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Harvest House Publishers - Mark Hitchcock

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146 pages

English

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On the heels of Mark Hitchcock's prophecy bestseller 2012, the Bible, and the End of the World comes a suspenseful novel (coauthored with bestselling novelist Alton Gansky) about the supposed expiration date of planet earth-December 21, 2012.Andrew Morgan is a wealthy oil executive in search of the meaning of life. In his quest for answers he encounters the ancient Mayan predictions that the world will end in 2012. That the claims seem supported by math and astronomy drives him to check on them. Then he meets Lisa Campbell, an attractive Christian journalist also researching the Mayan calendar. When he learns that she is a Christian, he quickly dismisses what she has to say.As the time draws closer to December 21, 2012, a meteorite impact in Arizona, a volcanic eruption, and the threat of an asteroid on a collision-course with earth escalate fears. Are these indicators of a global apocalypse? Will anyone survive? Does Lisa's Christian faith have the answers after all? Or has fate destined everyone to a holocaust from which there is no escape?

Sujets

Romance

Thriller

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Publié par	Harvest House Publishers
Date de parution	01 septembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9780736938303
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0480€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

THE MAYAN
APOCALYPSE
Mark Hitchcock Alton Gansky

HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the New American Standard Bible , 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. ( www.Lockman.org )
The quote from Psalm 23 on page 50 is from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Left Coast Design, Portland, Oregon
Cover photos Photography by Steve Kelley aka mudpig / Flickr / Getty; iStockphoto / Xaviernau; Leigh Prather / Shutterstock
Mark Hitchcock is published in association with William K. Jensen Literary Agency, 119 Bampton Court, Eugene, Oregon 97404.
Alton Gansky is represented by MacGregor Literary.
THE MAYAN APOCALYPSE
Copyright 2010 by Mark Hitchcock and Alton Gansky
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hitchcock, Mark.
The Mayan apocalypse / Mark Hitchcock and Alton Gansky.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-7369-3055-0 (pbk.)
1. Geologists-Fiction. 2. Maya astrology-Fiction. 3. Prophecies-Fiction. 4. Two thousand twelve, A.D.-Fiction. 5. End of the world-Fiction. I. Gansky, Alton. II. Title.
PS3608.I84M39 2010
813'.6-dc22
2010021561
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other-except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 / LB-SK / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Prologue
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Part 2
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Discussion Questions for the Mayan Apocalypse
About the Authors
Other Harvest House Books by Mark Hitchcock
DECEMBER 26, 2010
A ndrew Morgan was aware of only four things: the slight hint of cedar that hung in the air, the darkness that surrounded him, the rows of hanging clothes that lined his self-created sepulcher, and the effort it took to draw a breath.
He should have been aware of the time, but he wasn t. He should have been conscious of his position, but he wasn t. He should have realized the position he was in, but he didn t care.
Numbness continued to eat away at his brain like insects boring through his gray matter. Most mornings, that thought would have made him shiver with revulsion. Now, at whatever time it was, he found it strangely comforting. If he was lucky and he wasn t imagining creepy crawlers were devouring his brain, then the little buggers would do him a huge favor once they reached the part of his mind that controlled the beating of his heart.
But there were no insects in his brain. If he wanted to die, then he d either have to do something about it or stay here until he perished from thirst or hunger-or sorrow.
He would stay here. In the large walk-in closet his wife loved so much. On the floor. Pressed into the darkest corner.
You know, she had said when the mansion was finished and he showed her the large space with more room for shoes, clothes, and coats than she could use, I m going to make it my mission to fill every square foot of this.
She followed that with a laugh.
Oh my, she could laugh . When she did, birds stopped singing just to listen.
Morgan had laughed too. He laughed less when the credit card bills began to come in. Not that it mattered. He had money. Lots and lots of it. Forbes magazine listed him in the top twenty-five wealthiest men in the country.
He d give it all away now. Every dollar, every dime, every cursed penny of it.
He raised the strapless black dress to his nose. He could smell her on it. She had last worn the slinky dress at a fund-raiser for their alma mater, Oklahoma State. That was two weeks ago. She had never looked lovelier. At forty, she had only become more stunning. More than once he had accused her of defying normal aging.
How come you get better looking, and I only get older? He said that two weeks before as they dressed for the event.
I know how to use chemicals. She smiled, and the lightbulbs in the master bedroom dimmed. It s all about the right alchemy. And makeup. The right makeup makes a big difference.
So if I use your makeup-
You will creep out everyone, especially me.
Morgan slipped on his tuxedo coat. Hunter would think I was cool.
Are you kidding? Your son would run screaming from the house.
He d come back.
She raised an eyebrow, leaned closer to the mirror of her vanity, and pressed the tip of her Plum Fizz lipstick to her mouth. I wouldn t be so sure.
I am. His video games are here.
Okay, you got me there.
Two weeks ago. Two weeks that seemed locked in eternity past.
Tears ran from his cheeks to the black dress. His body convulsed.
Marybeth-blond, tall, lanky, smart, and soft to the touch-was gone. Marybeth, wife of eighteen years forever gone. Marybeth, the smartest, funniest woman he had ever met
His shoulders rose and fell with each sob. When he threw his head back, it struck the wall. He took little notice of it. What was physical pain compared to the grief shredding his organs like a meat grinder?
Remembering the conversation seared his heart again with the rest of the truth he struggled so hard not to believe. Hunter-fifteen, tall like his mother, honors student, dark hair like Morgan s, same hazel eyes-was also gone. No more playing basketball on the halfcourt on the back acreage. No more tennis. No more fishing. No more no more oh, dear God no more.
Mr. Morgan? The man in the deputy sheriff s uniform seemed to shrink when Morgan answered the doorbell that morning.
Yes?
I m Deputy Morris. Somehow that didn t seem important. He could see through the man s tough exterior. He was melting inside that uniform like a candle in an oven as he gestured to a round man with gray eyebrows who was standing next to him. This is Reverend Bill Lacy, the chaplain for our department.
The bones, ligaments, and muscles in Morgan s legs began to dissolve.
What? What s happened? Something at one of our plants? Please, God, let it be that. Let it be a fire. Let one of the board members be a crook.
No sir. I m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but there s been an accident. A plane crash. Your jet.
No He could think of no words to follow that.
The chaplain spoke. May we come in?
By Morgan s estimation, it took less than ninety seconds to crush his life.

