Free Web NovelChapter 137: Chapter 137 - The Sermon
Chairs scraped softly against tile as everyone settled. The old restaurant still smelled faintly of grease beneath the incense someone had burned earlier. Pastor Rick removed his cowboy hat and set it aside before stepping forward.
"Brothers and sisters," he began, voice steady, controlled, "we live in the aftermath of judgment."
A few heads bowed.
"We built a world on excess. On pride. On control. And when it cracked, we called it tragedy."
"Amen," someone said.
Rick nodded once.
At the back, Iyisha tugged Malcolm by the sleeve before he could remain standing.
"Sit," she muttered under her breath.
He gave her a look that clearly said he preferred the wall, the exit, the open path.
She pulled again, more insistently.
With visible reluctance, he lowered himself into a chair in the last row.
Marybeth and Reya moved toward the middle section, sitting close together. Waldo hesitated, then chose the seat beside Iyisha instead.
He leaned toward her slightly.
"What did we just walk into?" he whispered.
Iyisha did not answer.
Waldo glanced toward the front where Rick was speaking, then back at Malcolm’s rigid posture.
"I should’ve stayed behind," Waldo muttered quietly to himself. "Guarded the house."
Iyisha gave him a look.
Rick’s voice carried over the low murmuring.
"When the world broke," he continued, "we blamed fate. We blamed governments. We blamed science. But rarely did we look at ourselves."
"Amen."
Iyisha folded her hands in her lap, forcing herself to focus.
Beside her, Malcolm sat still but alert, one arm resting casually on his thigh, body angled slightly toward the aisle.
"Judgment is not always fire from heaven. Sometimes it is pressure. Sometimes it is exposure. Sometimes it is the breaking of what was never meant to stand."
"Amen."
Rick’s gaze sharpened.
"But hear this clearly. Judgment is not only destruction. It is refinement."
He paced slowly in front of the chairs.
"Metal placed under heat becomes stronger. Stone under pressure becomes diamond. And humanity—" he paused, "—humanity under stress becomes something else."
That made Iyisha look up properly.
"God did not design us for comfort," Rick continued. "He designed us for dominion. For endurance. For transformation."
"Amen."
"We were not meant to hide from hardship. We were meant to overcome it."
The murmurs grew stronger.
Rick’s voice lowered.
"And when the world fell, something else emerged."
Iyisha straightened slightly.
"Some call them infected. Some call them cursed."
He let the silence stretch.
"Mutation."
Iyisha perked up.
It was the second time she had heard that term spoken casually, openly, like it was doctrine instead of rumor.
Her eyes shifted subtly toward Malcolm.
He did not move, but she knew he was listening closely.
Rick clasped his hands.
"They survive what kills others. They adapt. They endure radiation, virus, famine. They become stronger under stress."
A man near the front whispered, "Chosen."
Rick did not correct him.
"Tell me," Rick asked the room, "if pressure reveals strength, then what are we witnessing?"
"Amen," someone answered uncertainly.
"Are they monsters?" Rick pressed. "Or are they proof that design continues?"
Iyisha felt her stomach tighten.
He stepped closer to the crowd.
"What if the apocalypse is not an end... but an invitation?"
A few people nodded fervently now.
"To remain unchanged is to remain fragile," he continued. "But those who endure... those who do not flee... those who embrace God’s truth..."
He spread his hands.
"They become stronger."
"Amen."
"They become resistant."
"Amen."
"They become what they were meant to be."
The word came louder this time.
"Amen!"
Iyisha’s confusion sharpened into unease.
Was he suggesting people should seek it?
Seek exposure?
Seek stress?
Rick’s tone remained measured, but there was conviction beneath it.
"God’s chosen are not those who hide behind walls. They are those who endure the fire and emerge standing."
"Amen!"
Iyisha’s eyes moved across the room.
Some faces were inspired.
Near the back wall, the same still man from earlier leaned forward slightly, listening with intent that felt less spiritual and more strategic.
Rick finished calmly.
"Judgment strips away the weak foundations. What remains is strength. And those willing to stand in the storm may find themselves reshaped."
"Amen," the congregation answered together.
Iyisha did not join them.
Her mind was not on scripture.
It was on the word mutated.
And on the quiet, growing realization that this church was not simply offering comfort.
It was offering ideology.
The last amen faded, but the tension did not.
A man seated near the middle slowly raised his hand. His face was not hostile, just confused.
"Pastor," he said carefully, "mutation like that... it’s not possible. People don’t just evolve in months. That’s not how the body works."
A few heads turned toward him.
Before Rick could answer, another member near the front stood abruptly.
"You still doubt?" the man snapped. "After everything? After what we’ve seen?"
The air shifted.
Voices started to rise.
Rick lifted his hand immediately.
"Peace," he said firmly.
