“Not in the same place,” Stiles assured him. “Besides, he’s in no condition to give us any trouble. Just stay close to me and you’ll be all right.”

“Nuh uh, no way. I ain’t going nowhere near there. No way.”

“Suit yourself,” the soldier shrugged. Then he turned and walked away.

Bart and Del exchanged looks. Then the older boy grabbed up their bags, pushed one into Del’s hands, seized him by the collar, and started walking him across the garden. “Hey, Rambo,” he called, “Wait up, will ya?”

Stiles slowed enough for them to fall in behind him. The younger boy was silent, obviously terrified. “Just stay close,” Stiles whispered. “You’ll be fine. I promise.”

The boy nodded but said nothing. He just took a good hold on Bart’s back pocket, and Bart in turn grabbed the tail of Stiles’s long coat. “You don’t mind, do you, Rambo?”

The soldier pulled a flashlight from his belt. “What I do mind is that name,” he said softly. “It’s Stiles. Chris if you have to. Screw it up again and you’ll get four C-cells up your ass. Got it?” The teenager managed a feeble grin and said nothing. Stiles flicked on the light, unslung the H & K and towed his charges toward the woods.

A lump started to form in the back of the soldier’s throat as they neared the leafy wall of shadows. It had the familiar bitter taste of fear, and he couldn’t understand its presence. There’s nothing to worry about, he told himself. The vampire is helpless now; it hasn’t any eyes to see with or mouth to bite with or even a knee joint to support it. It’s slithering around out there like a slug in the dirt, more interested in a place to hide than any victims it might crawl across. It’s helpless. But it was no use. All the rationalizing in the world couldn’t ease the tension in his muscles or the knot of apprehension in his gut. Perhaps it was for the better. Being afraid put him back on guard again. It brought back that rush of adrenaline, chased away the fatigue, focused his concentration, sharpened his senses. It also brought back memories. For a minute, it was like old times again, walking point, back in the jungle.

Almost.

“Wait a minute. I heard something.”

“You always hear something, Cap. I’ll tell you, Ram . . . er, Mr. Stiles, you should’ve heard him on the way in here—”

“No, I did hear something. Footsteps. It sounded like footsteps in the leaves.”

The soldier showed no alarm. “I blew its knee off, Del,” he said without turning. “It can’t walk, remember?”

The boy was silent a moment, considering. “It might have healed itself or grew another one or something,” he decided. “You never know about these vampires. They’re dead. They’re all messed up.”