Hell Followed with Us(44)

“Yeah. Was.” To my surprise, he reaches out for the meat curled around my hand. Behind the altar, hundreds of eyes watch carefully as it grasps for him. “One of the members went rogue. Killed everyone but me and asked if I wanted to leave with him.” A breath. “And the thing is? I thought about it.”

I swallow, hard. “You didn’t.”

“I did. I thought he’d kill me if I refused, you know? Figured he’d put a bullet in my head if I said no, just like he did the others.” I touch my cheekbone, right where Dad’s face caved in on itself. “But he didn’t. Just walked off. And when I came back alone, they called me a failure and tore the wings off my back.”

There’s nothing to say, not really.

“I could have stopped him, was the thing. He’d gotten injured in the firefight, and I could have stopped him if I’d just—” He scrapes his hair away from his face. It’s sticking to his forehead; even at night, it’s just a bit too warm. “He’s probably dead. The wounds probably got infected, and the son of a bitch died.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Probably.”

“That’s why I was so mad when you said you didn’t want Seraph,” Theo whispers. “You were just handed the thing they took from me.”

I finish for him so he doesn’t have to say it. “And I rejected it.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.”

I practically spat in his face; I dug my nails into the wounds in his back.

I guess…I can’t blame him for being angry. We all get angry these days.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say.

He puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close, my face nestling in the crook of his neck like it always has. He smells exactly the same.

He says, “Me too.”

When I get sick a few seconds later, Theo rubs my back as I spit rot onto the floor. He kisses my temple and brushes hair from my face because the bobby pins aren’t there to keep it back. My stomach cramps, and it doesn’t feel like it’s in the same place it’s always been. If you cut me open, my torso would be a mass of sludge and flesh. Sister Kipling described it as the way a caterpillar dissolves before reforming into a butterfly. I gag and cough, and Theo holds me close.

To keep and to fear.





If you feel the Flood within you, do not fret.

God is calling you home.

—Reverend Brother Morrison’s Judgment Day sermon



Cormac kicks me awake the next morning. His designer boot-clad foot hits the edge of my mattress and waves around like a worm sticking out of a hole.

Shit, did he notice the missing supplies? Did he catch me sneaking back in last night?

“What the hell do you want?” I snap.

“You’re late.” His foot disappears just before he knocks aside the bedsheet curtain. I pull my blanket up to my nose. “We’re heading out, and Nick wants you with us. Get cracking.”

Great. I got back from Reformation late, and now the sun is barely up. “I can’t change if you’re watching me. Piss off.”

“Well, hurry up.” Cormac drops the sheet and leaves.

I press the heels of my hands into my face and give myself three seconds to rest before shoving myself out of bed.

This time, it’s me, Nick, Cormac, and Faith, which makes sense because Aisha has been a mess recently and Salvador skipped the last meeting, which is never a good sign. Plus, with the way Salvador was being stared at last time? I wouldn’t blame xem for not wanting to come.

I help Faith pull the cart, and I think she smiles, but it doesn’t get to her eyes.

“How’s Aisha holding up?” I ask her on the way, while we’re cutting across a street littered with potholes.

“The best she can,” Faith sighs. “Sadaf is with her now. I know she doesn’t need a babysitter, but I’m still worried about her.”

“She can hold her own,” Cormac cuts in. Nick’s eyes flick to him preemptively. “She’s a grown-up.”

“She’s eighteen. She’s younger than us both.”

“And yet we’re carting around the elementary schooler.”

I snort. “I’m sixteen.”

“Jesus! You’re sixteen?” Cormac looks to Faith and Nick in turn, like one might also see the obvious absurdity of having a slightly younger teenager in a militia made of teenagers. “No wonder you didn’t do shit at the church.”

“Easy,” Nick warns.

“Why are we even bringing him if all he does is stand there or hide?”

I bare my teeth under my mask. It would solve everything if I just lay it out for him—I’m the reason the Grace didn’t tear his head off at the church the moment they realized he was there. I’m the reason he’s not just as dead as those Angels. I am turning into a monster, and I am using this monster to help him survive.

Nick slams the flat of his arm into Cormac’s chest and pushes him back. “Aisha already did a number on you,” he says, “so I’m not going to repeat it. But do everyone a favor and shut up.”

“And you’re still defending him.” Cormac sneers in Nick’s face. “God.”

Nobody likes the way that sounds. We all get a little too quiet. Or maybe we’re just as quiet as we should be, walking through a city like this.