THE KID: Only pity for her, the Beast. Only pity. Once she ate a lizard. She looks behind often, believes she’s being followed, does not believe it. She carries the rifle sometimes across her lap sidesaddle from her injuries. Her face is yellow from bruising. She feels my presence perfectly yet does not believe in me. This is her great flaw.

THE CAMERA: Almost funny, when you think about it.

THE KID: She limps! She slides off the cob sometimes and pulls her pants down, cools her privates with a sleeve of her stolen flannel. She wrings the sleeve out, re-dips, presses the sleeve to her face, ties the shirt around her waist again. She weighs more than the Kid, but not by much! He would beat her hand to hand. She quarters the lizards, cross saws the abdomens then between the eyes, slits up the tails, a difficult cut on so small a body. I find a variety of weapons in their camp. Knives, shells, and flares, other things I need. She sets the quarter with the front right leg on her tongue in my spyglass. She sucks it. The tiny toes slip out her monster lips.

THE CAMERA: Spyglass?

THE KID: I have one, a toy. A trunk in the loft by an old car under a canvas tarp.

THE CAMERA: How’d they get a car up there?

THE KID: Don’t change the subject.

THE CAMERA: (blushes)

THE KID: I’m cold. I told you. The going is hard. You savvy?

THE CAMERA: What are you doing for food?

THE KID: Oh, there’s plenty of food.

Once the Kid stalks a deer and kills it, knocks it out with a rock, then strangles it. His arm is still stiff from the wound but functional. The deer drags him first through a lake, over a log, over a pit of lava boiling, up a snow slide. He loves his life. He eats part of the animal, heart, liver, drags the carcass to the creek, sets a stone in the slit of the stomach, sinks the deer to keep himself secret. The deer’s head nods up as the current takes it. The rock was not sufficient. An honest error. The legs kick. Blood trails behind.