The body in the field said it all. The old man had no survival instinct. Marching into a combat zone like he had a big old red cross on his back and a company of Chinese peacekeepers behind him. Stupid. They weren’t fighting that kind of war. Ocho wondered if maybe the doctor had just gone crazy. Sometimes it happened. Civvies went out of their head and did stupid stuff. Got themselves killed, even when they could’ve gotten away clean.

But not the castoff. That girl knew what was what. He’d seen it in her eyes, right when she brought the coywolv down on them. Killer instinct.

Ocho scanned the torched village again. A dog was picking through the smoke, circling in on a body. Ocho wondered if it was coming back to its owner, or if it was looking for dinner.

“Got to figure the castoff headed north with the half-man.” He spat. “I would’ve.”

“Yeah.” The lieutenant stared down at their prisoner. “That how it went? She just left you to die, huh? Headed north and ditched your maggot ass?”

The kid looked like he was about to cry again. Ocho wished the LT would just hurry up and do the job. He stared out at the jungle.

“It’s going to be hell trying to pick up their trail,” Ocho said. “All those civvies out there, running around, trampling things down?” He shook his head. “Lot of jungle to search.”

“Missed our chance, you think?”

Ocho glanced over at Sayle, trying to tell if he wanted an honest answer or if he was trying to trick Ocho into showing weakness. Showing he wasn’t all in for the cause. But the lieutenant was just staring out at the jungle, too.

Finally Ocho said, “I don’t see how we’re going to pick up its trail. If that girl did a doctor job on the dog-face, that means it’s mobile now. It was just dumb luck that we even got close to it before, and it ripped us up.” Ocho touched his ribs. “Did four of us, and that was when it was down and out.”

“It’s still wounded,” the LT said. “It isn’t made of magic.”

“Yeah, but it sounds like it’s doing a hell of a lot better than the last time we tangled with it.”

Lieutenant Sayle snorted. “You may be right, Sergeant.” He turned and headed into the village, waved back at Ocho. “Get rid of the maggot.”

Ocho looked down at the kid. He had snot all over his face from crying and his eyes were red.

“Sorry, maggot.” He waved for his boys. Tweek and Gutty grabbed the maggot and scooped up a machete. Good soldiers. They knew better than to waste a bullet.

“Put his neck over some wood,” Tweek was saying. “I don’t wanna dent the blade.”