Peter sat Roger on a boulder at the edge of the swamp and used the flashlight to examine the laceration in his scalp. It was an inch long, but superficial; he doubted it would require stitches. He asked Roger if he was hurt anywhere else and got a vacant stare. He touched the bump on his own head, then joined his friend on the boulder. He opened his cell phone, but the damn thing was dead, muddy water trickling out of the seam.
