“I’m going to take what you did to my face out on your body. Good Mother will hear you howl and be much pleased.” He grins. Some of his front teeth have been whittled into points. His eyes are feral black pools.

The truck chugs over a pothole and we bounce back and forth. Juto’s grip on my arm loosens. He wobbles backward. This is my chance. I lean back and kick him squarely between the ribs. Juto claws the air as he falls out of the cab and into the dust with a thud. I jam my foot to the gas.

The trunk rocks wildly as if I’ve run over a boulder. But a boulder doesn’t crunch like that. I step on the brake and lurch to a stop, my face banging into the steering wheel. Squinting in the rearview, I see the crumpled mess of blood and mangled bones. I’ve run him over. I slam the truck into park and jump out. I walk to my enemy, smelling blood and burnt rubber.

I’ve seen roadkill before, flattened rabbits, blown-apart coyotes, lizards that are sizzled lumps on the pavement, their eyes pools of jelly around their bloody mouths. It doesn’t prepare me for this. Thick ropes of dark red blood pool out both sides of Juto’s mouth and ears. His chest is a concave bowl and there’s tire tread running the length of his stomach. A bloody rib angles through the war paint on his chest, stark white against the mess of red and brown. His hands clench and unclench once. Then they settle on the hard pan.

He’s dead. I killed him.

My ears ring and my mouth tastes like blood. I killed a man. I look at the blood streaming from his ear and pooling under this neck. There’s a dark stain on his loincloth. I killed him. I gotta look away. I can’t stop looking.

Slowly, I remember the shootout behind me. Clay and Ethan. I run sloppily back, my brain feeling loose.

The Mexican standoff is still going on, neither shooter willing to break cover. Now the men are taunting each other.

“Infidels’ howls will please the Good Mother,” Bear Paws shouts from behind the Jeep. “Come, let me please her.”

Clay’s voice floats up from behind his rock. “Still so holy, you sick sonovabitch? I can shoot all day. Come try me.” I want to believe him, but how many bullets can he have?

Bear Paws wipes his forearm across his brow and hugs the rifle to his chest. “I think I remember you, infidel. Didn’t we buy a pretty pet from you a while back?”

There’s a long pause. “No.”

“Yes, yes.” Bear Paws smiles wickedly. “Last month. You had the boy who wet himself—”

“Shut up!” Clay yells from behind the rock. “Shut your mouth!”