The roar of the Benelli from an unexpected direction took everyone by surprise. I saw red blotches appear on Sandra’s left arm and cheek, and she staggered for a moment in shock. But that wouldn’t stop a Pelt, no it wouldn’t. Sandra swung up her rifle and aimed at me. Sam leaped for her, but Jannalynn got there first. Jannalynn caught hold of the rifle, wrenched it from Sandra’s hands, and flung it away, and then the battle was on. I’d never seen two people fight each other as hard, and given my recent experiences that was saying something.

I couldn’t find a way to shoot Sandra again, not with Jannalynn struggling with her hand-to-hand. The two women were much the same size, short and sinewy, but Jannalynn was born to battle while Sandra was more used to quick brawls. Sam and I both circled them as they punched and bit and pulled hair and did everything to each other they could possibly do. Real damage was inflicted on both sides, and after a few seconds Jannalynn’s side was stained red, and the flow from Sandra’s shotgun wounds had accelerated. Sam reached into the struggling duo—it was like putting your hand in a fan—to grasp Sandra’s hair and yank, and she screamed like a banshee and spared a fist to punch Sam in the face. He kept his grip on her hair, though I thought she’d broken his nose.

I felt obliged to do my share—after all, this was my fault—so I waited my turn. It was oddly like waiting to jump into the turning rope when I was on the playground in elementary school. When I saw my moment, I surged into the fight zone and gripped the first thing that came to my hands, Sandra’s upper left arm. Her momentum seized, she couldn’t deliver the punch she was aiming to throw at Jannalynn’s face. Instead, Jannalynn cocked one of her own hard little fists and knocked the consciousness right out of Sandra Pelt.

Suddenly I was holding the shoulder of a woman who’d gone completely limp. I let go, and she fell to the ground. Her head sagged oddly. Jannalynn had broken her neck. I didn’t know if Sandra was dead or alive.

“Fuck,” Jannalynn said pleasantly. “Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck.”

“Amen,” Sam said.

I burst into tears. Jannalynn looked disgusted. “I know, I know,” I said despairingly, “but I saw a lot of people get killed last night, and this is just one person too many! I’m sorry, y’all.” I think Sam would have hugged me if Jannalynn hadn’t been right there. I know he thought about it. That was the important thing.