Nick and Ames watch the shadows move away from them for what seems like a long time, even after they both know they aren't really seeing anything at all in the darkness.
"His wife," Ames says.
"Yeah," Nick says. "If cops are killing them, though—cops know something."
"An inside job?"
"Could be, or could be like 9/11, when there was plenty of information on the Taliban and every other motherfucker out there who wants to blow us up, but too much governmental red tape to do anything about it. Either way, we should get some rest tonight if we're going to head out in the morning."
"Want me to stand watch for a few hours?"
"I think if we turn the bolt, maybe pull the couch in front of the door, we'll be ok. I sleep light."
Camden is asleep on the couch, so they move the heavy dining table in front of the locked door. Camden doesn't stir, even when one of the legs catches on an invisible splinter and squeals across the hall as it leaves a deep gouge in the floor.
"Is he ok?" Nick asks, nodding towards Camden. "He didn't even move."
Ames heads over to the couch, working to catch his breath. "Nick," he says, staring downward, "I think he's dead."