“I’ve been wrestling all day with rather awful thoughts, I have to confess.” Ripley holstered his pistol, finally. “Have you ever wondered whether this all means anything? Were you really meant for this? Or myself?”

Lee was shivering in place. Ripley reached a hand toward his shoulder, and Lee flinched away.

“Duncan,” Ripley said quietly, “I want to say I’m getting a divorce.”

“I’m afraid,” Lee said, “to open my jacket.”

“What? Why?”

“I had one in my hand, but—” His hand was empty.

“One what? Lee, you escaped, you’re safe.”

“A puppy. I had a puppy.”

“Then perhaps you dropped it,” Ripley said.

“Either the other two are in there … or they’re not.”

“Did you hear me about the divorce?” When Lee nodded, Ripley said, quietly, “Then let’s take a look.” His eyes went level with the corporal’s chest.

If you want anything badly enough, Lee thought, it’s dangerous. He remembered the puppy in his hand, then the explosion, and he knew, with a clammy and terrible heat, that he’d rolled over its body; he could feel the slight yielding between his hips and the ground; that feeling traveled with him, he could feel it now, here, standing with Ripley. Carefully, with his eyes closed, with his left hand, he eased his jacket open. In the crook of his right arm, lodged in his sleeve, was a puppy. Ripley gently took it from him.

Eyes still closed, Lee asked, “Is it alive?”

“No. Oh, wait. Yes, it is.”

“Either there’s another one,” Lee whispered, “or there isn’t.” He took off his tunic entirely, leaving him in his flannel underdrawers. He laid the tunic on the ground, and sadly felt its lining. There was a loud pop, and a new flame jumped out a window, inside the building.

“Your union suit, perhaps,” Ripley murmured.

Lee felt along his chest. His buttons had ripped off. He reached down toward his belt line. He found it pressed against his stomach. “Oh,” he said.

When he pulled it out, it lay motionless in his palm. A girl, he thought. Maybe. She was tangled in something, string, and then he realized it was the finger puppets he’d worn around his neck. He started to remove them from her, but then, slowly, like a complaint, her front paws began to wriggle, and her rear paws batted the air. She was the size of a potato.

He stared at this girl, as uncomprehending and confused as he’d ever been. Ripley passed the other dog to him. This was a boy. He seemed to be asleep.

“Your souvenirs. Call them Hansel and Gretel.”