“Don’t fucking look at me,” the soldier hisses. Brother Husock is twice Theo’s size and almost twice his age, a truck driver who found God just weeks before Judgment Day.
“I wasn’t,” Theo whimpers, but he stops because if God sees fit to punish him this way, then he should keep his mouth shut and take it. He was the one who let Benji leave the church. He’s the reason Heaven moves farther away every hour.
Forgive my unforgivable trespasses. Cleanse me from unrighteousness.
Benji was going to save them. Benji was going to make the world perfect again. Only then could the Angels come home to God’s arms. Without Benji, there’s nothing but a long, suffering existence in this world—and Hell in the next.
Make it right or die. He will be faced with flames. Every Angel will burn. God’s wrath will come crashing down now and forever.
“Brother Husock. Please.”
The softness of the voice shocks Theo for a moment. Every member of Absolution turns to find Sister Kipling emerging from the back of the church, the golden sash of her robe glimmering in the sun. Every mouth shuts, and every head dips in reverence, for there is a saint of saints among them.
The creator of the Flood. Seraph’s godmother. The blacksmith of the sword of God.
“There’s no need for this,” she says.
“Of course, Sister,” Brother Husock says, eyes downcast.
Sister Kipling, with the gentlest of smiles, holds out a hand, one with a cross carved into the back. Theo is at her side as quickly as he can make it. It’s pitiful, but he can’t stop himself.
She sits him down in one of the far pews and folds herself up beside him, watching as Squad Absolution goes back to its routine of pacing, checking weapons, staring blearily out the broken front door of the church.
“You must give them time,” Sister Kipling says. Her voice is no louder than a whisper; her eyes focus on nothing in particular, staring thousands of feet away. “God’s will finds a way.”
She reminds Theo of his mother. They have the same mousy hair, the same shrewd face. The only difference is that Theo wonders if Sister Kipling purposefully avoids the sunlight or if her ghoul-pale skin is a coincidence.
“I know,” Theo says. He’s always known. He watched his mother walk away from their family to make the world right, knowing she would never come back. She and Father Clevenger went to the heart of the nonbelievers, unleashed the Flood unto them, and accepted that they would die to do what needed to be done. Theo had always accepted the same—but he had so much to do before that day. Benji was always a part of that.
The thing is, Benji has his priorities wrong. Benji puts people first. It makes him sweet, but it makes him weak. Theo puts the Angels first, puts righteousness first, puts God first. He always has. He always…
His fingers dig into his scalp. He can’t even get that right. He loves Benji. They were supposed to save the world together. And somehow, they’d both managed to mess everything up.
Theo says, “It’s my job to make it right.”
“Theodore,” Sister Kipling murmurs.
“It is.” It is his job to make everything right. And he will. When he does, he will have Benji back by his side, his father will look him in the eye, and the death squads will realize the mistake they made when they cast him out. It will work out. It has to. God is good. “He’ll come back eventually. He said he would. I can talk to him about how it’s too dangerous out there, that it’s better to come home—”
Another soldier, Brother Rowland, picks up his head. “There’s not enough time.”
“There’s always time,” Theo counters, because it’s something his mother always said.