Camp Damascus(80)
Pastor Bend clears his throat. “The megaphone was picking up a little feedback from my infernal coworkers,” he explains, then raises an eyebrow in an exaggerated performance. “Notice I didn’t say friends, I didn’t say family, I said coworkers. We all have people we don’t enjoy working with, right?”
Pastor Bend pauses for us to respond, but nobody’s willing to play along. Instead, we just stare at the man in awkward silence, forcing him to continue his impromptu sermon without audience participation.
“You go in for a heart transplant and you discover your doctor is using an assistant who is absolutely terrible,” Pastor Bend continues. “This guy’s killed the last five patients he worked on. He’s constantly leaving scalpels inside the chest and sewing people up, just terrible. Guess what, though? This assistant gets along with your doctor really well. They’re best buddies.”
Pastor Bend pauses for dramatic effect, all eyes trained on him. He’s relishing this moment in the spotlight, unable to keep himself from putting on a show.
“Now your doctor says, ‘Listen, I know my assistant is terrible at his job, but he’s a real sweetheart. I’ve got this other assistant who could help us out, but I can’t stand the guy. He’s one of the world’s greatest surgeons, never made a mistake, but he’s also a real jerk,’” Pastor Bend continues.
“Get to the point,” I call out, sick of this achingly transparent presentation. Everything about Pastor Bend’s delivery is fake, a friendly cadence that all great preachers can channel at the drop of a hat. I used to feel perfectly at home when someone delivered a message in this bright-eyed manner, but now it just makes me nauseated.
“The point is: Who would you want to operate on you?” Pastor Bend continues. “Even better question: Who would the hospital want to operate on you? It would be downright criminal to let the unskilled assistant work just because they were pals with your doctor. You deserve the best treatment you can get.”
I’m trembling now, struggling to shake the cold that exudes from the nearby demons.
“Doctors have an ethical imperative to use all the tools at their disposal when looking after your body,” Pastor Bend continues. “We have an ethical imperative to use all the tools at our disposal when looking after your soul.”
“Good luck with that,” Willow retorts. “Your machine is fucked and those little worms are all dead. You’re not converting anyone.”
A look of disappointment crosses Pastor Bend’s face as he glances at the security guards behind us. One of them nods in confirmation.
“Kingdom of the Pine paid millions for the blueprints to that machine. It took years to build,” Pastor Bend explains, “but wrath is just as much a sin as lust. You’ll find nothing but forgiveness from Kingdom of the Pine. The Ligeian worms, however … that’s a problem.”
Pastor Bend turns on his megaphone and holds it up to his mouth, clearly frustrated. “A really big problem,” he announces, his voice cutting through a haze of distant screams and dancing static before shutting off the megaphone and returning it to his side.
Pete’s clearly got more to say, but my mind is already jumping ahead. I chart the most logical course of this standoff, and I’m not thrilled with the place where I end up. Those worms served a very specific purpose, and with this tool eliminated, the congregation might just have to make us forget the old-fashioned way.
They’re going to kill us.
“You and the campers you’ve released are now a huge liability—not to me, but to the future sinners yet to be saved by our world-class conversion program,” Pastor Bend explains. “It’s our moral obligation to save as many people as we possibly can. We’re here to help you…” The pastor trails off, waiting for a response that doesn’t come.
Pastor Bend tries again, opening his arms and speaking a little louder this time.
“We’re here to help you…” he calls out, finally prompting a response from the counselors.
“Love right!” they shout back.
Willow reaches out and takes my hand in hers, squeezing hard. She’s also beginning to realize where things are headed. Even more devastating, she’s confronting the fact that there’s no way out.
I squeeze back, but the gesture is instinctual. Right now, my mind is elsewhere, rushing down every possible path and struggling to find an outcome that doesn’t end in utter disaster. We’re trapped, and I know it, but I can’t give up that easily. I keep allowing my curiosity to push even deeper into the recesses of my mind, following every option to its logical conclusion and then starting over again once there’s no reasonable options left.
I glance over at Saul, noticing that he’s fervently praying under his breath. He’s desperate for answers, throwing any sense of rationality to the wind and following a path that feels right.
Over the last few weeks I’ve accepted what a foolish exercise this is, but there’s also something about it that makes me extremely jealous. Saul and I have reached the same dead end, but my friend has hope while I recognize there’s none to be found.
Willow squeezes my hand again, a tiny gesture that strikes deep.
Of course there’s still hope.
“Please appreciate how difficult this is going to be for our staff,” Pastor Bend continues. “Camp Damascus is about healing, not pain, and I hope you can find peace knowing the end will be quick and easy. In their natural state, demons are driven to torture those who sin, but so long as they’re working for us they’ll be nothing but efficient.”