Panzer’s gun-shy. Whitey isn’t. The pit bull yelps, pulls away, and hightails it to the corner and between the legs of his trainer.

Everyone shuts up. No cheers. No boos. They don’t run, they don’t scream.

They just stare. At her.

She has a half a second at best before folks start reaching for their guns, decide to start shooting—and the shape of the fight pit means it’ll be a blood bath, a race war, and that’s not what she wants. But she knows what to do.

She points the gun at Ellis.

With her other hand, she pats her thigh.

Whitey trots over, favoring his one front leg over the other.

Ellis’s hands tighten to fists—two fleshy wrecking balls sitting at his side, waiting to knock down buildings. He screams at Charlie: “Don’t you let her leave this ring!”

Behind her, Charlie stands in front of the ring gate.

“You don’t wanna do this,” Wayman snarls.

“I already did,” she says. All eyes on her. She feels like an ant under a magnifying glass.

“You’re bringing hell down on your head.”

She nods. “I know.” I’m good at that. “Now let me out of here.”

“I can’t do that.”

“He can,” she says, pointing the gun at Charlie, the potbellied ref.

Charlie hesitates. Ellis takes a step toward her—she jerks the gun in his direction, then back to Charlie, then to the Nazi trainer behind her, then back again. The gun shakes. Threats on all sides of her, like water rushing in through doors and windows—she feels flooded, drowned, like she can’t swim. Worse, then she sees John Elvis pressed against the plywood wall, lip in a fishhook sneer. No Melanie. No Petry. Not yet.

A whole lotta eyes watch.

High tension. Everything perched on a wire like a sharp-beaked bird.

A terrible thought crosses her mind: I’m going to have to shoot someone.

Please, not again.

But then finally Charlie mumbles, “Sorry, boss,” and steps away from the gate. Ellis bellows at him, but it’s too late: the path is open, the way is clear.

Atlanta pats her leg and Whitey stands at attention. She moves briskly toward the gate, keeping the gun sights roving from target to target.

As she gets closer to the gate, Ellis yells: “Do not let her leave this ring!”

Ahead of her, the crowd fails to part. They instead tighten around the exit. The octagon ring wall is open, but the human wall remains closed.

I have the key, she thinks.

She raises the pistol at the crowd and fires off two shots.