The air is thick with nervous energy.

We don't look any different from any other outdoor religious revival group, humble and quaint.

No one would know by looking at us that we belong to the one true faith, the only ones

trying to save the world from the demons that infested.

More stragglers have come to the flock,

and I do my best not to frown at them.

Reverend Simmons has reminded me that I was not always a godly man myself.

Before finding Irma and the church,

I was prone to give in to the violent temptations in my head

that have plagued me since I was a boy.

Now those impulses are guided by faith, faith in my pastor, my wife, and my God.

The Lord has forgiven me for my transgressions and blessed me with divine purpose.

The righteous will find their way to Reverend Simmons eventually.

And those unrighteous?

Those are my responsibility.

The grass beneath our feet is freshly mowed,

and I inhale deeply,

breathing in the perfume of gasoline and fresh-cut grass. Senior members of the parish sit in quiet anticipation,

smiling at what is to come.

The newest ones toward the back whisper,

and it takes all my restraint not to cast them out like Christ had done

with the money-lenders in this sacred temple.

...