She returned to Zev, stopped on the other side of the broken branch, and patted the front of his shirt. She pulled him close and whispered in his ear.

"Your cross—tuck it away."

"No! It will—"

"Do as I say. They can see in the dark. And try to look frightened."

Try? Who had to try?

She put an arm around him to hold him close, keeping the branch between them.

Another whisper: "Pull out that cross when I tell you."

Zev had no idea what she was up to but had nowhere else to turn, so . . .

Her grip on him tightened. "Here it comes. Ready ..."

Zev could see it now, a dark splotch among the shadows of the branches, wings spread, gliding in low, arms stretched out before it.

". . . ready . . ."

Suddenly it folded its wings and shot at them like a missile.

"Now!"

As Zev pulled out the cross he felt the woman shove him away. He lost his balance and tumbled back, saw her fall in the other direction, felt a clawed hand grip his shoulder, heard the creature's screech of triumph rise into a wail of shock and agony as it slammed against the trunk of the tree.

Zev regained his feet amid the frantic and furious struggling of the hissing creature. Its charging attack had opened a passage through the branches, lightening the shadows. As he ducked its thrashing wings he realized it had impaled itself on the broken branch. It flopped back and forth like a speared fish, then pushed away from the trunk, trying to dislodge itself from the wood that had pierced its chest.

Zev turned to run. Now was his chance to get away from this thing. But what of the woman? He couldn't abandon her.

He spotted her standing behind the creature. She'd hiked up her already short skirt and kicked at the thing's back, shoving it further onto the branch. The creature howled and thrashed, and in its struggles broke the branch off the trunk with a gunshot crack.