for leaving everyone hanging. Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to do that; so to make it right, here is the next chapter. I apologize profusely. If you see any mistakes, let me know please. Now taking pre-orders for autographed copies.

The Disappearance- Chapter Two
Two months earlier
St. Petersburg
New Russian Federation

Dmitry stood three feet from the double-window in his high rise luxury apartment, and the January 1st sky was gray and dreary. There was no global warming happening in Russia this day.

A light snow fell from the grayness to the ground below; and he could barely see the historic Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood in the distance, arguably the most magnificent building in St. Petersburg. That would soon change.

Dmitry Ustinov wasn’t a church-going man but an international exotic arms dealer.

Still, he had always admired the ornate building as well as St. Petersburg’s other historic churches. He held little respect for his motherland, but the architecture was phenomenal.

However, though the beautiful churches and historic buildings were nice, denarii were nicer; and the Chechen Rebels were great customers, a cash business, on time every time. Their plan to draw Russia into the coming war appeared flawless, and Dmitry found himself wondering if Allah might be involved. Planting the bomb had been way too simple.

I need to get out of here, he said quietly as he glanced at his expensive but gaudy Swiss timepiece. The black, leather briefcase lay on the desk in the far corner of the room, and Dmitry glanced there as well. No one else shared his luxury apartment, and he walked nearer to the window wearing only his bright red boxer shorts. His more than ample belly flowed easily past the elastic waistband.

The clear window seventy feet above ground was now coated lightly with fresh snow. Three busloads of pilgrims or missionaries lined Nevsky Prospect, the main street far below; and the buses were some of the few vehicles out on the Russian holiday. Most businesses were closed but not the churches. They would be full in another hour.

Dmitry took the Zeiss Victory digital binoculars from the small desk by the window and focused on St. Petersburg’s newest high-rise office tower, blurred in the distance by the lightly falling flakes of white.

Scanning to the left of the tower through the gray, flaky sky, the powerful binoculars homed in on a white utility van parked on the upper level of the building’s parking deck. He was amazed at the viewing quality as the electronics quickly adjusted the binoculars, almost eliminating the snow. The bomb-laden van looked a foot away rather than nearly a mile.

Dmitry the arms broker laughed out loud, proud of his late night accomplishment. The white van with multiple ladders mounted on top looked like any other painter’s van, but this was not a painter’s van at all. Three hours earlier, Dmitry had personally changed the back license plate of the van under the snowy darkness, exchanging it with an Israeli plate. The falling snow would quickly hide his espionage.

He laughed again, knowing the exchange was futile. The Israeli license plate and the Israeli manufactured drive shaft in the van would surely point fingers toward the Jewish troublemaker; only Dmitry knew the evidence wouldn’t survive the coming firestorm. The 5-megaton thermonuclear weapon would go off precisely at 8:00 AM, the same time the nuclear weapons in Times Square, Paris and Miami detonated. Midnight New Year’s Eve in New York City would be memorable.

“Dmitry, my friend,” and the man had slapped Dmitry on the back, far too hard. He recalled the conversation a year earlier as his mind briefly wandered from the task at hand; getting as far away from St. Petersburg as possible.

“They’re big ones,” Dmitry commented that day, stressing to The Preacher that these were no ordinary bombs.

“These are much larger than the ones used on the Japs. Be sure and show them respect. One of these bad boys, from the right altitude, can flatten a city. Every man, woman and child within five miles will be vapor, along with a shipload of other animals.”

Returning to the present, Dmitry figured he would be vapor too if he didn’t get out of there.

He moved quickly toward the black briefcase, probably now the most expensive briefcase in the world. Imbedded inside, behind the fabric liner, were the codes.

With those and a trip to Grand Cayman Island, he would become one of the world’s richest men, thanks to The Select, his young Japanese funders. These Japs hated Americans more than the Muslims, which was good for his offshore account.

Dmitry thought about that, his funders. He still didn’t know exactly who the discreet group of rich Japanese was; but he did know they had the big dinars, financed the hijacked nuclear sub and the five multi-megaton nukes. He also knew they were descendants of the victims killed in Japan by the world’s first nuclear attack in 1945, and their obsession was great: Destroy the United States of America, no matter the cost.

Grabbing the briefcase and keys to the Dartz Prombron SUV, Dmitry’s plan was simple. Head southwest from St. Petersburg to the private aerodrome and fly by private jet to Tallinn Airport in Estonia. From Estonia he would take a circuitous route to Cuba and then to Grand Cayman. A life of luxury on a warm beach with beautiful women awaited him somewhere in the Caribbean. After the Cayman tsunami, good land deals were easy to come by.

