Paul Brennan's reply carried no sound of disappointment over being
interrupted. "Okay. Let's take a look. You take it that way, and I'll
cover this side."

The little-boy mind did not need its extensive education to understand
that Paul Brennan needed no more than a few seconds of unobserved
activity, after which he could announce the discovery of the third death
in a voice cracked with false grief.

Animal instinct took over where intelligence failed. The same force that
caused Jimmy Holden to curl within himself now caused him to relax; help
that could be trusted was now at hand. The muscles of his throat relaxed.
He whimpered. The icy paralysis left his arms and legs; he kicked and
flailed. And finally his nervous system succeeded in making their contact
with his brain; the nerves carried the pain of his bumps and scratches,
and Jimmy Holden began to hurt. His stifled whimper broke into a
shuddering cry, which swiftly turned into sobbing hysteria.

He went out of control. Nothing, not even violence, would shake him back
until his accumulation of shock upon shock had been washed away in tears.

The sound attracted both men. Side by side they beat through the
underbrush. They reached for him and Jimmy turned toward the stranger.
The man picked the lad out of the bed of soft rotting leaves, cradled him
and stroked his head. Jimmy wrapped his small arms around the stranger's
neck and held on for life.

"I'll take him," said Brennan, reaching out.

Jimmy's clutch on the stranger tightened.