Thumbs shrugged. Had to be. Minutes passed and when no explosions erupted from the establishment to mark the abrupt demise of the halfer, new possibilities began to occur to him. Crossing through the ruined building for a better looksee, Thumbs suddenly ran into a shambling figure swaddled in rags, who charged from behind a pile of rotting mattresses wielding a spear made from a broom handle tipped with a busted beer bottle. The razor-sharp glass lanced for his vulnerable throat, but Thumbs easily sidestepped the clumsy charge. As the would-be killer went by, Thumbs thumped him once on the head with a fist bigger than an airline pillow, and his attacker collapsed at his boots with a shuddering moan.