all god's orphans

Raymond entered the church with his weapon raised, sweeping left to right, searching for any dangers, but it was empty. Sarah followed him through the door, which he immediately barred against the outside world.

“What are we doing here?” She asked impatiently. Raymond ignored her as he continued his mission to sweep and clear this arena/church. Sarah looked up at the windows. They ran from floor to ceiling like narrow columns of light, but they were frosted and decorated so you couldn’t see out. She had never seen a church where this wasn’t the case. She’d often sat in the pews listening more to the birds outside than the preacher’s sermon, wishing she could just see through the stupid windows to the beautiful day outside. Long ago she realized that’s exactly what they didn’t want you to do.

This church was larger then her own, by far and looked like it could easily fit seven thousand people. Two thousand more than Jesus could feed with five loaves and two fish, her sister had liked to remind everyone whenever she got the chance. The ceiling rose to a single point, held aloft by heavy looking wooden beams. There was even a balcony. Large audiovisual equipment crowded the stage and the floor had gauche purple carpet. She found that strange, like it was a temple built to honor Donald Trump’s ego. Behind the stage was the baptismal pool, which had been built with fake stones to look like a natural landscape. The effect was ruing by the large fresco painted behind it depicting John the Baptist dunking Jesus in a river. Large, simple tapestries flanked the stage on both sides showing Jesus holding a lamb or speaking to a crowd. At the center was a pulpit made of glass with a dove etched on the front. Suspended from the ceiling was a cluster of speakers and screens, presumably so the saps in the back row could get a good view of the preacher’s face. The whole thing was designed to look like an arena. It reminded Sarah of something Emmie always used to sing.

“Would Jesus wear a Rolex on his television show?” She sang to no one in particular. Her father turned back to glare at her.

“I said quiet!” He hissed. Emmie had always sung that little snippet every time their father had dragged them to something like this. Emmie. She thought of her sister again. These days she thought about little else. Sure, the world had ended, but her world had truly ended when Emmie died. Or rather, when her father shot Emmie. Why had he done that? Whenever she tried to broach the subject, her father made it clear that he did not want to speak about it.

“It was god’s will.” Was his answer most of the time. That really only raised more questions, but she didn’t want to ask them. Her father emerged from the back room and pushed more furniture against the door.

“Okay.” He finally said. “You’re going to stay here.”

“What?” Sarah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re leaving me here?”

“It’s for your own protection.” He said, unloading supplies from his backpack.

“Where are you going?” Raymond didn’t answer. He was stacking canned goods on one of the pews.

“You stay here. Shoot anyone who tries to get in and I’ll be back soon.” Sarah took a step forward.

“Where. Are. You. Going.” Raymond stopped what he was doing but refused to look his daughter in the eye.

“You’re going to have to trust me.” He said gravely. “I have a plan but the next part is dangerous. You have to stay here. I won’t be long.” Sarah could see that there was no point arguing. She had seen her dad behave this way before.

“Great. So I’m alone now? You think this is safer?” She didn’t feel twelve years old anymore and that made her angry. She wanted to be a kid again. She wanted to play, but most of all, she wanted her dad to be responsible for her. To keep her safe.

“You’re not alone.” He said turning back to the pulpit. “Jesus is with you.”

“Fuck Jesus!” Her tone and words shocked even her. “I don’t him. I need my dad.” Raymond’s emotions twisted in his throat. He didn’t know what he felt. He turned to face her, falling back on the one emotion he trusted.

“You watch your mouth!” He said, pointing a menacing finger in her direction. In that moment, her heart broke. All her anger fell away and only sadness was left.

“Fine.” She said, her voice falling like a dead bird from a nest. “Just go.” As he moved past her, he stopped.

“Stay here.” He told her. “I’ll be back soon.” As he left, she looked up at the paintings of their Lord and Savior.

“Yeah.” She said to no one. “That’s what Jesus said, too.” She sat in the pew, surrounded by cans of soup. Alone. She raised her weapon to her shoulder and looked through scope, placing the crosshairs dead center of the giant, gaudy cross that looked down on everything from the back of the stage. She let it linger there for a moment and then lowered her rifle. Now what was she supposed to do?