The room quieted, though the anger did not fully disappear.
"We do not attack questions," Rick continued. "Faith is not threatened by inquiry."
The man who had spoken shrank slightly in his seat, relieved.
Rick stepped closer to him.
"You’re right," he said calmly. "Under normal conditions, rapid mutation is rare. The body resists change."
He turned slowly to face the entire room.
"But we are not living under normal conditions."
Silence.
"Extreme stress," Rick continued, "forces adaptation. Prolonged exposure forces resilience. The body responds when survival demands it."
He let that settle.
"Faith," he added, "is not blind belief. It is trust in what is unfolding before your eyes."
He glanced toward the man who had stood angrily earlier.
"Come here, brother Ishmael."
The shift in tone was subtle but deliberate.
The man stepped forward from the side of the room.
He was broad shouldered, quiet, and younger than Iyisha expected. His expression was serious, but there was no arrogance in it.
Whispers moved through the seated crowd.
Rick placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.
"This," he said, "is Ishmael."
He let the name hang.
"A chosen in our midst."
A ripple of disbelief passed through the room.
The man who had questioned earlier stared openly.
Rick stepped back.
"Show them."
Ishmael moved without theatrics.
He walked to one of the heavier wooden tables near the wall. It was solid, thick legged, not something someone casually lifted.
He crouched slightly, slid one hand beneath it, and lifted.
The table rose clean off the floor.
With one hand.
Gasps filled the room.
The wood creaked faintly under the pressure of his grip, but his arm did not shake.
Iyisha felt her breath stall.
Ishmael held it there for several seconds, then lowered it back down carefully.
The man who had doubted sat frozen.
He gestured subtly toward Ishmael.
"His body adapted."
Whispers intensified.
"Chosen," someone murmured again.
Iyisha’s heart was beating harder now.
Beside her, Malcolm had gone completely still.
Rick stepped forward once more.
His eyes swept across the room.
"The world is changing. The question is whether we cling to what we were... or step into what we are becoming."
"Amen," several voices said, though this time it sounded less certain and more awed.
Iyisha did not speak.
Her eyes remained on Ishmael.
The crowd broke into low conversation as the sermon ended. Chairs scraped again. People stood in small clusters, whispering, some glancing toward Ishmael with awe.
Malcolm leaned slightly toward Iyisha and murmured, low enough that only she could hear.
"Physics can help with that."
He tilted his chin almost imperceptibly toward the table Ishmael had lifted.
Leverage. Balance. Distribution of weight.
Iyisha felt a smile tug at her lips despite the unease still sitting in her chest. Even shaken by what she had just heard, his grounded response steadied her.
People had used God’s name throughout history to justify power, control, war, experiments. This was not new. It was dressed differently, but it was not new.
She looked around at the excited faces, at the way some were already debating exposure and refinement like it was a training program.
She hoped none of them would take the message literally.
Be bitten.
Be tested.
Prove themselves.
She glanced at Malcolm’s broad shoulders, his solid frame.
"I bet you can do that," she teased softly, eyes flicking over him.
He looked at her blankly.
She giggled under her breath.
"Iyisha."
She blinked, startled.
Rick stood beside them.
It was impressive how quietly he moved for a man in boots.
"Did you enjoy the sermon?" he asked pleasantly.
"It was informative," she said, standing up. She did not like having to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes.
Rick smiled as if that answer satisfied him.
"You’re welcome to stay for Bible reading."
She glanced at Malcolm before shaking her head.
"We actually came about the map of Ohio," she said. "We were hoping to barter for it."
Rick’s smile did not fade.
"God directed you to us," he said lightly. "And if this isn’t a message to help, then what kind of believer would I be?"
He chuckled.
"You’re giving it to us for free?" Iyisha asked, unable to keep the hope from slipping into her voice.
Rick’s eyes shifted briefly to Malcolm.
"I would like you to join tomorrow’s sermon," he said. "After that, I’ll give you the map."
Iyisha hesitated.
"Uh..." She looked at Malcolm.
Malcolm’s jaw tightened.
"We’re only staying just until tomorrow," she clarified.
Rick grinned.
"Do not worry. I’ll inform the registrar myself. You won’t have trouble extending one more day."
There was confidence in the way he said it.
"And tomorrow," he added casually, "I’ll give you information more valuable than the map."
That caught her.
More valuable?
She nodded slowly as they stepped away.
Outside, Waldo stretched his arms.
"I’m going to check on a friend," he said. "Might as well make use of being here."
Marybeth glanced at Reya, then back at them.
"I’m staying," she said without hesitation.
Reya’s hand was already back in hers.
Iyisha nodded, watching the two of them lean into each other again like magnets finding their place.
Love in the middle of ideology and survival.
Strange timing.
She turned back toward Malcolm, mind still circling the pastor’s final words.
More valuable than the map.
