‘‘Ten-four,’’ said Lamar. ‘‘I got people comin’ from all over. Be there right quick.’’

I nudged Johansen. ‘‘You got a canteen, or something? Could use a drink.’’ The heat was oppressive, and there seemed to be even less air here than before. For some reason, the whispering made it seem even hotter.

‘‘Yeah,’’ he said, reaching behind his hip and unfastening the GI canteen. ‘‘Here.’’

I took a long swig. It was warm, but wet. I thought about the three cans of diet soda in my car, in the icefilled cooler. I handed it back to him. ‘‘You better have some too.’’

‘‘No,’’ he said, shaking his head. ‘‘I’m all right…’’ and his voice trailed off as he looked around the brush again.

‘‘Drink some,’’ I said. ‘‘Don’t want you goin’ into shock or anything. We got enough trouble without that.’’

In the distance, there were more sirens.

Johansen swallowed water from his canteen, loudly. He sighed, and said, ‘‘At least we got one of ’em.’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘Yeah, Kellerman got one of them. He’s up there,’’ he said, gesturing up-trail. ‘‘Just a little ways.’’

‘‘Dead?’’

‘‘Oh, yeah,’’ he said. ‘‘Real.’’

There was a sudden rustling in the brush, just on the other side of the trail. I brought my rifle around just as Johansen’s came up to his shoulder.

‘‘Don’t fuckin’ shoot unless we got a target!’’ I hissed.

‘‘Right,’’ he whispered. He wasn’t convinced.

It couldn’t be Lamar. Not yet, and not from over there. We waited in dead silence for several seconds. Sweat ran off my left cheek, which was pressed against the butt stock of my AR, dripped onto my left hand, and ran down my forearm. I don’t remember ever being so tense. Nothing.

Then a ground squirrel chattered, and there was a faint rustling again. We relaxed a bit, but didn’t talk.

It was about two more minutes when Lamar’s voice crackled over the radio. I sort of jumped.