"Nu? You've done this before?"

Her expression was bleak as she looked at him. "Let's not talk about it."

When Zev wheeled his bike back to the tree he found her standing beside a child's red wagon, an old-fashioned Radio Flyer. A book bag emblazoned with St. Anthony's School lay in the wagon. He hadn't noticed either earlier. She must have had them hidden among the branches.

She said, "You mentioned you were at St. Anthony's. Why?"

"To see if what I'd heard was true." The urge to retch gripped Zev again. "To think that was Father Cahill's church."

"He wasn't the pastor."

"Not in name, maybe, but they were his flock. He was the glue that held them together. Someone should tell him what's going on."

"Oh, yes. That would be wonderful. But nobody knows where he is, or if he's even alive." I do.

Her hand shot out and gripped his arm, squeezing. "He's alive?"

"Yes," Zev said, taken aback by her intensity. "At least I think so."

Her grip tightened. "Where?"

He wondered if he'd made a mistake telling her. He tried not to sound evasive. "A retreat house. Have I been there? No. But it's near the beach, I'm told."

True enough, and he knew the address. After Joe had been moved out of St. Anthony's rectory to the retreat house, he and Zev still shared many phone conversations. At least until the creatures came. Then the phones stopped working and Zev's time became devoted more to survival than to keeping up with old friends.

"You've got to find him! You've got to tell him! He'll come back when he finds out and he'll make them pay!"

"A mensch, he is, I agree, but only one man."

"No! Many of his parishioners are still alive, but they're afraid. They're defeated. But if Father Joe came back, they'd have hope. They'd see that it wasn't over. They'd regain the will to fight."