by Anthology
She growled to herself, trying to push the thought out of her brain. She didn’t want to think about the bus anymore, about the wreck or the screams or the dead surging through the windows and doors or how she could only––
STOP IT!
Shrieking with rage, she fell to her knees and pounded both fists into the gravel. She hissed as the rocks bit into the flesh of her hands. She punished the ground again, crying out, and felt the warmth of her own blood as it trickled down her wrists. She cursed herself. The dead could smell blood, or at least she was pretty sure they could. She’d have to move faster now. If any were in the area they’d have no trouble locating her.
She pushed herself to her feet and continued along the gravel road. Her hair fell in her eyes and she brushed it back with her fingertips. It was getting long again. She’d kept it so short over the last twenty months, ever since Blake had failed to return from Rundberg and she’d decided to take a more active roll in Millwood’s welfare. The shorter hair had helped keep the others off balance, see her as something other than John Manton’s daughter, who used to work the counter at the Dairy Barn. The short hair had helped them see her as a leader, somebody to listen to. She had kept it short right up until things started to get bad, until the pressure began to weigh on her as she had to think first of the town’s defense and then of escape. Now it was long enough to cling to her face and chin. Had it been months? Had it really been so long?
She wondered if it was really June. Had her people paid close attention to the days? The weather had been rainy recently, and that made her think she was in the ballpark, that she was deep in the middle of June, but she could only guess at the actual date. Eighteenth? Nineteenth? She didn’t know.
She pushed herself to her feet and began to walk again.
A breeze fluttered down the road, cooling her dirt-smeared and sweat-soaked skin. She began to breathe deep, a reflex, but caught herself. She didn’t like to breathe too deeply anymore, not since the dead had returned. Now, the air always carried a stench along with it, a smell like roadkill or a pig farm, just underneath the natural scents of the world. Holly could only imagine what the larger cities might smell like. She’d met a few people who’d made it out of Cincinnati, and they’d said the odor of rot had been unbearable, even in those early days.
She looked to the sun as it rose to her left, determining which direction was east. She figured she was east of Highway 421. Soon, she could turn right and head into the forest. If she was correct, and that was a big if, she would reach 421 where it ran alongside the Jefferson Proving Ground. The military base, a former testing area for bombs and other weapons, would be fortified. It had been their original destination when they’d made their escape from Millwood. The proving ground was huge, surrounded on all sides with a razor wire-topped fence and armed to the teeth. If any place had withstood the rise of the dead, it was Jefferson. And even if it had fallen, maybe she could find a weapon, something she could defend herself with until she found a more permanent shelter.
Or maybe she’d just lower her arms and walk into the dead, give herself up and end the whole stupid thing.
Maybe that would be better.
Holly wiped the blood from her hands onto her jeans, and listened to the shuffle and crunch of her boots over the gravel. The rhythm, slow and rumbling, did little to comfort her, but it took her mind off of other things. She listened to her own footsteps so closely, so intently, that she didn’t hear the piano until the trees fell away to her right and she saw the church.
The structure was old, but then again, most of the buildings in this part of the state were. The white paint of its clapboard sides had faded to a dull gray, the wood beneath was peeking through in more than one place. Its shingles still held on, but there was a sense of desperation to their grip, as if the next puff of breeze might strip the entire roof bare.
A single sign, built of sturdy wood, stood by the roadside. Holly could still make out the words Fellowship Baptist Church, but they had been painted over with a single coat of white. On top of this, the words––
NEW WORLD MINISTRY
––had been written in uneven letters with blue spray-paint. Holly came to a halt, considering the words for a moment, and an uneasy fluttering passed through her belly. She couldn’t quite understand it, but something about the words frightened her the slightest bit.
“How ya doin’?”
She jumped at the masculine voice, her breath catching in her chest and her hands drawing up defensively. She hadn’t heard human speech in well over twenty-four hours, so the words, despite their friendly tone, startled her. Her eyes darted to the church, standing alone in the middle of the field with only an empty blacktop lot to keep it company. An upright piano sat on a small porch that surrounded the church’s main entrance. A man in a white dress shirt and a green ball-cap sat behind the keys, banging out hymns. He looked back at her as he played, and Holly could only assume this was the man who had greeted her.
As if to answer her suspicions, the man called out, “You okay?”
Holly nodded. It never occurred to her that the man might not be able to make out her weak movements.
“You gonna stand there all day?” the man asked. “Once that sun gets all the way up, it’s gonna get pretty hot. Muggy, too. The rain we been getting lately’s wreaking havoc on the weather, but I guess I don’t need to tell you that. Come on over and rest your bones a second!”
Holly smiled at the invitation. She could use a rest, no doubt about that. Her legs and feet practically begged for one. A sudden wave of exhaustion, more powerful than she was prepared for, rolled over her, and she knew she needed to sit down for a while.
