Flash Fiction: Weaponized Christ

"Leroy!"
Stirring, muffled movements, light, motion blur.
"Leroy! Get the fuck up man!"
The visions coalesce, from warped and twisted to the recognizable, that is, recognizably ruined visage of Donald. They jump up.
"Holy fuck, Don, what the Hell happened?"
"No time, go!"
Don's red-stained hand claws along Leroy's bare shoulder, the pressure is unsteady and stumbling. He follows the lead anyway and passes up the scant five steps into cacophony. Loud. Hell itself has vomited onto their basement homestead.
"This way!"
They trace the chill stone remnants of their domicile, turn one corner, then another, and dart across open space like roaches across a newly lit kitchen. The air itself is aflame around them as they pass through a portal to their salvation. A church? The irony is lost on them.
Among the chatter and spit, they hear someone calling, "They ducked into the Church, you two, follow them."
They huddle between scorched oaken pews.
"Here they are!"
"Stand up, faggots!
"Hands on your head!"
Hell-fire shoots forth and two more souls are raptured.