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.

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.