Gutty got the kid laid over a log, and then the maggot seemed to snap to awareness. Like he finally realized what was up. He started struggling and screaming, while Tweek and Gutty tried to control him. For a skinny bastard, he sure fought.

And then, all of sudden, the boy stopped fighting. His chest heaved and he was covered with sweat, but his fight was gone. He looked up at Ocho, as Gutty and Tweek knelt on his back. Ocho had the unnerving feeling the licebiter was putting some kind of Deepwater hex on him, but the kid didn’t say anything.

Ocho turned away and headed into the burning town.

Sorry, maggot. Wrong place, right time.

It was the same problem all the time. Sometimes you got lucky, ended up recruited instead of dead. Got a machete and a bottle of acid, and you ran around trying to show everyone how you were worth keeping. Putting as much blood on you as you could, so that Sayle wouldn’t dump your body in a ditch. Sometimes you just got your head chopped off.

Behind him, he could hear the kid start struggling again.

“Dammit! Would you hold him, Gutty?”

“I am! Licebiter’s strong.”

Ocho turned back. He limped over to the licebiter and squatted down in front of him. Waved his boys to leave off trying to chop him.

“You want to live?” he asked.

The kid didn’t know how to answer. The way he’d been pushed over the log, his face was all red and puffy with tears and fear. Ocho waited, then prodded him.

“Speak up, maggot. You want to live?”

The kid nodded hesitantly.

“You think you got some soldier in you? Wanna fight for the UPF? Sign on? Fight the patriotic fight?”

The kid sort of grunted, still held down by Tweek and Gutty.

Ocho grinned and slapped the kid on the back of the head. “Sure you do.” He glanced over at Tweek. “Go get me some hot metal.”

“You gonna brand him?”

“Sure. Born out of fire, right?” He stared into the war maggot’s eyes. “It’s how we all are.”

A minute later, Tweek came back with a hunk of rebar, glowing and smoking from a burned building. He held it in one hand, by smoking cloth.

Ocho took the metal bar. Even with a cloth wrapping, it was hot in his hand. He squatted down by the small shivering boy. It was hot. Good and hot.

“What’s your name?”

“Mouse.”

Ocho shook his head. “Not anymore. We got to give you a new name. You ain’t Mouse, anymore.” He studied the village and destruction, hunting for a soldier name.