Part 18 (1/2)

Preacher heard the weeping before he saw the town ahead.Wailing and sobbing and crying out to G.o.d. That's what he heard, and he ran as he hadn't since he was a boy. Ran so fast he could no longer hear anything but the crash of sound, like the ocean's surf, rising and falling.

From the end of the main road he could see the crowd. The entire village it seemed, gathered down at the hall, the ma.s.s of them blocking the road. People sobbing. People on their knees. People standing in stunned silence.

He looked back for Addie, but she was right there. ”Go to Sophia!” he said.

She hesitated, but she seemed to see the fear in his eyes,

nodded, and veered off in the direction of the house. Preacher kept running.When he reached the crowd, he prepared himself for what he might see.The horrors that could cause such wailing.

On a normal day, if the villagers saw him coming, they'd make way. He was the preacher. But now, even when he nudged through, they resisted, pus.h.i.+ng him back until he had to shove past, as if he were at a c.o.c.kfight, jostling for a better view.

Finally, the villagers seemed to see him, to recognize him. Or they simply realized he would not be held back. The crowd parted.There, at the front, he saw . . .

Children. All six of them. Sitting up in their coffins, looking about, as if confused, their parents grabbing them up, hugging them, wailing.

Now that the thunder in his ears had died down, he realized what he was hearing. Sobs and wails of joy. Praising G.o.d.Thanking G.o.d.

He looked at those six children and those six families, and there was a moment when he wanted to fall to his knees with the others.To say, This is a miracle.To accept it as a miracle.

Then he remembered the body in the woods.Timothy James, lying in the dirt, covered in blood, staring at the sky.

Six children alive. Six people dead.

Dear G.o.d, who else did they take? Who else did they murder?

He reeled, stomach clenching, gaze swinging to Dobbs, embracing his child, his big body shaking with joy. Preacher glanced down, about to back away. Then he saw the blood on Dobbs's boot.Timothy James's blood on his boot.Timothy James's murder on his hands.

”What's going on?” a voice cried.

Everyone went still.The voice asked again, and it was a high voice, a reedy voice. A child. Preacher turned to see one of the resurrected-six-year-old Jonas Meek-pus.h.i.+ng his mother away as his gaze swung over the crowd.

”Who the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l are all of you?” the boy asked.

Eleazar leaped forward as the crowd gasped and the boy's mother fell back, crossing herself. Jonas began to push up from his coffin, his face fixed in a snarl as he said something Preacher didn't catch.

”Restrain him!” Eleazar said. ”Quickly!”

Two men leaped in to do it as Eleazar strode forward, cloth in hand. He pressed it to the boy's face, ignoring his struggles. Preacher caught a whiff of something vaguely familiar from his college science cla.s.ses. Chloroform.