JULY 8, 2011
A ndrew Morgan was pretty sure he was still on Earth, although the number of extraterrestrials surrounding him made him wonder. To his left was a six-foot-tall gray alien with bulbous black eyes that reflected the glare of streetlights overhead. As an alien, he would have been more believable if he weren t handing out fliers for a barbeque joint two blocks down the main drag. And the woman with green skin, an extra eye glued to her forehead, and a pair of wire antennae sprouting from her coal-black hair would have been more convincing if she weren t wearing a worn pair of New Balance sports shoes.
Morgan had expected to see people dressed in homemade costumes wandering the streets of Roswell, New Mexico. He had done his homework, and like everyone in the United States, he knew about the 1947 alleged UFO crash in the nearby desert and the ensuing cover-up.
Entertaining as the tourists were, and fascinating as Roswell s history was, Andrew didn t care. He wasn t there for aliens or crashed UFOs. He cared nothing for such nonsense. His mission was serious. He had come because the end of the world was less than a year and a half away. Then the world would change for him and a few billion others.
December 21, 2012, or 12-21-12, would arrive, and everything would be different-assuming anyone survived.
Sixty-three years earlier, a flying saucer supposedly crashed seventy-five miles outside of town-all UFO aficionados knew the crash was closer to Corona, New Mexico. Roswell, however, got all the credit. Over the last two decades, the city of less than 50,000 had become Mecca to every kind of oddness, cult group, and paranormal adherent.
Morgan had been to the town before, but never during the annual UFO festival. Watching the costumed tourists crowding normally quiet streets made Morgan shake his head. Roswell could well be remembered for many things. Rocket pioneers did much of their work here. Former Dallas Cowboys quarterback Roger Staubach played football at New Mexico Military Institute. Demi Moore, John Denver, and other famous people were born in Roswell. Does anyone remember that? Nope.
Morgan was a man of science as well as business. Being CEO and president of Morgan Natural Energy made him wealthy and able to pursue his passions, a passion that narrowed from a spotlight to a laser beam. He enjoyed mysteries, and he had done his share of investigation in UFOs, cryptozoology, and other fringe subjects. He didn t believe the stories, but he did find them entertaining. That was before he learned the world was coming to an end. Such truth tended to push other thoughts from the mind. He had many thoughts he wanted pushed away.
Struggling to move through the crowds, Morgan pressed forward like a salmon swimming upstream. He reminded himself to be patient and