“What did you see?” Jesus demanded. “What did you shoot at?”

Elizaveta pointed at the knothole. “Solano was watching us through that.”

“Watching you? Christ! For how long?”

“I don’t know. Maybe five minutes? Maybe all night?”

Jesus whirled on Jack. “And you let him get away? How did he get away? You had a gun.”

“The safety was on. I wasn’t ready.”

“Fuck, Jack!” Jesus exclaimed. “You could have killed him!”

“Whatever, he didn’t do anything. Everybody’s okay—”

“He took Nitro’s eyes!”

“Did you see him, Jack?” Pita asked. Her hair was tousled and frizzy from the wind and rain, while mascara and dried tears streaked her cheeks, making her look zombie-like. “Solano? Did you actually see Solano?”

“I saw his eye watching us.”

“But did you see him?”

“I know what you’re going to say—”

“Did you see him?”

“He ran away when I fucking shot at him, Pita. Since when do ghosts run away from bullets? Wouldn’t bullets go straight through them?”

She clamped her mouth shut.

Jesus said, “Maybe you should give the gun to me, Jack.”

“Fuck no,” he said.

“You blew your chance. Give me the gun.”

“Blew my chance?”

“You weren’t prepared! You let him get away!”

“And you’ve been super vigilant sleeping in the fucking bedroom—”

Jesus punched Jack, striking him directly in the nose. There was a sound like knuckles cracking. Jack spun away, dropping the pistol and cupping his nose. He examined his hands, which were bright red with blood. Jesus stood on the balls of his feet, holding his ground, ready to run. Jack charged him. Jesus made for Lucinda’s room. Jack, however, caught him before he could barricade himself inside the room, hefting him off his feet and slamming him to the ground.

Pita leapt on Jack’s back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Go to the bedroom!” Elizaveta told Rosa, shooing the girl away.

Rosa fled.

Elizaveta ran into the fray, wrapping her own arms around Pita’s neck and pulling the smaller woman free. Pita shrieked and cursed. Elizaveta tripped and fell, dragging Pita with her.

“Bitch!” Pita yelled, flipping onto her front.

“Calm down!”

Pita didn’t. She was possessed. She snagged fistfuls of Elizaveta’s hair and yanked so hard Elizaveta rocked forward. She clawed blindly at Pita. She grabbed something soft—a breast? She squeezed. Pita screeched, then yanked Elizaveta’s hair harder.

Scalp on fire, Elizaveta got hold of the throat of Pita’s chambray shirt. She tugged with all her strength. Buttons popped. Pita screeched. Her left hand released Elizaveta’s hair and went after her pink top, hooking her fingers around the collar and pulling. Fabric tore with a zipper-like sound.

Elizaveta shouted, more in frustration than anger or embarrassment. They were having a stupid catfight while Solano was outside somewhere. He might return, burst into the cabin wielding his knife while they were all distracted.