This was the most people that had ever been to Saint Catherine's Church. Morgan saw at least five hundred bodies crammed into a space that was only supposed to hold two hundred, or maybe even less.
The air was thick and hot, and it made it hard to breathe, like when many people are scared and desperate and breathing the same air. There were people standing in every aisle, every pew, and every corner because they had nowhere else to go.
The bright white light from above made everything look washed out and ghostly, including the faces around him. Morgan could smell sweat, blood, and something else underneath it all. It was something that reminded him of the infection wards from his past life.
As they pushed through the crowd near the entrance, Claire pressed close to his side. He could feel how tense she was when her shoulder bumped against his.
She hadn't said much since they left the intersection where he killed the last transformed. She just followed him through the darkening streets with her arms around herself like she was trying to hold something in.
"There are so many people," she said in a voice that was barely heard over the sound of hundreds of conversations going on at once. "Where did all of them come from?"
Morgan said, "Everywhere." As a matter of habit, he looked at the crowd and made a mental list of exits and possible threats. "People always go to church when they don't know what's going on."
"They want someone to explain why it happened."
Next to them, a woman was quietly crying with her face in her hands. The man next to her rubbed her back in a mechanical, useless way.
Morgan recognized the empty eyes of a teenage girl three rows ahead from a thousand refugees in his past life. Trauma had a certain look, with a kind of emptiness that came over the person when their mind couldn't process what they had seen.
Morgan got his first clear look at the altar when someone near the front of the crowd stood up. Murphy stood there in his white robes with his hands raised in a way that could have been a blessing or a command. Morgan could see how his father held the room's attention, how every face turned toward him like flowers following the sun, even from this distance.
Murphy said, "Ladies and gentlemen... let us pray for today's blessing," and his voice carried perfectly through the room without a microphone.
It was strange how quickly the crowd went quiet, with hundreds of people stopping breathing to listen. "Let's thank God for keeping us alive and for showing us our purpose today."
Morgan felt Claire lean forward a little because Murphy's voice caught her attention. And he didn't like that for a single bit because his father's charisma slowly gets to her.
He didn't like how easily his father could take charge of a room and how naturally people reacted to him. It was the same gift that would make an army of fanatics in the original timeline and the same charm that would make normal people do terrible things in the name of faith.
Murphy put his hands together in front of his chest and bowed his head. Morgan knew better than to believe the gesture was humble.
His father orchestrated every action, aiming to evoke specific emotions in him. "We saw something horrible and beautiful today."
"We saw our brothers and sisters change and rise to a higher level of existence."
"We saw God separate the wheat from the chaff, picking who would change and who would stay the same."
There was a murmur in the crowd that wasn't quite agreement but also wasn't rejection. People were listening, taking in what Murphy said, and trying to make sense of it in light of their trauma.
Morgan's jaw clenched. His father was already changing the way he thought about the outbreak, making it seem like a divine and meaningful event.
"But why did we live?" Murphy's voice got a little louder, showing both sadness and amazement. "Why did we get to live when so many others died?"
"The answer, my children, is both simple and deep. We made it through because we had a reason to."
"We lived because God has work for us to do."
The woman who had been crying stopped and looked up at Murphy with red, puffy eyes. The girl with the empty stare blinked and looked at the altar for the first time.
Morgan saw how his father's words hit their mark, turning sadness and confusion into something more dangerous. Hope based on trauma was unstable, explosive, and easy for Murphy to aim at any target he wanted.
Murphy's voice grew stronger and more certain as he said, "Those who have changed have moved on."
"They have changed into something bigger, something more like God."
"But we, the ones who lived, have been given a different gift."
"We have been chosen to see, to understand, and to spread the word about this new age."
Morgan was feeling troubled. Every word was poison wrapped in comfort, and every phrase was meant to turn a victim into a missionary.
He had heard different versions of this sermon in his previous life. He watched as Murphy worked on his message for months and years until it became an unbreakable doctrine.
But seeing it at the source, watching his father plant these seeds in new soil, worsened it in some way. Claire's hand found his arm, and her fingers wrapped around his sleeve.
He thought that when he looked at her, she would be disgusted or scared. Her face, on the other hand, looked thoughtful, as if she were thinking. She was paying too much attention to what Murphy said and how he said it until Morgan's stomach dropped.
Murphy said, "We can't let fear and grief waste our survival," and he spread his arms wide to show how he felt. "We must accept the purpose that has been given to us."
"We need to be the building blocks of a new, better world based on faith and understanding instead of sin and ignorance."
The churchgoers shouted their agreement, making it sound like the whole crowd agreed. Someone said "Amen," and others repeated it. The word spread like ripples on water until it became a chorus.
Morgan saw the change happen in real time. He saw how Murphy's words changed a room full of traumatized survivors into something else entirely.
Murphy let the amens go on for a while before putting his hand up to ask for silence. The crowd obeyed right away, stopping in the middle of a word. "We start that work tonight."
"Tonight, I announce the formation of a council made up of twelve people who have proven themselves to be able to lead us through these tough times."
"Chosen by faith and proven by survival as the Chosen Councils!"