No Saints Left

Day 10 – The Wolves at the Door

Father Gabriel Royce had spent his life preaching hope in the face of suffering.

But standing at the front of St. Mark’s Church, staring at the crowd of hungry, terrified people, he wondered if hope had already died.

There were over forty survivors packed into the pews now—men, women, children—refugees of a dying world. Some had come willingly, seeking shelter from the chaos outside. Others had arrived bleeding and desperate, knocking on the doors in the middle of the night, begging for a place to hide.

Gabriel had let them all in.

Because that’s what a man of God was supposed to do.

Even if he wasn’t sure God was still listening.

He looked out over the congregation. No prayers. No sermons. Just the sound of coughing, the occasional murmur of fear.

And beneath it all—the quiet, gnawing realization that the outside world was closing in.

Gabriel clenched his fists.

The church had once been a place of peace.

Now, it was starting to feel like a coffin.

"You need to start turning people away."

The voice belonged to Sam Keller, an ex-cop who had taken it upon himself to become the church’s unofficial enforcer. A week ago, Gabriel might have been horrified by the idea of needing an enforcer in his congregation.

But times had changed.

Gabriel crossed his arms. "You’re asking me to let people die, Sam."

"I’m asking you to be realistic," Sam snapped. He ran a hand through his graying hair, his face drawn with exhaustion. "We’ve got two days’ worth of food left—maybe less, if we keep taking in strays. You think faith’s gonna keep these people from starving?"

Gabriel exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He knew Sam was right.

They had been rationing supplies since the first night, stretching every last can of food, every drop of water.

But it wouldn’t be enough.

Not with more people showing up every day.

He looked around the church—at the hollowed-out faces of mothers clutching their children, at the injured man in the corner, his bandages already dark with blood.

If he turned people away… they wouldn’t just starve.

They’d be killed by whatever was waiting outside.

Gabriel met Sam’s gaze. "We hold out as long as we can."

Sam clenched his jaw. "And when the food runs out?"

Gabriel’s stomach twisted.

He didn’t have an answer.

It came just after sunset.

A knock at the heavy wooden doors of the church.

Three slow, deliberate beats. Not frantic. Not desperate. Just… waiting.

Gabriel’s pulse quickened.

The last time someone had come to the church at night, it had been a mother and her son, both half-starved and begging for sanctuary.

Gabriel had let them in.

This felt different.

Sam gripped his pistol and moved to the doorway, keeping his voice low. "Don’t open it."

Gabriel ignored him.

He stepped forward and pressed his palm against the wood. "Who’s there?"

Silence.

Then a voice, smooth and calm.

"Just a traveler looking for shelter, Father."

Gabriel frowned. Something about the tone made his skin crawl.

"Are you alone?" he asked.

A chuckle. "Would that change your answer?"

Gabriel's fingers curled into a fist.

He glanced at Sam, who was already shaking his head. No. This wasn’t right.

The voice spoke again, softer this time.

"We know you’re in there, Father. And we know you have supplies."

Gabriel’s blood ran cold.

Sam stiffened beside him, tightening his grip on the gun. "We need to move. Now."

Gabriel took a slow breath. He had known this moment was coming.

The moment when the world outside would stop asking.

And start taking.

The first gunshot shattered a stained-glass window.

Screams erupted from inside the church as shards of colored glass rained onto the wooden pews.

Gabriel grabbed a woman and pulled her away from the collapsing frame. "Get to the back rooms! Now!"

Outside, figures moved in the dark, circling the church like wolves.

Sam fired a warning shot through the broken window, cursing under his breath. "There’s at least ten of them!"

Gabriel’s mind raced. The church was defensible—thick stone walls, reinforced wooden doors—but it wasn’t built for a siege.

"How much ammo do we have?" Gabriel asked.

Sam gritted his teeth. "Not enough."

Another shot rang out, splintering a wooden bench.

The people inside were panicking—crying, praying, huddling in corners like lambs waiting for slaughter.

Gabriel’s heart pounded.

This wasn’t just about survival.

This was about what kind of man he was going to be in this new world.

Would he fight? Would he kill for these people?

Was he willing to break his vows to protect them?

The heavy church doors buckled as something slammed into them from the outside.

Sam turned to him. "Orders, Father."

Gabriel closed his eyes.

Then he spoke.

"Barricade the doors. Get everyone who can fight near the windows. The rest—hide in the back rooms."

Sam hesitated. "You sure about this?"

Gabriel met his gaze.

"If they come through that door," he said, his voice steady.

"We stop them."