“He’s stabbing me, Dee!” Fellis yelled. “Dee, he’s stabbing me!”

I moved quick. I grabbed the plastic bag of Steel Reserves and swung it over my head and brought the three heavy cans down on top of Meekew’s skull. Fellis broke loose and stepped back. Meekew dropped and fell forward, his face plopping into the mud. He rolled onto his back and held his head.

“Where’s the knife?” I said. Fellis stood and then stooped, and he picked up leaves and sticks and mud and tossed it all over Meekew.

“Fellis!” I yelled. “Where’s the knife!”

Fellis kicked the ground over Meekew, adding to the great heap of earth already covering him. With one hand I grabbed Fellis’s arm and pulled him with me through the woods and in the other I gripped the plastic bag. On the road, we ran—Fellis behind me—and we hurried over the bridge and onto the reservation—slanting rain pelting our faces—and we kept going past the church and food pantry and around the small pond—streetlights on the far side casting light over the water and showing the thousands of raindrops plunking the surface and giving the illusion of a boiling pot of water—and when we saw the rusting community building bulging in the dark we turned away from it and slinked into the woods and followed the watery path to Fellis’s road. It was on that road that the rain turned to mist.

We walked slow, out of breath. The bag was ripped, and the beers were gone.

Inside his house, we sat at the kitchen table.

“Let me see where he got you,” I said, and Fellis started laughing.

“I got you,” Fellis said. “Nice to know you got my back if someone’s got a knife.”

I got up quick and Fellis flinched. “What’s the matter?” he said.

I threw the plastic bag away.

“What if he’s dead?” I said.

“They’re cans,” Fellis said. “He probably woke up and went home. Fucking apple.”

“We shouldn’t have left him there,” I said. “We shouldn’t have.”

“Well, I ain’t fucking walking all the way back there. He’s fine, Dee. Quit worrying. You hit the boy with some cans. What’s the worst that can happen?”

I felt sick. I leaned against the sink, and on the window rain droplets raced down. I turned the water on and rubbed my face wet and let it stay wet. My head hurt. The pint on the table didn’t even look good. Fellis’s room up the hall looked close.

He asked what I was doing and I told him I was tired.

I spread blankets on the floor and undressed down to my boxers. Fellis came in, flicked off the light, and sat on his bed, his back against the wall and his gums flapping with talk. The room spun, and since I was on the ground I couldn’t do that trick where you put one foot flat on the floor to steady yourself, steady the rotation of the earth. Fellis was talking, going on about his phone he’d left by the river. “I should have bought that waterproof case,” he said. “It was on sale too.”