Louis Collins: A Post-American Odyssey

Chapter 76

Louis woke when the bus stopped. Around him, passengers were gathering their bags and waking their children. His neck was stiff from sleeping upright. Angelique was already awake beside him, her hair partly loose. Gladice sat on his other side, bent forward with her arms folded on the seatback ahead. When the brakes hissed, she lifted her head and swore under her breath.

Outside, buses stood in rows under portable lights. A large church stood beyond them in the first light of dawn. Tents, aid tables, generator carts, and portable toilets covered the parking lots and lawns. Volunteers in reflective vests directed arriving passengers into lines. Armed militia stood near the entrances and along the edge of the camp.

“What is this?” Louis asked.

Angelique looked at the church. “Refugee intake.”

The folding door opened.

“Everyone off. Bring what you can carry. Service begins in ten minutes,” the driver announced.

The passengers stood and joined the line outside. Louis took the cane and waited until he could put weight on his injured leg, then followed Angelique down the aisle. Gladice stayed close behind him. They followed the other passengers toward the church.

Inside, hundreds of padded seats sloped toward a broad stage with choir risers and two large screens. Ushers filled the rows in order as people entered. One of them directed Louis, Angelique, and Gladice toward the center-right section.

“Fill in, please. Fill in. We’re all making room for each other this morning.”

Louis took the first open seat. Angelique sat beside him. Gladice dropped into the seat on his other side and leaned back, her face set.

The sanctuary held both church members and evacuees. Evacuated families filled most of the seats. They carried tote bags, blankets, and medicine in grocery sacks. Children slept across their parents’ laps or across two seats. Most had arrived on buses and been directed straight into the sanctuary.

When the ushers filled the last open seats, music began. A piano played somewhere offstage, followed by a low electronic accompaniment. An unseen woman began singing a contemporary worship song about refuge, storms, and mercy. Few people sang with her. Then the preacher walked onto the stage. He looked about forty, broad-shouldered and carefully groomed. He wore a dark suit and carried a Bible in one hand and a wireless microphone in the other. He walked to the center of the stage, stopped, and waited before raising the microphone.

The music ended, and the sanctuary quieted. He looked over the families, the volunteers standing at the back, and the militiamen along the walls. Then he gave the room a solemn smile.

“Good morning, church.”

A few voices answered.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Amen.”

He nodded and waited for the last voices to fade.

“Some of you I know. Some of you I’ve never had the pleasure. Some of you are here because your home is not safe anymore.” His voice reached the back of the sanctuary without rising. “Some of you are here because you chose to be. But let me tell you what we all have in common this morning.”

He leaned slightly toward the audience.

“We are all here because God has brought us together.”

More voices answered this time.

“Amen.”

“Thank You, Lord.”

The preacher opened the Bible, though Louis doubted he needed to read from it.

“You came in from the roads. From the line. From homes you may not see again. You came in frightened. You came in hungry. You came in carrying children, carrying medicines, carrying what the Lord let you save.” He kept his voice low. “And I tell you first what I tell all the frightened: the Lord has not abandoned the faithful.”

Murmurs and amens spread through the sanctuary. Several people stood, gripping the seats in front of them. The preacher waited until the responses faded. Then he lowered his voice.

“But the Lord does not protect those who run from righteousness.”

The murmurs stopped. Gladice shifted beside Louis.

“I’m going to speak plain this morning,” the preacher said. “I am going to say what has been on the hearts of the faithful since the enemy crossed our border yesterday. This war is not a surprise to God. It is not an accident. It is the judgment that comes when a people forsake the truth.”

He looked down at the open Bible, then raised his eyes to the congregation.

“When a land turns its back on God’s word, God does not chase it. God lets it run until it falls. And what we are seeing is the fall of the wicked.”

Angelique stopped moving beside him. Louis felt her body tense but kept his eyes on the stage.

