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“Stay put!” Canidy called back. “And stay down!”

Canidy felt a solid tap on his shoulder.

“Here,” Fuller said, holding out the penlight.

“Shine it on him,” Canidy said, “or whatever it is on the trail.”

A moment later, a thin beam of yellow light appeared. It illuminated a tiny spot of shrubs across the path, then found the dirt path and meandered up it. The beam passed countless sun-bleached stones, then one large, dark rock —Christ, that one alone could have tripped me, Canidy thought—then finally found one of the man’s legs, then the other. His pants were filthy.

Canidy thought, Finally, we find someone…and he’s damn near dead.

The yellow beam danced its way up the leg, reached the buttocks, then continued up to the untucked shirttail. From what they had seen so far, the body was short and stout.

“Hit the face,” Canidy whispered.

The yellow beam immediately went farther up—too far—first into the shrubs, then backtracked till it found the head.

The man’s face was turned away from Canidy and Fuller, looking toward where Nola was laying low. The man appeared to be older, maybe in his fifties, with wavy white hair.

I can’t see any signs of skin lesions, Canidy thought, no real evidence of gas poisoning.

Maybe he was farther away during the explosion, and what poison reached him is just now showing its signs.

“Check his hands,” Canidy said.

It took Fuller a moment to locate them individually. The man was splayed out, his arms awkwardly pointed in opposite directions, and Fuller had had to start with each shoulder and work the beam out from there, following each arm until he reached the hand.

No lesions on the skin of his hands, either, Canidy thought.

He said, “No weapons. Put the beam back on his head and hold it there.”

Fuller did.

Canidy then stood up from his crouch and, with his pistol aimed squarely between the man’s shoulder blades, carefully moved toward him. The man made no move whatsoever.

When Canidy reached him, he used the toe of his right shoe to nudge the man’s hip.

The man groaned but otherwise didn’t move.

Canidy stepped to the other side, trying to get a look at the man’s face.

“C’mere,” Canidy called impatiently to Fuller.

Fuller came running with the penlight.

“Hit his face with that beam.”

When Fuller did, Canidy said, disgustedly, “Oh, for christsake!”

“Is he dying?” Nola said, approaching slowly.

Canidy looked at Nola and said, “What happened up there?”

“The mice,” Nola said, disappointment in his tone, “they got out of the box when it fell. The lid opened. I am sorry.”

You mean when you fell and you dropped the box? Canidy thought.

So we’re down to two mice? No backups?