Wind blew in the trees, cold. Red looked like a man who had just seen a premonition.

“Take his clothes,” said the hatted man. “Tie him.”

The boy in the bandana hauled Jack to his feet and dragged off his coat and shirt. His face was pale.

“Take off your pants.”

Jack swayed on his feet. His breaths rising to the darkening sky. He bent and untied his boots and took them off.

“Not this!” Red shouted shrilly.

“Shut up, Red.”

“He’s learned—”

“Take them off.”

Jack unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them off, one leg and then the other. The boy in the bandana mask took them and rolled them up with the coat and shirt. He stuffed these into his army pack. With twine from the shed, the hatted man tied Jack’s hands behind his back. Then he tied Jack’s feet at the ankles. Tight. Jack stood shaking in underwear and socks. The cold went through him like wind.

“Get on your knees,” said the hatted man.

He dropped down, landing hard on the snow. His knees tingled in pricks and started to numb. He caught sight of his chest. Rise, fall. Rapid heartbeats visible just left of center.

Red muttered, his jaw tight, “It’s near dark.”

“Yes. But we did not kill him. This is what you asked.”

“There are animals.”

“The dog is in the mouth of the wolf. There is no going back.”

“But—”

“You have won mercy for the moment,” said the hatted man with finality. “It would not be wise to risk that further.”

Red glanced at Jack. His arms were still raised, the pistol trained on him. He looked away.

“Give Ansel your gun,” the hatted man said to Red.

Red took the pistol from his parka and gave it to the boy in the bandana mask. For a moment, Jack had nearly forgotten him, he was so quiet. Slender and still. Jack could see now, how much the boy looked like the hatted man …

“You will not return to this place,” the man said to Red. “If you return, I will kill your wife. I will make you watch.”

Red would not look at Jack. He nodded.

The hatted man bent down and brought his face to Jack’s. He patted Jack’s cheek. “It was good to be brave. That was good.”

Then he stood. “Let’s go.”

Jack coughed up a string of blood. He mumbled, words lamed by the shivering from his body. “I—I will hurt you—for this.”

The hatted man watched him. He shook his head doubtfully, as if a question had been asked. “No. I don’t think you will.”

He turned and walked a few steps toward the trees where beyond the trucks waited. Then he stopped. He did not look back.

“Ansel,” he said. “Take his socks.”