She let out a long sigh and left the road, shuffling across the grass toward the old, gray structure. The man continued his recital, the hymns taking on a more regal, buoyant quality, and Holly almost smiled as she realized he was giving her some marching music, announcing her arrival. Her trek across the field seemed to take forever, the grass cushioning her stride but slowing her pace. She glanced at the church and wondered if it was really getting closer, almost afraid to believe so until she finally placed her hand on the banister that ran alongside the four steps that led up to the porch and entrance.
“Good morning!” the man behind the piano called. His voice seemed to bounce alongside the chords he played.
“Hi,” Holly managed. Her voice seemed little more than a croak compared to the piano player’s.
“Come to rest your weary bones? Come to make peace with the Lord in these times of never-ending trouble? You have come to the right place, my friend. You have come to the right place.”
He changed chords and began to sing, his voice deep and resonating.
“Then sings my soul, my Savior, God, to thee. How great thou art. How great thou art!”
Holly eyed the man as he rocked back on the piano bench, his fingers shuddering over the keys and his eyes drawing closed even as his jaw dropped open to deliver his voice. His face was rugged but handsome, the skin tanned and rough, his jaw freshly shaven. His dress shirt shined in the early morning light, the cleanest thing she’d seen in well over a year. His hat displayed the John Deer logo with pride, though it was a bit more weathered than the shirt. A pair of light blue corduroys and some old loafers completed the outfit, conveying an image of trustworthiness despite its simple origins.
He hunched over the keys again, making the chords shiver, and Holly lowered her face into her hands, thankful for the opportunity to rest.
“Oh Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder…”
Though she could probably do without the singing. She wasn’t so sure she believed in God anymore, not after what he had let happen to the world. Still, she couldn’t deny that some people, in times of crisis, felt better with a little religion in their lives. If it helped them, where was the harm? Why should she give a damn?
Besides, the guy at the piano had a pretty good voice. He was no Elvis, but he wasn’t half-bad.
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She looked up at him, but he was bent low over the keys, his eyes squeezed shut and his face drawn in a long expression of emotion––something between joy and sorrow––as he sang. She decided to let him finish. There were worse ways to spend the time.
The man’s voice rolled through the hymn, swelling with each chorus and falling to a reverent hush with each verse. He finished with a prolonged note, his vibrato perfect, and the piano fell still, ringing out one final note before leaving the church and the clearing in silence.
Holly opened her eyes at the sudden absence of sound, realizing for the first time just how loud the man and his song had been. Wasn’t he afraid of the dead hearing him? That kind of racket could probably draw the walkers from more than a mile in any direction.
Maybe the dead had left the area, decided to head toward someplace more urban.
Or maybe this asshole didn’t have a single goddamn lick of sense.
The man spun around on his bench, swinging his legs behind him. He stuck out his hand, his lips spreading into a wide, jubilant smile.
“Hi there! Name’s Toby. Brother Toby, I guess. It’s a great pleasure to see somebody come along this Sunday.”
Holly reached up, took the man’s hand. She was amazed at how soft the skin of his palm and fingers felt. It didn’t seem to match his rough appearance.
“Is it Sunday?” she asked. She really didn’t know.
“To the best of my knowledge. It’s not like the TV Guide shows up every Monday anymore. I just marked the days off on an old calendar. Once we reached a year, I started marking ‘em again. This isn’t a leap year, is it? That would’ve thrown me off.”
Holly shook her head, a little dumbfounded by the man’s rapid speech.
“That’s great! I’ve been worried about that for months. Don’t want to go calling to worship on a Saturday, right? It’s not like we’re Catholics here.”
She shook her head again. Her mouth tried to form words, but only a light click escaped her lips.
Brother Toby dropped her hand, and it fell back into her lap. She hadn’t even realized they were still shaking. Something about Toby confused her, seemed to sap her intelligence and will. Maybe it was his rapid and boisterous method of speech. Maybe it was that smile that seemed to grow wider and wider with each passing moment.
Maybe she had just grown paranoid over the past year. Billy Hudson’s assassination attempt would have had that effect on anybody. It was possible that there were still good people in the world. Hell, until a few minutes ago, she hadn’t been sure there were people of any kind left.
She took a deep breath and decided to give Toby the benefit of the doubt. At least he was still alive.
“So, sister. What should I call you?”
She blinked, hoping she hadn’t been silent so long it was noticeable. Time had been slipping away for her so much over the past few months, and she’d spent the last day or so wondering if she’d ever have a conversation with anyone other than herself again.
“Holly,” she said, and she gave him something she hoped looked like a smile.
“Sister Holly! It is a real pleasure.”
“Please, Holly is fine. I was never anybody’s sister.”
Toby shrugged. “We’re all brothers and sister to one degree or another. The Lord says so.”
“He does?”
“Sure, he does. It’s right there in the bible.”
Holly wasn’t about to argue with him. She was a lot of things, but a bible scholar had never been one of them. If Toby said it was in there she was willing to take his word for it. It sounded biblical, at least.