With briefcase and keys in hand, Dmitry took one more look out his apartment window toward the magnificent Church of the Savior in the distance. He was a smart man and knew the history of the marvelously styled church, built on the exact spot where Alexander II was assassinated in 1881.

He again glanced to the street below, blurred by the falling snowflakes; and the churches were filling with delusionary pilgrims. Lines of people filled the sidewalks to the various church doors; and Dmitry thought it such a waste that so many lived for a myth, an invisible god. The world would be a better place without those idiots making rules for everyone else, he thought.

Dmitry preferred Russia the old atheist way, not the new Russia and the rebirth of religious zealotry. It wouldn’t matter soon though, and he checked the time. He needed to hurry. In an hour St. Petersburg would be a wasteland.

Dmitry squeezed his keys subconsciously when a flash of intense but brief pain struck the top left quadrant of his chest, and he recognized the symptoms: another heart attack.

Breathless, Dmitry fell to the floor; and his heart beat erratically. His face and head broke out in a thick sweat that felt like glue; and he released his grip on the world’s most expensive briefcase, dropping the keys down the heating vent recessed in the deep red carpeted floor. The blood now flowing freely from Dmitry’s nose blended well with the carpet.

As his vision slowly returned, Dmitry regained his senses and wondered how long he had been unconscious; then he remembered the nuke. Less than an hour.

Still weak, he pulled himself up to the window sill, looking around the floor for his keys. He wiped the blood from his nose, now dried, on his sleeve. He would have to hurry, but his legs just wouldn’t function.

He again looked out the window, and only a few were now lining the sidewalk, waiting to enter the churches. The tower clock on one of the historic buildings said it all; eight minutes ‘til eight.

Then he noticed something oddly different. The few remaining pilgrims on the sidewalks simply disappeared. They were there, and then they weren’t. There were still a couple of policemen and the bus drivers standing around scratching their heads, but the people waiting to get in the churches had vanished.

Out of breath and sweating profusely, he tried to focus on his timepiece; and time seemed to be crawling slowly by.

7:53 A.M.

In less than seven minutes he would be deceased; and he consigned himself to his final plight, at least in this world. He didn’t believe in a future world.

Now supporting his portly frame on the wide mahogany window sill of his luxury apartment, he struggled to stand and contemplated a leap out the window. Suicide would surely be better than what was to come, but then he reconsidered.

At least his death would be quick and painless. He would simply be converted back to the basic building blocks of nature, variants of disassembled amino acids propelling through space and time, ingredients from which he began fifty-seven years earlier one night in the back seat of his soon-to-be uncle’s 1955 Russian Moskvitch.

Dmitry was startled by the sudden roar. The sound seemed to be coming from high above, and he looked upward into the gray, snowy sky. Visibility had to be less than a quarter mile.

A Russian Antonov 225 cargo jet appeared out of the clouds, only a few hundred feet above the commercial landscape. With three large jet engines under each wing, the world’s largest aircraft seemed out of control, the giant silver wings rocking side to side.

The engines screamed as the pilots applied fuel; and the nose of the craft turned sharply upward, reached stall speed and the plane crashed to the ground a thousand feet below. Dmitry’s heart pounded, and he tried to digest all that was happening so quickly. The fireball rose, a bright orange against the gray weathered sky; and he thought he could feel the heat. He felt something.

Dmitry rubbed his eyes with both hands and tried again to focus, still not believing what he had seen. On the street below, a taxi slammed into a building, a driverless taxi. Even through the closed, snow-laced windows Dmitry began to hear screams from the people who remained below.

“It’s the Rapture! It’s the Rapture!” one of the policemen began shouting, but the others standing around had no idea what the Rapture was. Neither did Dmitry.

Less than a mile distant as Dmitry’s timepiece struck 7:55 in the morning, the 5-megaton Ukrainian nuclear weapon in the back of the service van atop the parking deck unleashed its fiery fury, equivalent to five million tons of TNT, five minutes early.

He cried out in pain, holding his hands over his eyes and began to claw at his burned retinas in vain as his luxury apartment became nothing, along with what had been the world’s most prolific arms purveyor. Dmitry vanished in a flash, but he wasn’t raptured.

On that New Year’s Day in St. Petersburg, Dmitry finally saw the light as he journeyed toward a future world, a world in which he did not believe.

http://www.omegaletter.com/articles/articles.asp?ArticleID=7835