Best New Zombie Tales Trilogy (93 page)

“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.

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 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.

“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.”

“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 your 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.

~

“Wake up, Sister Holly. Time to rise and shine!”

Something wet and cool splashed against her face, and Holly sputtered. She tried to blink the liquid––she hoped it was only water––from her eyes. She tried to wipe her face off, but her arms wouldn’t budge. An instant later, she awoke enough to feel the ropes cutting into her wrists.

Toby had tricked her. She’d let down her guard for a single moment and the bastard had gotten the drop on her. Now she was trapped in an isolated church in a world where nobody would hear her scream for help.

Helluva a mind you got there, Holly. You’re a step ahead of everybody, a real thinker.

She let the thought die and concentrated on her current problem. She was tied to a chair, and Toby stood over her. He grinned down at her, his face smug and frightening at the same time. A gleam that could only be considered malevolent blazed in his eyes.

She couldn’t see much of the church. It was too dark, and Toby stood too close. She guessed she was at the front, near the altar, or whatever you called it. She could catch a glimpse of sunlight filtering through the stained glass windows, bursting through in solid rays where the glass was broken. That clinging aroma of death and rot filled the room, and she could make out the rattling of chains somewhere beneath the ringing in her ears.

The pews were full of the dead, their rotting bodies writhing and shaking. There were men and women, adults and children. They wore clothes of every type: suits and sundresses and t-shirts and shorts. Some had been dead longer than others––their flesh hung from bones in dried strands and clumps––while others were fresh, their skin moist while it decayed.

A leather collar wrapped around the neck of each, a chain securing them to the pew. Their arms had been removed, the stumps raw and black and running. They hissed through their teeth, snapped their jaws, straining against their binds. The pews were heavy, though, made of sturdy wood, and they never even budged as the dead fought their trappings.