She decided to change the subject.
“How long have you been here, Toby?”
A shadow crossed his face. “Since shortly after… well, I’m sure you know. I came from near Friendship.”
“Really? I’m from Millwood.”
“Millwood? That’s marvelous! I’ve been through Millwood a time or two. Nice little place. What brings you my way?”
“Long story. We tried to get out. We didn’t make it. I guess that’s the short version.”
One of Toby’s eyebrows arched upward.
“We?”
“There were others. A busload, as a matter of fact. There was a wreck, though, and the dead got everybody else. I managed to escape and hide in the woods. Later on, I started walking.”
He nodded. His face was a map of concern.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay.” It was a lie, but she didn’t feel like being the brunt of his condolences right now. She just didn’t have the strength.
“So where were you headed? Were you just wandering, like Moses in the desert, or did you have a destination in mind?”
Moses? she thought. The guy was a little over the top. She’d thought the evangelicals and such stayed farther south. Was she going to hear about a plague of frogs next, or did he plan to jump right to the Second Coming?
“I’m headed toward the Jefferson Proving Ground,” she said. “Thought it might be safe there.”
He nodded, then shrugged. “Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Jefferson’s a ways off, and I’m afraid I just can’t tell you one way or the other.”
She’d figured as much. The lines of communication had unraveled since the dead had risen. Even Millwood had only received news whenever a fresh crop of refugees arrived, and that hadn’t happened in more than four months.
“Am I headed in the right direction at least?” she asked.
“I think so. You’ll have to cut east eventually, but that shouldn’t be so bad. You’ll hit Route 62 if you keep along this road, and that’ll take you to 421. It might not be the easiest path, though. I’d recommend you stay away.”
“Really?”
“Sure. What place is safer than a house of the Lord?”
Holly fought the urge to roll her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Toby. I’m just not sure I believe that anyplace is safe nowadays.”
“Belief is usually the problem.”
She looked up. Toby’s face had grown solemn, the lines in his dark skin deep and shadowed. He didn’t look angry, though, just sad.
He shook it off.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not trying to freak you out or preach to you, okay? I’m just trying to offer some kind of… I don’t know… stability in this big clusterfuck we’ve got going on now.
“I found this church about a year ago. The preacher and his wife were dead, so I got rid of them and set up shop. I’m not really a holy man or anything. I’m just feeling my way as I go. I pulled the piano out here, and I play every Sunday. Every now and then somebody hears it and wanders along. Most of the time they don’t. I’m just trying to make a difference Sis––Holly, give a little comfort to anybody who might happen by. I don’t mean to creep anybody out.”
Holly stared at the worn wooden steps for a moment, then nodded. “I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to come off like that. It’s just, well, you know what’s happened to the world. We all do, right? We’ve all got to be careful, and I guess I’m trying to be a little more cautious than most. Like I said, I’m sorry.”
Toby dismissed her with a wave. “It’s not a problem. I won’t have you pretend that it is, okay? You stay if you want, or you go along your way when you feel you’re ready. In the meantime, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
The offer made Holly’s throat burn, and she realized she had been without water for at least a day. She tried to swallow, but a scratchy dryness prevented it, and she almost coughed out a few rough notes before she managed to recover.
“You got any water?” she asked, and her voice sounded raspy, like old newspaper tumbling across hot concrete. She rubbed her throat with one hand, wincing at the pain the sentence had caused.
Toby’s fingers leapt from the keyboard. He stood almost as quickly. “Water? Sure! I always keep a few jugs handy. It’s not cold, of course, but it should help you
r thirst a little bit, regardless.”
“Thanks.”
He stepped to the church’s double door and motioned for Holly to stand. “C’mon in, Holly. It’ll do you good to get out of the hot sun, anyway.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Even this early in the morning the heat and humidity seemed to press down on her from all sides. A few minutes inside, where she would at least be in the shade, would probably do wonders.
She grunted and pushed herself to her feet. She dusted her jeans off with her hands. “Sounds good, Toby. Lead the way.”
Toby opened one of the doors wide. He gestured with a flourish. “After you.”
She gave him a playful curtsy. His smiled turned into a chuckle. She laughed, as well, and then she stepped through the door and into the small church.
The smell hit her at once.
The dark church reeked of death. The rotting, clinging smell squeezed the air from every direction, forcing its way past Holly’s nostrils and down her throat. She gagged, bending in half as her stomach fought to expel its meager contents. She bit the urge back, but her body convulsed once, twice, and then she fell to her knees, vomiting all over the church’s carpet.
“Yeah,” Toby said behind her, “I never really got used to the smell either.”
She looked back over her shoulder, straining to see Toby through the darkness and her own tears. She saw his fist cock back and she tried to move, but he was too fast. The hand struck her just behind the ear and she collapsed into unconsciousness.