“We can’t. God protects His house,” the reverend says. “His plan?—”
“Look around you,” Julien grits out. “Does this look like divine protection?”
“God works in mysterious ways.” A serene smile ghosts over the Reverend’s lips. “Perhaps this is His sign.”
“You sanctimonious piece of—” Julien releases him with a slight shove that sends him stumbling back, and addresses the room. “We need to leave. Now.”
My father struggles to his feet. “You can’t be serious. It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s morning.” My mother steadies him. “And he’s right. Those things will be coming. Where would we even go?”
“Pine Lake Lodge,” Cameron says. “About four hours north if we’re lucky. Isolated cabins, defensible position, possibly stocked with supplies.”
“And if we’re not lucky?” My mother’s voice is thin with fear.
“Then we make our luck.” Julien scans the room. “Whatever you can’t carry, leave it.”
I rush to Amelia, dropping to my knees beside her. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”
She nods, though her face is pale, pinched with pain. I slide my arm around her waist, helping her to her feet.
“Let’s go, everybody!” Cameron checks his watch. “We have maybe three minutes left before?—”
GONG. The sound feels like it’s coming from inside my head now.
“We’re taking the truck and the minivan,” Julian says. “Nicklas, Carmen, and Amelia in the minivan, more room for her to lie down. The rest of us in the truck.”
The Reverend straightens his collar. “I’m not leaving my church.”
Julien shrugs. “Be my guest.”
“You can’t just leave him,” my mother says.
“He’s made his choice.” Julien grabs a backpack, tossing it to Cameron. “Anyone else want to stay behind and pray? No? Then move.”
Amelia nods, face pale but determined. “Let’s go.”
“Lean on me. Just like when we were kids.” I guide her toward the door. “Remember when you sprained your ankle at the pier, and I helped you all the way back?”
“You were eight.”
“And stronger than I looked.”
The bell continues its relentless rhythm—eight, nine, ten—as we move through the corridor toward the church entrance. Cameron kicks the door open, and the morning air hits us, cool and damp.
The gate rattles in the distance, groaning figures pressing against the metal bars, and the car we pushed against it yesterday still blocks them, but more are gathering, drawn by the sound.
“Fuck,” Sienna breathes. “There are twice as many already.”
“And more coming.” Julien grips his machete. “Cameron, Sienna. We clear the gate before there are too many. Spread out. Everyone else, get inside the cars.”
I help Amelia toward the minivan, my mother and father following close behind. Rosa heads straight for the pickup, climbing into the backseat.
“Mom, you drive,” I say.
My mother nods, settling into the driver’s seat. My father takes the passenger side, his movements slow and pained, while I open the side door and help Amelia inside.
“Easy.” I support her head as she lies across the backseat.