“The war is upon us because the Collective, the Dominion, the European devils—they have all built their houses on sand. They worship sin. They bow to the screen. They call evil good and good evil.” He stressed each accusation. “But the Holy States remain under the hand of the Almighty. We have not turned our back on His law. And because we have not, He will give us the victory.”

The amens returned, louder this time. Several people raised their hands. The preacher raised the Bible above his head with both hands.

“Tell me, when the righteous cry out, does the Lord hear?”

More people answered this time.

“Yes!”

“Does He deliver?”

“Yes!”

“From where does my help come?”

They answered together.

“It comes from the Lord!”

He smiled and nodded at the response. “Yes, it does. The Lord is not done with us. He is purging the enemy. He is burning away the corruption. And we—yes, even those of us sitting in this sanctuary with the sound of war in our ears—we will be the people who remain when the fire is done.”

Voices filled the sanctuary. A few people rose from their seats. One older man near the back shouted, “Amen, preacher!”

The preacher waited until the shouting faded. He lowered the Bible and rested both hands on the pulpit.

“Now I know some of you are afraid,” he said, lowering his voice. “Some of you are here because you were told to run. Some of you have lost loved ones already. Some of you think this is the end. But I am here to tell you that this is not the end. This is the beginning.”

Louis tightened his grip on the cane. The preacher looked across the rows and raised one hand.

“The Lord is testing us. And He will give us strength to endure. He will give us the courage to stand. He will give us the power to destroy those who have forsaken His word. This is our hour.”

He gestured toward the militiamen along the walls.

“That is why these brave men are here. Not just to protect the church, but to remind us that we are a people under arms for the Lord. We will not run. We will not hide. We will stand together in faith. And we will see the enemy driven back in the name of Jesus Christ!”

The congregation erupted in shouts. People raised their hands.

“Praise God!” someone near the back shouted.

“Victory!” another voice called.

The preacher waited at the pulpit while the shouting continued. Then he raised his voice above the congregation.

“Will you stand with me?”

The people rose.

“Will you pray with me?”

Voices answered across the sanctuary.

“Then bow your heads.”

Angelique stood, and Gladice rose on Louis’s other side. Louis pushed himself up with the cane. Remaining seated would draw attention. He did not bow his head. Angelique and Gladice kept their heads raised beside him. Around them, heads bowed throughout the sanctuary. Louis kept his eyes on the stage.

The preacher closed his eyes and began to pray.

“Lord, we come before you this morning in the shadow of war. We know the enemy is at our gates. We know many have already fallen. But we know also that you are the God of battles. You are the Lord of Hosts. You have never left your people alone...”

Louis watched the militiamen along the walls. Several stood near the exits with their rifles at the low ready. They faced the congregation instead of watching the doors.

“...we ask you now to give us the courage of David, the faith of Daniel, and the victory of Gideon. Let every bullet find its mark in the heart of the wicked. Let every bomb fall only on those who defy your word...”

Gladice leaned slightly toward Louis and whispered, “This is a recruitment rally.”

Louis nodded once without looking away from the stage.

“...and Lord, we ask you to protect your children. To shield the innocent. To bring your people through this fire refined and not destroyed. In Jesus’ holy name. Amen.”

“Amen,” the congregation answered.

The preacher opened his eyes and smiled at the congregation.

“Church,” he said, “I want you to know something.”

The remaining voices faded.

“That is the lie of our age,” he said. “That you may welcome corruption into your homes and still ask God to bless the roof. That you may tolerate blasphemy in your schools, rebellion in your daughters, paganism in your streets, filth in your entertainments, and then act surprised when war comes over the line like a judgment you did not invite.”

The preacher walked slowly across the stage.

“People ask why the border burns. They ask why mothers flee in darkness. Why the sky lights up with fire. Why the wicked strike at Christian land.” He turned and looked up at the cross above the stage screens. “And I say to them: because we opened the gates long before the enemy crossed them.”

He continued.

