And then, behind him, María was raising the knife she gripped in her hand. Her eyes flamed, her lips curled back to reveal her gums and teeth. She brought the blade down into his back.

Jesus went rigid, his arms shooting out to his sides, as if he had been electrocuted. He issued an unholy noise, more roar than shriek.

María plucked the knife free and stabbed him again.

Turning, Jesus swung the pistol toward her.

Juiced with adrenaline, I found my feet and sprang at him, slamming into his midsection, sending us both careening through the air.

Elizaveta

When Jack and Jesus crashed to the floor, Jesus released the pistol, which skidded across the floorboards. Although Elizaveta felt nauseous with pain from the whooping Jesus had delivered to her, this time she didn’t hesitate. She scrambled toward the gun.

Her head snapped backward.

Pita had her hair!

The bitch shook Elizaveta’s head from side to side, and Elizaveta felt déjà vu from their earlier fight. “Let go!” she said, kicking out blindly behind her.

The kick made contact. Pita, however, was too close for it to have much effect.

Elizaveta flipped onto her back. She raked her fingernails down Pita’s furious face. Three parallel lines of blood appeared.

Pita yowled but didn’t release her hair. Elizaveta grabbed Pita’s right breast through her open shirt and squeezed as hard as she could. The yowl jumped an octave and she finally let go.

Still turtled on her back, Elizaveta brought her knee to her chest and kicked. Her foot sailed past Pita, who dodged left. Then Pita was on her feet, standing above Elizaveta. She produced the sickle, which had been tucked into the waistband of her jean shorts.

The curved blade grinned wickedly.

Jack

1

I landed on top of Jesus. He went for my throat, strangling me, inadvertently tilting my chin so I was looking at the ceiling. I shoved my right hand against his face, pressing it into the floor. My palm covered his nose and mouth. His lips were wet with saliva. Then a sharp bite.

The fucker bit me!

One of my legs was between his. I drove my knee into his groin. His teeth released their pinch. He bellowed. I kneed him again.

The pistol was a few feet away. I twisted off Jesus and grabbed it just as Elizaveta cried out. I’d been peripherally aware of Pita and Elizaveta fighting, but I’d been so focused in my struggle with Jesus I hadn’t paid any attention.

Now I saw Pita standing above Elizaveta, the sickle raised.

“Pita!” I shouted, leveling the pistol at her. “Don’t!”

She swung the curved blade.

I squeezed the trigger.

2

The shot struck Pita in the center of her chest, stopping her mid-swing. Her eyes widened, confused. They met mine. Then her legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor.