Reid hunts down Marcus easily, finding him huddled against a tree, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Just as he bends to touch Marcus's shoulder, Reid has a flash to the cabin he found, the cots and camp chairs, the pot-bellied stove and duffle bag full of rations and clothing.
It was army issue. Now he knows it. And the missile that took out the helicopter, the one Mustache and Scar planned to use for their escape after their poaching adventure, the one shot down as Reid and the others watched their first ray of hope destroyed before their eyes. He kicks himself for ignoring his instincts. He's known but not wanted to admit it to himself. This mysterious organization, the phantom planners of this horrible experiment, the ones who are hiring slime like Syracuse to round up disposable
