His neck caught fire once more, nerves burning up through his face. His chest struck the floor again. Convulsing, he couldn’t tell if the shock was still running or if he was just feeling the aftereffects of the current sizzling through his skin.

When his vision unblurred, he watched Manny turning the transmitter over in his hand, admiring it. “This thing is great.”

“Take it easy,” Nando said. “René’ll be furioso if you fry his brain.”

“It’s not gonna fry his brain. People use it all the time.”

“For chimps in labs. At the lower setting.”

Manny grinned. “Boss did say to put a little more oomph in it.”

Evan shoved himself up again, wiped drool from his lower lip. He sneaked a glance at the inside of his arm, saw the tab of Scotch tape preserving René’s fingerprint stuck there, hidden from view. “No breakfast cart this morning?”

The next shock flipped him onto his side. Through the static he heard Manny laughing.

“Gimme that.” Nando wrestled the transmitter away. “It’s time for his exercise.”

Manny walked over and kicked Evan’s feet. “Hurry up and get dressed. Or I take back the transmitter.”

*   *   *

Evan trudged across the snow-dusted ground, scratching at his skin beneath the shock collar. The new guard in the tower watched him not with binoculars but through the scope of a dedicated marksman rifle. It wouldn’t have the range of the sniper rifles in the mountains, but the right one in the right hands could be effective to six or even seven hundred meters. When Evan paused to identify the gun from its silhouette, the guard reached into his pocket.

Evan barely had time to wonder what he was doing before countless needle tips jabbed into his neck. He lost his legs again. Snow against his cheek, crusting the hollow of one eye. He lay there, panting for breath. There’d be no getting used to the shock level.

So the tower guard was also armed with a transmitter for Evan’s collar. And God knew who else. Evan pulled himself up and staggered for the tree line, keeping his gaze low.

He’d thrown on multiple layers again. He felt bulky beneath two shirts and two sweaters, ballooning at the midsection like Tweedledee.

Once he was hidden by the evergreens, he sat with his back to a tree and groped around the collar. Contact points rimmed the inside, metal prongs grouped in twos, the rounded tips jutting into his skin. His thumb found a notch near the back where the band snapped into place. No keyhole that he could discern. Perhaps the release was remote-controlled as well? The collar had little give; there’d be no moving the contact points off the skin. It was tight enough that swallowing was hard, like having a peach pit at the base of his throat that would not go down.