Frank resisted, slapping angrily at Arden’s hand. “He’s still alive. He can hear us.”

Theo’s eyes were open, though unmoving. He could see them too. But there was nothing they could do. Hauling him farther was out of the question. “The hell with you then,” Arden said, straightening and turning away. “I’m going.”

“Wait! I’m coming, I’m coming!” Frank bent quickly to kiss Theo’s forehead. “Don’t worry, little brother, we’ll be back for you,” he said, choking on the words. Tears dripped from the end of his nose, but he let Arden drag him to his feet.

They had hurried on for only another minute or so before they stopped dead at the sound of Chayacuro voices carried on the still, heavy air; not the laconic syllables they’d been hearing till now, but an excited jabbering.

Frank squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, God, they found him. Oh, please, no.”

“Not necessarily. They-” Arden’s voice died in his throat at the unmistakable chunk of a machete chopping into something that didn’t quite sound like wood. “I’m sorry, Frank.”

Frank turned stricken eyes toward the sound and actually began to stumble blindly in that direction.

Arden grabbed him by the collar. “What the hell are you doing? There’s nothing we can do for him now. Come on, snap out of it. We have to keep going.”

Frank let himself be turned around by Arden and goaded into moving forward again, but he was like a man in a trance now, going wherever Arden pushed or pulled him. They had thrown off their heavy backpacks – the precious bag of seeds now hung from Arden’s belt – and they were crossing a less thickly overgrown area where the going was easier and quieter, and they were less likely to be overheard.

But the same was true for the Chayacuro.

“ Oh!” Frank exclaimed as a dart struck him in the soft, V-shaped space just below the left ear and behind the jawline. “Oh, no.”