She faced him. "I'm sorry for my outburst. I... it's just..." She seemed to lose her train of thought, as if something had distracted her. "Anyway, thank you for the help."
"You saved my life, young lady. It's me who should be thanking."
She was staring at him. "You're Rabbi Wolpin, aren't you."
Shock stole his voice for a few heartbeats. She knew him?
"Why ... yes. But I don't recognize ..."
She laughed. A bitter sound. "Please, God, I hope not."
He could see her now. Nothing familiar about her features, no particular style to her short dark hair. He noticed a tiny crescent scar on the right side of her chin. Heavy on the eye makeup—very heavy. A tight red sweater and even tighter short black skirt hid little of her slim body. And were those fishnet stockings?
A prostitute? In these times? Such a thing he never would have dreamed. But then he remembered hearing of women selling themselves to get food and favors.
"So, you know me how?"
She shrugged. "I used to see you with Father Cahill."
"Joe Cahill," Zev said, feeling a burst of warmth at the mention of his friend's name. "I was just over at his church. I saw ..." The words choked off.
"I know. I've—" She waved her hand before her face. "She's starting to stink already. Must be an older one."
Zev looked down and saw that the creature was already in an advanced state of rot.
"We'd better get out of here," the woman said, backing away. "They seem to know when one of their kind dies. Get your bike and meet me by the tree."
Zev continued to stare at the corpse. "Are they always so hard to kill?"
"I don't think the branch went all the way through the heart at first."
"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."
"Like you?"
"I'm different," she said, the fervor slipping from her voice. "I never lost the will to fight. But my circumstances are special."
"How?"
"It's not important. I'm not important. But Father Joe is. Find him, Rabbi Wolpin. Don't put it off. Find him tomorrow and tell him. When he hears what they've done to his church he'll come back and teach them a lesson they'll never forget!"
Zev didn't know about that, but it would be good to see his young friend again. Searching him out would be a mitzvah for St. Anthony's, but might be good for Zev as well. It might offer some shape to his life ... a life that had devolved to mere existence, an endless, mind-numbing round of searching for food and shelter while avoiding the creatures by night and the human slime who did their bidding during the day.
All right," Zev said. "I'll try to find him. I won't promise to bring him back, because such a decision will not be mine to make. But I promise to look for him."
"Tomorrow?"
"First light. And who should I say sent me?"
The woman turned away and shook her head. "No one."
"You won't tell me your name?"
"It's not important."
"But you seem to know him."
"Once, yes." Her voice grew thick. "But he wouldn't recognize me now."
"You can be so sure?"
She nodded. "I've fallen too far away. There's no coming back for me, I'm afraid."
She'd been through something terrible, this one. So had everyone who was still alive, including Zev, but her experience, whatever it was, had made her a little meshugeh. More than a little, maybe.
She started walking away, looking almost silly dragging that little red wagon behind her.