They've been already dead before so many times, more times than he can count, and he only snorts disdainfully and lands a sharp kick to the side of the man's thigh. No permanent damage, but enough to leave a nasty bruise, and the man yelps again and clutches at his leg with a bloody hand.

"That was just on principle," Mike growls. "You heard the man. Get the fuck outta here."

The little man gets to his feet, looks from Tom to Mike, and clearly he expects to be shot in the back the second he turns it. But finally the chance of escape is too much and he turns and hobbles away, whimpering quietly and shooting murderous glances back over his shoulder.

"We shoulda killed him," Mike says, watching him go. Suddenly he's just tired, deeply weary. They'll have to rest soon, before they do anything else. "He'll blab."