“Because we let the unbeliever live among us as if disbelief were a mood and not a contagion. Because we let the false worshiper stand under the same sky and call that tolerance instead of surrender. Because we feared seeming cruel more than we feared becoming cursed.”

Gladice shifted beside Louis and spoke under her breath. “Oh, he’s good.”

Louis did not answer.

The preacher returned to the center of the stage. The lights above him brightened slightly.

“Today,” he said, “before we process rooms and bread and fuel and assignment, before we tell you where to sleep and how to move your families out of the strike corridors, we are going to be honest in the house of God.”

He paused, then nodded.

“We are going to show you,” he said, “the face of the thing that has brought destruction to Christian land!”

He nodded toward the side stairs. Two ushers appeared first, followed by three militiamen and two young women. The militiamen held them firmly by the upper arms. The first girl was thin and perhaps Louis’s age. She had a narrow oval face, straight brows, and brown eyes. Her light brown hair had been cut unevenly at the jaw, and a yellowing bruise marked one cheekbone. She kept her mouth closed and her eyes fixed ahead. She wore a long gray skirt and a faded church T-shirt that hung loose at the shoulders and had been tucked tightly into the waistband. Red marks circled her wrists.

The second girl had a fuller oval face, strong dark brows, and large brown eyes that moved quickly over the room. Her dark hair had been tied back loosely and was already coming free around her face. Her features were softer than the first girl’s, but her stare at the preacher was direct. The floral dress she wore was loose at the shoulders and short at the sleeves. She swallowed repeatedly and kept turning toward the stage and the congregation. The militiaman beside her twice pulled her back into place.

The preacher waited while people throughout the sanctuary turned toward them.

“These,” he said, “are the daughters of foreign poison.”

Murmurs spread through the sanctuary.

The first girl did not lower her eyes. The corners of her mouth were tense, and her chest rose and fell in short breaths. She kept her back straight. The second girl kept looking around. Her gaze moved between the preacher, the screens, the exits, the congregation, and the militiamen along the walls. She glared whenever she looked toward the stage, but her eyes kept returning to the exits.

The preacher turned toward the first girl.

“One calls herself above God. She worships no creator, no scripture, no authority but the high opinion of her own mind. She tells our daughters that there is no judgment. No hell. No order. No design. That the world is an accident and the body a toy and the soul an invention.”

A voice from the seats answered, “Amen.”

The preacher lifted one hand and continued.

“She laughs at holiness. She laughs at marriage. She laughs at fathers and vows and law. She mocks the cross and calls herself wiser than the Word.”

The first girl’s mouth twitched, but she said nothing. The preacher turned to the second girl.

“And this one,” he said, “brings a fake god and calls it truth.”

Murmurs began almost at once.

“She kneels where Christ is denied. She speaks the name of a false prophet and calls Christian order oppression. She does not come to submit. She comes to confuse. To pollute. To mix blood and faith and law until no one can tell the holy from the profane.”

The second girl shook her head hard. The militiaman holding her tightened his grip.

“That’s not—” she began.

The preacher turned sharply toward her. He kept his voice low and firm.

“Do not speak in this house.”

The second girl’s face reddened. She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said. Her voice shook. “You don’t know what I believe.”

The preacher gave her a sad smile.

“I know you are an Antichrist,” he said. “That is enough.”

Louis felt Angelique stiffen beside him. The preacher turned back to the congregation.

“Do you think it is a coincidence,” he asked, “that shells fall on Christian roads while these are found among us? Do you think it is random that the line burns hottest where the unbeliever and the false worshiper are tolerated? Do you think God gives over a people for no reason?”

Voices answered from across the sanctuary.

“No!”

“Never!”

The preacher paced slowly across the stage while the answers continued.

“War does not begin with bullets,” he said. “It begins with compromise. It begins when a people says, ‘We will allow error to stand among us.’ And God says, ‘I will no longer stand among you.’”

