The Devil Knocks Twice

Day 16 – The Siege Continues

The night stretched long and merciless.

Father Gabriel Royce stood in the darkened nave of St. Mark’s Church, listening to the sound of his people breathing in fear.

The siege had begun six days ago, when the first gunshot shattered the stained-glass window. Since then, the attackers had been relentless. They never tried to break down the doors all at once. They never risked a full assault.

Instead, they waited.

Testing them. Watching them. Wearing them down.

They would disappear during the day, letting the hunger and fear fester inside the church’s walls. Then, just when exhaustion started dragging them under—

BANG.

A shot in the night. A noise at the door.

Reminders that the wolves were still outside.

Waiting.

Hunting.

Gabriel gritted his teeth, rubbing a tired hand over his face.

His people were starving, their faith crumbling.

He had promised them safety.

Now he wasn’t sure he could keep that promise.

"This is the last of it," Sam Keller muttered, setting the smallest possible portions of food in front of the church’s refugees.

The children ate first, but there was barely anything to eat. A few cans of beans. A handful of crackers.

It wouldn’t last another day.

Gabriel sat across from Sam, his stomach aching—not just from hunger, but from guilt.

"I should go out," Gabriel said finally. "Try to find food."

Sam scoffed. "And walk right into their hands?"

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. "We can’t just wait here and starve."

Sam leaned in, voice lowering. "Then maybe it’s time we start considering a way out."

Gabriel stared at him.

"You mean surrender," he said flatly.

Sam didn’t blink. "We don’t know what they want. Maybe if we talk—"

"They want control," Gabriel interrupted. "And they want us gone."

He gestured to the terrified families huddled in the pews. "They won’t show mercy."

Sam exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Then we’re dead either way."

Gabriel clenched his fists.

No.

Not yet.

He refused to believe this was how it ended.

Just past midnight, it came again.

A slow, deliberate knock at the doors of the church.

Three beats.

Not rushed.

Not frantic.

Just… waiting.

Gabriel’s pulse quickened.

Not again.

He stood, gripping the wooden crucifix at his neck as he approached the doors.

From the shadows, Sam hissed, "Don’t open it."

Gabriel ignored him.

He pressed a palm against the door, voice steady. "Who’s there?"

Silence.

Then, the same voice from seven days ago.

Smooth. Amused.

"Still locked up tight, Father?"

Gabriel’s stomach twisted.

The man from the first night. The one who had spoken before the first bullet shattered the window.

"You’ve had time to think," the voice continued. "I’m here to see if you’ve come to your senses."

Gabriel exhaled through his nose. "I don’t negotiate with devils."

A soft chuckle. "Oh, Father. If you still think this is about good and evil, you haven’t been paying attention."

Gabriel’s grip tightened on the cross.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

The voice on the other side of the door sighed.

"Simple," he said. "This church belongs to us now. You and your people walk away, and you live. Or…"

He let the silence stretch.

Gabriel understood the alternative.

He turned slightly, catching Sam’s tense stare.

The survivors behind them—scared, exhausted—waiting for him to decide their fate.

Gabriel set his jaw.

"No."

Silence.

Then the voice on the other side of the door sighed.

"Shame," he muttered. "You could’ve made this easy."

Footsteps.

Then nothing.

Sam let out a slow breath. "What now?"

Gabriel turned away from the door, voice low.

"Now we prepare for war."

Just before dawn, they came.

Gabriel had been expecting a full attack—a brutal charge through the doors, a storm of bullets.

Instead, the front doors creaked open—slowly, almost casually.

Gabriel stood in the center of the aisle, rifle at his side, as the first man stepped inside.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing military fatigues without insignia. His face was lean, sharp, and oddly calm—like a man who had seen too much of the world to be surprised anymore.

But his eyes…

His eyes were dead.

Gabriel had met men like him before.

Men who didn’t kill out of anger or desperation.

Men who killed because they believed they were meant to.

The man scanned the church, taking in the cowering families, the few men standing beside Gabriel, ready to fight.

Then he smiled.

"So this is what faith looks like at the end of the world," he mused.

Gabriel didn’t lower the gun. "Who are you?"

The man placed a hand on his chest in mock reverence. "Lucas Calloway. Colonel, once upon a time. Now…" He shrugged. "Let’s just say I’m the one who keeps things in order around here."

Gabriel’s stomach sank.

A military deserter.

Not a raider. Not just some gang.

A man trying to build something from the ashes.

Lucas gestured to the people huddled in the pews. "You understand, Father. Can’t have a bunch of scared sheep holding onto old-world delusions. Religion’s dead."

Gabriel didn’t move.

"God is still here."

Lucas chuckled. "Yeah?" He gestured toward the bullet holes in the stained glass. "Because it looks to me like he walked out before things got interesting."

Gabriel clenched his jaw.

He had no doubt this man was willing to slaughter everyone here without hesitation.

But something in Lucas’s tone gave him pause.

He wasn’t just here to kill them all outright.

He wanted something.

And that meant Gabriel still had a chance.

He lifted his chin. "You came here for a reason."

Lucas tilted his head. "I did."

Then his smile faded.

"You’ve got people here who can work," he said. "Doctors. Cooks. Even some fighters."

Gabriel’s breath hitched.

Oh.

That’s what this was.

Not extermination.

Recruitment.

Gabriel set his jaw. "And if we refuse?"

Lucas sighed, almost bored. "Then we kill the men, take the rest, and burn the church to the ground."

Gabriel’s grip on the rifle tightened.

This wasn’t a fight they could win.

But surrender wasn’t an option.

Lucas took a slow step forward.

"Choose, Father."

Gabriel exhaled slowly.

Then he spoke.

"You first."

And he pulled the trigger.