You try starving yourself to death, ... It's like holding your breath. After a while, your physiology is going to scream, 'Breathe!'

I'm not holding my breath.

It's not the dead even. They're gone. Nothing you can do about that. It's what's left behind - the echo. These woods you're walking through. There are some old timers who think a sound echoes here forever. Makes sense when you think about it. That Billingham kid. I'm sure he screamed. He screams, it echoes, just bounces back and forth, the sound getting smaller and smaller, but never entirely disappearing. Like a part of his is still calling out, even now.

Colder by the hour, more dead with every breath.

Only at death our soul breathes.

I'm not holding my breath waiting for anything. We're going ahead with what we think we need to do on our end of Pennsylvania Avenue.