Chapter Two: The Cleansing
The church handles sin
High Preacher Dan Everett stood at the pulpit on the central dais. He wore a short-sleeved white button-down shirt and black trousers, which is the only clothing I had ever seen him in. Everett’s unsettling stare swept the congregation. Like every Sunday, he looked for empty seats. Satisfied, the man banged his hand on the pulpit. His voice thundered like a stampede.
“Isaiah 13:5. They come from a far country, from the end of heaven, even against the LORD, and the weapons of his making, to destroy the whole land.” Everett paused, letting the silence hang for a moment. “A warning from God to his favored children, his weapons. You know what it means.
“Aliens! They descended upon our world nearly 400 years ago. Created by the Enemy of enemies, Beelzebub himself, these demons spelled the end for so many who did not have the strength of our Lord and Christ Jesus on their side. And still, they come for us! Each day, our brave militiamen face the physical danger of aliens at the border and the moral danger in the streets. But the Enemy is cunning, and all must be on their guard. As Eve ate the apple at deceitful words, the Enemy promises anything, if only to get you outside these borders, into his waiting arms. You must resist!”
The first five hours of the service crawled by. Only years of practice prevented me from fidgeting as my legs fell asleep.
We paused for lunch. Some went home for their meal, not having the money to pay for food at the church. My family met others on the back lawn, where the women brought out baskets and platters of sandwiches and sides.
The boys, including JJ and my youngest brothers Beau and Ryder, played near the old fountain until their mothers called them to sit.
The General chose his table, the one nearest the door, where several of my brothers and a few high-ranking officers joined him. He sat himself at the head of the table.
I settled in on my father's right, hungry but not able to eat until the General served himself.
"Quite the service this morning," the General said, not reaching for any food. "What has everyone thought?"
I met his eye as his gaze swept the table. "I thought it's been very emboldening. It's always good to hear what can go wrong if we falter." Over the years, it had become easier to repeat whatever I needed to keep suspicion away.
My twenty-year-old brother, Ace, nodded. He was a Shepherd, an officer two ranks below me. "God's work never ends," he said. "If even one of those demons crosses this border, they'll regret the day they spawned."
Agreement rippled through the gathered men. Karter, my eighteen-year-old brother and a militia Watchman, said, "Truly, there's nothing like a good sermon. Preacher Everett speaks the Word with such authority." Karter had just submitted his application for a profession, and of course he chose Clergy. The General never gave me a choice; I was destined for the Militia as I waited to inherit my father’s title.
The General finally reached for a serving spoon, so we all filled our plates.
I had just taken a bite of a tomato and cheese sandwich when the General set his fork on his plate. "When can we expect more sons from you, James?”
The table silenced. My stomach dropped. Across from me, Ace and Karter barely hid their joy. My third brother shifted in discomfort. Since he was born, Hunter and I shared a deep bond.
"Well," I said as a choked down food that had turned sour in my mouth, "I expect soon."
The General raised an eyebrow. "Five years without a pregnancy? Are you even trying? I'm sure Ace or Karter can give you pointers."
Ace lit up like the scoreboard at the shooting range. He had two children and his wife was carrying a third. Karter had a son and pregnant wife. Something they never let me forget.
At twenty-two, Alaina and I had only JJ. He was nearing six with no siblings, which was tantamount to heresy in the Moore family, especially in the main line.
Stifled laughter finally died away. I tried to recover any aspect of my dignity. "We will have more children, of course."
Karter looked happier than a pig in mud. "Step one, be in the same room." Despite his desire to become a holy man in the Clergy, Karter was the most vulgar of my brothers, so his restraint in this situation surprised me. I’m sure it had more to do with out father’s presence than anything.
That said, I resisted the urge to go across the table at him. Commendable, on my part. Only the fact that we were at church, and that Hunter grabbed my arm, stopped me. Usually, the General would not allow someone to insult one of his sons in such a way, even a brother, so he must have been incredibly fed up.
“We are doing just fine, Karter. We spend every night together.”
