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moving. She embraced the rage.
                 Carole
hurtled down the stairs and burst onto the moonlit lawn—
                 And
stopped, disoriented for an instant. She didn't see Bern . Where was she? Where was her attacker?
                 And
then she saw a patch of writhing shadow on the grass ahead of her near one of
the shrubs.
                 Bernadette?
                 Clutching
the crucifix, Carole ran for the spot, and as she neared she realized it was
indeed Bernadette, sprawled face down, but not alone. Another shadow sat
astride her, hissing like a reptile, gnashing its teeth, its fingers curved
into talons that tugged at Bernadette's head as if trying to tear it off.
                 Carole
reacted without thinking. Screaming, she launched herself at the creature,
ramming the big crucifix against its exposed back. Light flashed and sizzled
and thick black smoke shot upward in oily swirls from where cross met flesh.
The thing arched its back and howled, writhing beneath the cruciform brand,
thrashing wildly as it tried to wriggle out from under the fiery weight.
                 But
Carole stayed with it, following its slithering crawl on her knees, pressing
the flashing cross deeper and deeper into its steaming, boiling flesh, down to
the spine, into the vertebrae. Its cries became almost piteous as it weakened,
and Carole gagged on the thick black smoke that fumed around her, but her rage
would not allow her to slack off. She kept up the pressure, pushed the wooden
crucifix deeper and deeper in the creature's back until it penetrated the chest
cavity and seared into its heart. Suddenly the thing gagged and shuddered and
then was still.
                 The
flashes faded. The final wisps of smoke trailed away on the breeze.
                 Carole
abruptly released the shaft of the crucifix as if it had shocked her. She ran
back to Bernadette, dropped to her knees beside the still form, and turned her
over onto her back.
                 "Oh,
no!" she screamed when she saw Bernadette's torn throat, her wide, glazed,
sightless eyes, and the blood, so much blood smeared all over the front of her.
                 Oh
no. Oh, dear God, please no! This can't be! This can't be real!
                 A
sob burst from her. "No, Bern ! Nooooo!"
                 Somewhere
nearby, a dog howled in answer.
                 Or
was it a dog?
                 Carole
realized she was defenseless now. She had to get back to the convent. She
leaped to her feet and looked around. Nothing moving. A dozen feet away she saw
the crucifix still buried in the dead thing.
                 She
hurried over to retrieve it, but recoiled from touching the creature. She could
see now that it was a man—a naked man, or something that very much resembled
one. But not quite. Some indefinable quality was missing.
                 Was
it one of them}
                 This
must be one of the undead Rosita had warned about. But could this.. . this
thing ... be a vampire? It had acted like little more than a rabid dog in human
form.
                 Whatever
it was, it had mauled and murdered Bernadette. Rage bloomed again within Carole
like a virulent, rampant virus, spreading through her bloodstream, invading her
nervous system, threatening to take over. She fought the urge to batter the
corpse.
                 She
choked back the bile rising in her throat and stared at the inert form prone
before her. This once had been a man, someone with a family, perhaps. Surely he
hadn't asked to become this vicious night thing.
                 "Whoever
you were," Carole whispered, "you're free now. Free to return to
God."
                 She
gripped the shaft of the crucifix to remove it but found it fixed in the seared
flesh like a steel rod set in concrete.