Hmmmmmmm... 49 for Deacon and Sole (your choice of which)!
The church was just another condemned building, yet Claire could still feel a judgmental presence inside. Maybe it had something to do with the three dead raiders at her and Deacon’s feet, or the handful of caps she pocketed from one of the harnesses. Or both.
Maybe it was the standard Catholic guilt created by sixteen years’ worth of Sunday masses. Or maybe, it was the crucifix still hanging on one of the deteriorating walls. The paint on the wooden figure had chipped away, except for the unnatural blue eyes staring down at Claire and silently condemning her to Hell. Well, guess what, she silently voiced, I’m already there.
“Come on, sun, you can’t hold on forever.”
Claire snapped out of her thoughts and turned her attention to Deacon. He was standing in the front doorway of the church with his back toward her, snuffing out a cigarette with his high top. She walked through the aisle between the pews and stood beside him. From the tilt of his head, she guessed he was watching the sky change colors.
The crescent moon hanged above the ebbing glow of the setting sun. A thinning strip of pink sky disappeared underneath the black-blue curtain of nightfall. Pinpoints of light were gradually shining into view. Soon, Old Man Stockton would arrive with the synth Claire and Deacon were supposed to help escort to a nearby safehouse. That had to score her points with the fake, blue-eyed Jesus.
“Deacon, do you believe in God?”
The corner of Deacon’s mouth curled slightly. “Are you asking because of my codename or because of our surroundings?”
“Your codename?” Claire furrowed her brow until her brain made the obvious connection. “Oh… Oh!” Her eyes widen and she lightly smacked Deacon on the arm. “Oh my God, I just got that.”
Deacon’s soft chuckle filled the building. “Good Irish guy like me, of course I believe in God. Spent my formative years as an altar boy, until our priest asked if I could stay behind one afternoon. I knew what that was code for. Ran home as fast as my bony legs could handle.”
The statement was said so matter-of-factly. Deacon feigned indignation. “Are you suggesting I’m not Irish? How dare you. Under these clothes, my skin is paler than yours.”
Claire snorted and gazed up at the sky once more. “If I count HQ, this is the most time I’ve spent in church since I was sixteen.”
The smirk began to fade from Deacon’s lips. “Honestly? I don’t like church either.” He reached into his coat pocket and took out the crumpled pack of Grey Tortoise cigarettes and a tarnished flip lighter. He opened and closed the lighter several times with his thumb and index finger, before he finally lit a bent cigarette and finished his answer.
“I don’t believe in that God.” He pointed over his shoulder, hinting he had notice Claire glancing at the crucifix. “Not sure I believe in any god. Maybe. Probably not. I don’t know. But if God exists, I don’t think he loves us as much as we thought he did.”
