Sticking the pistol into the waistband of my shorts against the small of my back, I went to her, knelt so we were the same height. She tried to hug me. I held her at bay; I was covered with blood. In fact, my face must have been painted red.

“It’s okay, Rosa,” I said absurdly, the empty reassurance something only a child would find comforting. “It’s okay.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes, yet she didn’t say anything.

“Go back in the bedroom. You’ll be safe there.”

She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

I stood, turning her around, nudging her into the room. She went obediently.

Pepper was propped on his elbows, staring at us with dusty eyes.

“Hop back in bed,” I told her.

Instead of climbing back into the bed, however, she crawled beneath it, her hiding spot where I’d found her earlier.

“What happened…?” Pepper asked me. He couldn’t see out the door from his position, but he certainly heard all the shouting.

“Nitro was attacked.”

“Who…?”

“Solano.”

“Solano?”

I explained my theory to him.

“We need to leave,” he said, lying back down.

“We will. In the morning.”

“Keep watch…” He closed his eyes.

He didn’t say anything more, and I figured he’d sunk back into sleep. I left the room, closing the door behind me.

I confronted Jesus. “What the hell happened?” I was tingling everywhere—arms, thighs, balls, the nape of my neck—but I kept my voice controlled.

“I—I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“Don’t know? You were out there with him, man!”

“I was sleeping.”

“Fuck, Jesus…”

“He said I could sleep. He said he would keep watch. All I saw, when I woke up, all I saw was him pushing open the door and disappearing inside. I didn’t even know he was injured—until you guys started screaming.” He almost seemed like he might cry. “What the hell’s happening, Jack?”

So I was right. Solano must have made a noise, lured Nitro to the end of the porch. Then when his back was turned…

I hadn’t given the old hermit enough credit. It seemed he wasn’t deterred by our superiority of numbers after all.

“You have to get rid of him,” Pita said, looking at me over Elizaveta’s shoulder. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and mascara. Her nose leaked snot. She wiped at it with the back of her hand.

She meant Nitro. And she was right. We couldn’t leave him in the middle of the room, pretending he wasn’t there, ignoring him.

“Jesus, help me,” I said.

“Where are we going to move him?”

“The porch.”