"Any sign you can pick up is one other people can follow," Howard says. It's harsh, but it's true. R's not the world's best puzzle-solver, Howard wouldn't exactly want to bet his life on the guy's ability to play Sudoku or anything. And that would stand true even if Howard weren't on the run from someone with above average intelligence and frightening creativity.

He remembers the message pinned to an injured cat, practically sewn into its hide. Remembers being led into a trap and then rescued by the man he was afraid of, the one who held him down and slice his stomach open and punched a hole in his lung and grinned.

R's right, though. R will be okay. R's always lasted pretty long in these Arenas and Howard's got no expectation that that will change. It's not even the undeadness - the dude's charmed.

There's a rustle through the grass behind them and Howard whirls around, baring his knife, toe of his shoe turning on that dismembered finger in the mud.