then. How many times had he fired it? Five? Six? He couldn’t remember.

Nor was it possible to tell by the weight. He could judge between a full gun and an empty one, but one bullet either way didn’t make that much of a difference.

He noticed himself blinking more and more frequently, as his eyes struggled to shut against his will. He forced himself to look first at the lantern, then off into the darkened area of the cave. Just so it isn’t steady, he thought. Vary it, mix it up, just so you don’t get accustomed to one position. He moved his arms from time to time, shifted his weight, and changed the position of his legs as much as the broken ankle would permit.

The boys spoke less, then stopped talking altogether. It was almost midnight when he heard Zeke’s voice, soft but clear in the near-silence of the night.

“Pops,” the boy said, “Benny’s sleeping. Isn’t that nice?”

He didn’t answer. There was no point in wasting energy; he needed every drop of it just to keep awake.

“I said he’s asleep,” the boy repeated. “Just closed his eyes and floated right off. Sleeping like a baby.”

Stop it, Dan thought fiercely. Don’t talk about it, you bastard. Don’t even mention the word.

But Zeke knew what he was doing. “Sleeping. Wouldn’t you like to take a little nap right now, Pops? Be real easy, you know? Just close your eyes, lean back…”

No. His hand tightened on the butt of the gun, squeezing hard. He started to sweat again, and then a cold chill came over him.

“Relax,” the voice cooed. “You’re real tired. You want to catch a little sleep. Close your eyes. Go ahead—close them.”

Dan’s eyelids dropped by themselves at the command, and he had to struggle to lift them again. He was being hypnotized, crudely but efficiently.

“Damn you!” he roared. “God damn you!” The boy chuckled. Zeke’s chuckle grew into a laugh, and Dan could feel his pulse racing. He shouldn’t have blown up. He had to relax, had to take things slowly and easily.

Zeke began again, slowly and methodically urging him to sleep, but Dan forced his mind to ignore the suggestions. It wasn’t easy.

His body was beginning to rebel as he alternately sweated and shivered. His ankle ached with a vengeance until he wanted to put a bullet through it. But for all he knew the gun was empty. He didn’t dare break it open to check. Zeke was watching him constantly, commenting on every move he made. If the gun was empty…

He began glancing at his watch with increasing frequency. It seemed as though time was standing still for him, as though he and the two devils were suspended in a stalemate for eternity. But the weight of his eyelids and the nagging aches of his body assured him that this was not the case. He grew weaker and more tired with each passing second.

A few minutes past one, his grip relaxed and the gun nearly dropped from his hand. He swore and the boy laughed.

Is it loaded? Dammit, is it loaded? And then, suddenly, what the hell difference does it make?

He realized that it made no difference at all. Whether the gun was empty or full, they thought it was full. And because they thought he held a loaded gun, they were waiting for him to fall asleep. As long as…

“Pops,” the voice interrupted him, “Zeke’s gonna have a little nap. Ain’t he lucky?”

Shut up.

“You’ll be sleeping soon, Pops. Then I’ll have a chance to cut you good. Dig?” Benny had none of the hypnotic effect of Zeke, but his words dug at Dan’s brain and broke his train of thought.

Dan clenched his hands into fists and bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood in his mouth. If they thought he was awake, and that the gun was loaded, they wouldn’t approach him. The real thing didn’t matter. It was what they thought.

“I don’t think I’ll give it to you quick, Pops. I’ll just take that gun away and do a nice slow job. Think you’ll like that? I’m good with a blade. Real good.”

Now how could he sleep, yet make them think he was awake? They could watch him clearly, watch the eyes shut and the gun fall. His fingers would relax, so slowly that he wouldn’t ever feel it, and the gun would slip, gently to the floor. How could he fake it?

“Think you’re tough, Pops? You won’t be so tough. I’ll cut you