He stopped and pointed at the first girl, then at the second.

“Here,” he said, “is the enemy at your gate. Here is the cancer in the body of the faithful. They are the reason your sons have not come home. They are the reason your daughters weep. They are the face of the judgment you invited by your silence.”

Several women in the front rows raised their hands. Men beside them stared at the stage with their jaws clenched. More evacuees began responding. Some nodded toward the preacher. Others watched the two girls without looking away.

The first girl spoke.

“You don’t believe any of this,” she said.

A stage microphone picked up her voice. Someone gasped, and murmurs followed.

The preacher stopped and looked directly at her. The girl continued. Her throat moved before she spoke again, and her breaths had shortened.

“None of you do,” she said. “You just want someone to hate because your world is falling apart and it’s easier than admitting you don’t know why.”

Angry voices rose from the front rows. One of the militiamen yanked her arm hard enough to make her stumble. She caught herself before she fell. Her face went pale. Then she straightened before he could pull her upright.

The second girl spoke before the angry voices had died down.

“This is madness,” she said. “You’re calling yourselves Christian while you drag women in front of strangers and say they’re responsible for war—”

The preacher lifted one hand. The shouting dropped.

“You hear it,” he said softly. “Not repentance. Not fear of God. Defiance. Insolence. Corruption that does not merely hide but boasts. This is what is invited into Christian land when we fail to guard the door.”

He turned to the congregation.

“What should be done with poison that has entered the body?”

A man near the front shouted, “Cut it out!”

Another voice answered, “Burn it out!”

More voices took it up.

“Burn!”

“Burn the filth!”

Angelique leaned close enough that Louis could hear her without looking.

“Louis,” she said. “This is not going to end well.”

“No,” Louis said.

Gladice had not taken her eyes off the stage. “They’re going to kill those girls.”

The preacher waited while more voices joined the chant. Then he raised both hands. The chanting stopped section by section.

“In ordinary times,” he said, “there are processes for every kind of rot. There are tribunals. There are trials. There is correction and mercy. But we do not live in ordinary times.”

He turned slowly and looked over the refugee families, the militiamen along the walls, and the volunteers standing at the back.

“We live in the hour of judgment. We live in the hour the Lord brings war as a hammer to forge a people or destroy them. And in this hour, mercy without truth is cruelty. Tolerance without righteousness is surrender.”

Voices answered from across the sanctuary, louder than before.

“Lord, give us truth!”

“Show us the way!”

He waited, then raised his voice over the congregation.

“What do we do with the serpent in our garden?”

“Drive it out!”

“How do we answer those who mock the Lord?”

“With fire!”

The preacher turned back to the girls. Both had gone pale. They looked across the raised hands and the militiamen along the walls.

“You are found guilty of blasphemy. Of corruption. Of bringing divine judgment upon this land.”

He turned back to the congregation. “Who will stand with the Lord today and see that justice is done?”

Hands rose throughout the sanctuary. Many people kept theirs down, but hands remained raised across the front sections. He pointed toward the doors at the side of the sanctuary.

“We purify in the open so that the Lord may see we do not hide what must be done. Bring them.”

The first girl looked toward the side doors. She stopped moving. Her eyes went from the doors to the preacher, then across the congregation. The second girl stared at the same doors.

“No!” she screamed. Tears ran down her face.

The preacher stepped down from the stage. He kept his voice low.

“These two stand here as witness against unbelief, false worship, and rebellion against the order of Christ.” He looked across the congregation while he spoke. “Let their end be a cleansing. Let this house see and remember. Let the fire take what was never fit to dwell among us.”

Someone among the evacuees screamed. More voices followed. Some shouted approval. Others cried out from the back rows. The preacher turned to the militiamen on the stage.

“Take them outside,” he said. “Now. We burn the corruption before noon.”

Louis went cold. His thoughts cleared. The militiamen seized the girls and dragged them toward the side doors.