Shock does strange things. I moved slightly, and reached out to try to find a carotid pulse on Kellerman. Johansen blocked my hand.

‘‘He’s dead.’’

‘‘Just let me check, Ken. Just for the record.’’

He thought for a second. ‘‘Yeah, yeah. Okay.’’

I reached out and pressed two fingers into Kellerman’s neck. Nothing. Cool to the touch, but damp. His color and texture reminded me of pale cheese. I noticed he hadn’t shaved that morning.

‘‘Okay,’’ I said softly. I wiped my hand on my jeans, and pulled the first-aid kit out before it cut me in half. ‘‘What happened?’’ I asked, keeping my eyes focused opposite Johansen’s, peering uphill. It occurred to me that, crouched down as we were, we couldn’t see much more than a few feet, except uphill, and up the trail. ‘‘You sure you’re all right?’’

‘‘We got set up,’’ he said. ‘‘They were waitin’ for us. Just waitin’… No, no, I didn’t get hit. I’m just fine.’’

Off in the distance, a fragment of a siren’s wail came drifting up the little valley.

‘‘I’m sorry, man,’’ said Johansen, to me.

‘‘Nothing for you to be sorry about,’’ I said, scanning the area around us. I was thinking the siren might stir up the ambushers. ‘‘This shit can happen.’’

‘‘Yeah, I do. I am, I mean,’’ he said softly.

I kept looking up slope. There could be a tank up there, and I wouldn’t be able to see it unless it moved. ‘‘Why?’’ I asked, almost absently, trying to humor him.

‘‘It was me that shot at you, just now. I thought you might be them.’’

I looked at him. ‘‘Oh.’’ I looked back uphill. ‘‘Apology accepted.’’ Sort of.

‘‘I didn’t mean to,’’ he said.

‘‘No problem.’’ I just wasn’t going to think about that. ‘‘How many you mean by they?’’ I asked.

‘‘Lots.’’

‘‘Right.’’