Do you believe in God?

—I do, please stop, there’s so much blood

Theo prays at the foot of the nest, and the words come out rotten; less words and more stomach acid or whatever terrible thing is forcing itself up this time. It’s taken root in his organs, festering with maggots and eating him alive. No matter how hard he pulls, he just can’t get the sick parts out.

He’s ruined everything. Like he always does.

So many people have been sacrificed to get Benji back. Squad Rapture, cut down by the heretics days ago; Squad Dominion, who haven’t returned from their hunt and probably never will; Squad Crucifix, who Sister Kipling says might still be out there, but there’s no use in hoping. The children, clergy, and everyone that day at Reformation. And all for what? For Theo to fail? Like he always does?

Theo presses his face into his dusty, torn-up palms. He’ll be lucky if his punishment is just execution in the culling fields. He’ll be hung from the gate. He’ll choke on his own intestines. Or maybe his father will drown him in the river like an unwanted newborn, hold his head underwater until his lungs flood and he slowly, slowly stops struggling.

This was supposed to be something wonderful. No, more than wonderful. Something perfect. He spent so long praying for this—a chance to get Benji back, to get his father back, to get his dignity back—and it was finally in his hands, glimmering like a star plucked from Heaven just for him. Sister Kipling’s own words: We need your help.

And he wasted it.

He has to make this right. He has no other choice. Reverend Mother Woodside made sure he knew, his father made sure he knew, every member of the death squads made sure he knew.

Make it right or die.

“O Lord,” he starts again, because he has to, he has to, “my heart is rotten with sin. It is in every cell, and there is no part of me that is good. Yet You still love me.” He has to keep saying it, or he’ll forget. It’s so easy to forget. “I have fallen short of Your infinite glory, but You are still here. I wash my soul in the blood of the Lamb and ask that You fill me with Your Spirit and guide me to where I need to be. Through Jesus Christ, I pray.”

When the prayers slow to a trickle, the last strings of bile on a sick man’s lips, finally, finally, Theo wipes his chin and faces Reformation Faith Evangelical Church.

Squad Absolution is falling apart at the seams. With two squads missing in as many days, they arrived last night on Mother Woodside’s orders, and now the soldiers pace like trapped animals. They snap at one another, snarling over imagined slights. A few hours ago, a knife was drawn over a stolen cigarette. Their white robes are speckled with gentle spots of color, rainbow light filtering through stained glass windows, and the beauty of it makes Theo’s breath catch for just a second—the Angels and their robes and the glory of God and everything—but one of the soldiers notices Theo is done praying and shoves him against the altar. The nest of Graces behind them keens, dozens of mouths wailing in unison.

“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.

“Fuck that.” Brother Rowland puts a cigarette between his lips and strikes a match. “We should just cut off her legs and be done with it. Let her try and run like that.”

How dare he. That language in a holy place! “That is not how you treat a warrior of God!”

“That bitch took everything!” Brother Rowland’s voice cracks through the atrium. Sister Kipling stares at nothing and does not say a word. “I’m not going to burn just because you can’t put a heretic in her place!”

BANG.

Something hits the remnants of the door.

Brother Rowland drops his cigarette. Theo could choke on his heart climbing into his throat. The sound echoes, bang-bang-bang, bouncing off the rafters and deep into the cavity of Theo’s chest.

A person steps into the sanctuary. Backlit by the sun. Hair turned copper, a halo.

Theo recognizes him immediately, and when his name comes to him like a prayer, it is the first that has tasted sweet in days.

He whispers, “Benji?”

Benji crumples to the floor.

Theo is out of his seat, stumbling over his legs, catching himself on the pews. Benji. What happened to him? His face looks like it was put through a shredder. His clothes are torn. His arms are blistered and flayed.

Theo falls to his knees in front of him. “Benji,” he says, “Benji, look at me.” He pulls the tiny boy into his lap, gathering him against his chest, pressing his face to the ruined flesh of his cheek. “I’m right here. What happened? Are you okay?”

“They—” Benji chokes. The word sounds awful. Theo can’t believe what the Flood has done to him, what Seraph has done. Sister Kipling will be so proud, Mother Woodside will be so proud, his father will be so proud.

Benji has come back to him.

“They found out.” Benji is sobbing without tears, a painful hitch in his words. The nest howls. “They found out about Seraph, and they hate me.”

“Oh, Ben,” Theo murmurs. He had known they would eventually, but he doesn’t say that. In a good relationship, there’s no need for petty shit like, I could have told you so. Benji would realize Theo was right on his own, and they could talk about it then.

Weakly, his voice so small Theo can barely hear it, Benji says, “I want to go home.”

Theo would hold him here forever if he could. The Angels are saved, and everyone in Reformation Faith Evangelical Church can feel it.

“I do too,” Theo says. Thank God, thank God, thank God. “Let’s go home.”