The last island in New Zealand with survivors on it, Niue, was just hit. Before it was hit I was able to get reports that the rest of the islands had also turned into gigantic Kiwi fruit. God has a sense of humor, I guess. More reports of Thrones hovering around both the western and eastern sides of New Zealand. From what I'm hearing, they're hunting for survivors.
I've had plenty of chances to talk to Jillian, the pilot who took us here and very likely the last Christian on Earth to be taken up; but the truth is, we haven't said much to each other. I did try asking her, on our way down to Baker Island, what led her to believe in the Rapture in the first place. Was it a sense of alienation from the rest of the world? A need for something special in her life? An intense dislike of nonbelievers? Maybe some form of mental illness or mass hypnosis? She never replied. Now all that she is doing is standing on the runway, feeling the wind blow past her, and jumping for joy. She's a grown woman, in her late fifties or early sixties I think, but she's acting like a giddy kid.
I would be dishonest if I didn't tell you that I was afraid.
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