Duran’s features looked wan and grim in the headlights of the Americar. "Don’t know if taking the Johnson with us was such a wiz idea, kid. If somebody got a tissue sample on him, they’ll have a good chance at tracking us. And you know Luppas traced him once or they’d never have found us." Skater wrestled with that as he looked over Archangel’s shoulder. The Johnson lay sprawled in the back of the Landrover. Grayish foam flecked with blood bubbled at his mouth, and his open eyes tracked independent orbits. His color had washed away, leaving skin like old parchment in its place. "Frag," Skater said. "What happened to him?"