"Yeah. Good idea." But Petey stayed put, while Jimmy moved forward.

"Maybe he's just sleeping," Petey offered.

"Mister!" Jimmy said as he began brushing the branches of the bush aside. "Mister, wake-"

But he didn't bother finishing his suggestion.

He was looking at the rest of the man with the black socks-or anyway, as much of him as there was to look at.

Stepping back as if he'd been burned, the branches snapping back, Jimmy swallowed thickly, his mouth dry, eyes popping.

"What's wrong, Jimmy?"

"He ain't got no head," Jimmy said.

"What?"

Jimmy swallowed again. "And that ain't all."

"Huh?"

"He ain't got no thing, either."

"No thing?"

"No dick.'

"No dick?"

"No dick."

The younger boy touched his groin and grimaced. "I'm not gonna look."

"You better not," Jimmy agreed. "You might puke or something."

"Y-you didn't."

"I'm older."

"Maybe… maybe I will look."

"Don't."

Petey thought about it. Still planted in the same spot, he said, "You think somebody cut the guy's head off?"

Jimmy nodded. "And his dick."

"Is there blood all over?"

"I don't see any."

"I–I wonder where they are."

"Who?"

"Not who, stupid… where they are-his head and his thing."

"Well, I'm not looking for 'em."

"Me either," Petey said, shivering. "We oughta do something. We oughta get help."

"I don't think anything's gonna help that guy."

"We better find somebody and tell them."

Jimmy agreed, and skirting the hill, they trudged up the incline at the edge of the Run, which was as steep as Jackass Hill itself, glancing behind them as they went, as if the corpse might get up and follow.