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, pushing 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-pushing 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.

As Jonas went limp, Eleazar's voice rang out over the stunned crowd. "I warned you that this might happen. I will sedate them all now, to prevent further injury.They are confused and will act most unlike themselves for a day or two. But all is well. Your children are returned to you and all is well."

Preacher stepped forward, but before his boot even touched down, Dobbs was there, moving unbelievably fast for a man of his size. He planted himself in front of Preacher.

"You don't belong here, Benjamin," he said.

"I know-"

Dobbs stepped forward. "I said you don't belong here." He lowered his voice. "I would suggest you run on home, preacher boy. Back to your wild brat and your pretty wife.You ought not to leave your family alone."

Preacher looked up into the man's eyes and his gut chilled. There was nothing there. No compa.s.sion. No compunction. Perhaps there had been, when he'd undertaken his task, but now that it was done, Dobbs had severed any part of himself that might have felt guilt. He'd done right, and if Preacher dared suggest otherwise . . .

"He's right," another voice said. It was Mayor Browning, moving up beside Dobbs. "Go home, Benjamin. You aren't wanted here."

"But, Preacher," someone said. It was Maybelle, pushing through the crowd. "What do you think of this? Can you speak to us about it?"

"No," Browning said. "He cannot. This isn't your preacher. It's a false man of G.o.d, one who would deny this miracle, who would tell you it's wrong, sinful."

Behind Browning, Eleazar stood watching, lips moving, and that chill suffused Preacher's entire body.

It is as if he is putting words in their mouths. As if they are puppets to his will.

"This preacher would take back our children," Browning said. "Steal them from us again."

Preacher started to argue, to say that was not it at all, but there seemed to come a growl from the crowd, and when he looked about, he felt as if he were surrounded by wolves, scenting a threat in the air-a threat to their young and to themselves. He saw that and knew what he must do.The only choice he had.

He closed his mouth, backed away from the crowd, and raced home.

Addie Addie was arguing with Sophia when they heard Preacher coming up the steps. Sophia wanted to go out, to see what was happening. Addie had to block the door to keep her in.

"You ought not to see," Addie was saying. "Preacher doesn't want it."

"I'm not a child, Adeline-"

"But you are with child.You cannot be upset.You might lose the babe."

That had stopped her, as Addie knew it would.Then Preacher's footsteps clattered up the steps, and he threw open the door and said, "Pack your things.You're leaving. Now."