Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Now he swallowed his fear and looked around, trying to calmly assess the situation. There were four Freaks to his left, another five to his right. Too many to fight his way through and, with Dorothy standing next to Mac, he was a little short on allies. The Fairmont wall was directly behind him, cutting off any means of exit, and the sound was just ahead, flat, black, and cold. He wouldn’t be making a swim for it, not tonight.

He was pretty well screwed, no matter which way he looked at it.

“No.” He forced the word out of his mouth, the taste of it bitter on his tongue. Turning back to Dorothy, he said, “What are you doing? We were going to take Mac on together. That was the plan.”

Meanwhile, he lowered a hand to his gun, his fingers curling gently around the hilt. The metal felt damp in the foggy night air and cold to the touch. It brought him some comfort that he had it with him. Screwed or not, he wasn’t going down without a fight.

Get ready, he told himself. His muscles pulled tight, waiting.

Across from him, Mac yanked his own gun from his waistband and used it to scratch his temple.

“The thing is, princess,” he said, “I just don’t trust you.”

He pointed the gun at Dorothy’s face, drawing the hammer back with his thumb.

Ash felt an old urge roar up inside of him. He wanted to leap at Mac, push him away from Dorothy. Was he really going to stand here and watch her be shot in the head like an animal? He didn’t think he was capable of that, no matter what she’d done or said.

And yet he held himself still, barely breathing.

Dorothy’s eyes flicked to him, and away. If she was frightened, she didn’t show it. Her face was emotionless, giving away nothing.

“Don’t call me princess,” she said, offering Mac a thin smile.

Mac seemed to think this was funny. His bitter laugh cut through the night. “I suppose those last words are as good as any other.” He licked his fat lips and squinted down the gun’s sight, aiming. “It was nice knowing you, little—”

“No!” Ash had his gun in his hand in a second, his heart beating at his chest like an animal but, before he could pull the trigger, the ground in front of him exploded, showering him with wood and water.

Dorothy danced backward, swearing, as Ash blinked into the cloud of dust, trying to find something to shoot. The Freaks were closing in, firing. He heard another crack of a bullet—this one whizzing past his face—and then the air cleared enough for Ash to make out Mac standing at the top of the Fairmont staircase, debris falling like snow around him.