I hear the shot at the same time the bullet tunnels through me above my right hip, spinning me around so I drop to the rocks. The pain is like a white-hot rod of iron through my side. I gasp at the enormity of it. Dimly I’m aware that my knife is gone and Finn is nowhere to be seen. I’m lying on my back, hand pressed to the wound to stanch the bleeding, when I hear boots on stone. I turn my head to see a tall bearded man in camo approaching. He’s carrying a rifle, looks like a Ruger with a short barrel.

“You must be Julius,” I say. “You’re uglier than I thought.” The words sound far away. Cold sweat covers my face. It’s the blood loss. I’ll slip into shock soon enough if I don’t get this hole in my side bandaged.

This is all rendered moot by Verne looking down at me from just feet away and raising the rifle to his shoulder, aiming at my face. I lift my bloody hand and manage to flip him off.

A whirring sound like a miniature buzzsaw causes Verne to turn just in time for the quadcopter drone to crash into his face. The rotors slice his cheeks and nose and forehead, then his fingers as he screams and raises his hands to protect his face. Blood sprays the air, dark against the fog. Verne stumbles backward and trips right over me, planting one foot on my thigh. He drops his rifle, which starts sliding down the slope, and I grab it by its sling. Verne falls and there’s a heavy thock as his head hits the granite. Then he’s sliding headfirst down the slope, gaining velocity even as he scrabbles for purchase, his eyes wide and desperate. I turn to see him slip over the lip of the rock and vanish.

I get to my knees and put both hands over the holes in my side. The holes are small but blood is still flowing from them slowly, dripping onto the rock. I look around to call for help, but all I see is the drone lying on the ground, rotors twisted and the body cracked.

There are running footsteps and a shape approaches out of the fog, and I pick up the rifle, but it’s Caesar. I lay the rifle back down, exhausted. A nap sounds like a good idea right now. When Caesar reaches me he drops to his hands and knees. “I got you,” he says. “I got you.”

“Shock,” I say to Caesar, my lips thick and rubbery.

Caesar slaps me, twice, not gently. Anger flares up, as does consciousness. “Thanks,” I manage to say.