Down the table, Captain Jefferson chuckled. “That dog won’t hunt.” I had never liked that man. For him to say I wasn’t doing my job in the bedroom sealed that. He was a crochety old man who oversaw the Border Patrol in our town, and he often commented the new Acolytes were softer since I took over training.
Assured I was sufficiently embarrassed, the General moved on to border security and the work of the Virtue Squads. At some point, the topic meandered to Doctrine, a favorite of many colony elders. They debated the merits of certain elements while ensuring they never questioned Doctrine. Because that would be unbelief.
After the meal finished, the men walked to the chapel, wrapping up conversations before the return to worship. JJ smiled and waved at me as he went back to the Sunday school room with the other boys. The General gave a small grunt when he noticed.
As soon as everyone found their seat, the second half of the service kicked off with the Soul Cleansing.
A Virtue Squad led four unfortunate people onto the dais toward the pulpit. The old man from that morning was there, along with another man and two women. I recognized Juliet Miles. We had never spoken, of course, because that would be improper, but her husband had been career militia, and I knew him in passing.
Once the proceedings began, the homeless man confessed his sins in front of the congregation, including vagrancy and unbelief. He skipped church sometimes to scrounge for food.
The High Preacher shook his head. His reverberating voice overwhelmed the space. “If any would not work, neither should he eat.” Applause followed, filling the room until it shook my bones. “He without a home has no place in society. It is not a man’s burden to support his neighbor. This laziness, deceit, and theft is a crime against God. Doug Reynolds, you are to bear the brands of vagrant and unbeliever until your flesh decays beneath the earth.”
Reynolds seems to collapse on himself. The brand would sear into his arm, so everyone who met him would know of his shame. Really, his only hope lay in the woods.
Everett turned his attention to Mrs. Miles. Dressed in a simple pale blue dress with her thin white hair tied up, she looked like anyone’s grandmother. She was a frail woman, probably in her 60s. My father was pushing 44, and he seemed incredibly old to me. Few in the colony made it far into their seventh decade.
“Speak your truth,” Everett commanded of Mrs. Miles.
In a shaking voice that barely reached the balcony, she said, “My husband was very ill. He accepted charity from the church to afford his treatments, but he passed away two weeks ago. I have no money to repay the church.”
Mrs. Miles was on the hook for the repayment, but being barred from employment as a woman meant she was in quite the predicament. She lived with her only son, who had five children of his own to support.
Everett slammed his palm on the pulpit. "Stealing from God! The church provides charity in a Godly mission to help believers. Is it too much to ask that the repayment be on time, in full?"
Most of those present responded in the negative, shouting invectives as well. Those on the balcony did not shout, but there were mutters over the disgrace of taking advantage of charity. I did not see a conniving sinner when I looked at Juliet,. She was just a tired, elderly woman who needed compassion.
Raising a hand to quiet the congregation, Everett sighed. "Proverbs 22:7 says the beneficiary is slave to the benefactor. Our Lord in Heaven declares it. Juliet Miles, until the charity is repaid, you will toil for the church. It will be 46 weeks of service to make amends."
A roar of agreement filled my ears. Nervous sweat coated my skin. Two Virtue Squad teens escorted Juliet out to begin her months of compulsory unpaid labor.
At some point, this would have made some sick sense to me. However, having spent years teaching myself knowledge from Before and the Other Side, I knew of things unspoken in the colony for generations. There was no unringing the bell.
Hours later, after the rest of the Soul Cleansing, prayer requests, verse recitation, and worship choir, it was time to head back to my parent’s home for dinner. The main house was on the same property as mine, but my little family lived in the home reserved for the oldest son, passed down through generations.
The boys met us outside. Hunter, only fourteen and still unused to being among the men, nodded to some of the boys he used to associate with who had not yet aged into the militia. An Acolyte, Hunter spent his days training in the Border Patrol. It struck me he would be among the first alerted to my absence. Not as family, but as part of the group sent to kill me.