Truth was, I didn't really want to die today. I was in the middle of a really good book, and being alive had always worked out for me. . .

He reminded me of one of those adventure seekers on TV. He hadn’t shaved in a few days at least, and his reddish hair was suffering from intense bed head. His Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts completed the look. I was inclined to ask him if he knew we were all marked for death or if he just thought he was taking a long cruise.

Eventually the Collector from the prophecy would be born.

What kind of person would I be if I didn’t fight for them, those who God deemed most precious?

Cricket’s voice broke through Thomas’s memory. He was reading a letter, most likely from his mother. He was trying hard to hide it, but he was tearing up. “Captain I don’t want to be here,” was all he could choke out. Thomas reached over and gave Cricket’s shoulder a tight squeeze.

You can't know how much a mother loves.

I jumped between them holding my hands up in front of me to stop the onslaught. We would all sit down and figure this out as rational adults. We’d been adults for a century at least, and it should not be a problem. It appeared to be a problem.

Thomas looked around and tried not to let his duty turn him bitter. These were good men, and he would not leave them behind. He had chosen this, an unselfish life.

God will bring into judgment both the righteous and the wicked, for there will be a time for every activity, a time to judge every deed.~Ecclesiastes 3:17

What if he can't save me? What if trying destroys us both?