The next station brought her a fire-and-brimstone politician, rabid, shouting, determined to frighten his listeners into fear of his rivals and into mailing a large check to his own worthy cause. Suddenly his ravings sounded like a foreign language to Joan, like one of the hundreds of voices that were heard at the Tower of Babel, preaching confusion and nonsense.

She felt as if she was going insane.

She switched off the radio and sat there, anxiously drumming her gloved fingers on the steering wheel. She began murmuring under her breath, hardly aware of what she was saying, or even that she was actually praying: 'Our Father who art in heaven,' she whispered, 'hallowed by Thy name, Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done…' Her voice drifted off.

She looked up and down the road again. Still no sign of life.

It was then that she noticed the billboard, although she could have sworn it had not been there a moment before. Old and weatherbeaten, it looked as though it had been standing since the days of Burma Shave roadside poetry. 'Nancy's Place,' it said. 'Good Food at Honest Prices.' And then the most important information of all: '3 Miles.'

Had she been more familiar with the area, she would have known that the section was so totally barren it was more than likely that Nancy's Place no longer existed. But she chose to believe that within a short walking distance was a restaurant where other human beings were eating and talking and laughing.

She desperately wanted to be one of them. She was sure that she would find help at Nancy's Place. But she would have to walk to get there.

She opened the door and got out of the car. It was much colder than it had been earlier. She turned to reach into the back seat of the car for her coat.

It was then she heard the abrupt fluttering sound, followed by a strange scratching on the roof of her car.

She jumped back. There, not two inches from her face, loomed a huge black raven, staring at her with piercing, malevolent eyes.

She screamed and stumbled backward, struggling to keep her balance. The raven followed her with its eyes, much the same way that Damien had, back at the school. She waved her coat at the raven, but the bird remained where it was, large and unmoving.

She kicked the car door shut and backed away, pulling on her coat against the cold, never once taking her eyes off the raven. There was something deeply horrifying about the bird, and Joan was sure she knew what it was.

The bird had been sent by the Devil.

The raven stayed where it was, motionless, implacable, seemingly secure in the knowledge that it could reach her with one single flap of its wings.