Forcing himself on Canary. She screams, cries. Claws at his face. The twins reach and punch at Dredd’s arms. He swats them; one wails. Cursing, he smacks and slobbers all over Canary’s face and neck. He’s gone full lunatic, pushing his grossness onto her. Trot reaches for Anne, tries to get her upright, help her regain her balance. The train clatters along over the tracks. Canary pulls her knees into herself for extra leverage, to help her hands push and fight against Dredd’s gripping and grabbing. Anne swats Trot’s hands away from her. Feeling the heft, she pulls the pistol from her pack. The twins are bawling. Anne stands. Comes at Dredd, whose face is buried in Canary’s chest. Sure-footed, Anne sees nothing but Dredd’s shape. Everything around him is blacked out. Bending down, she presses the muzzle into the side of Dredd’s skull, just behind his ear. His hands are dug into Canary’s hair. The click of cold metal behind his ear gives him pause.

Anne’s tone is equal parts anger and disgust. “Get your filthy hands off her. And stand the fuck up.”

Dredd chuckles. Releases Canary. Pushes her away from him. Works his way to his knees, then stands.

“You ain’t gonna shoot me.”

“There’s an easy way to find out—just don’t do exactly what the fuck I tell you to do. Now, get your sick, sorry ass away from her.”

She motions with the pistol.

Hands raised. Moving away. “Little girl like you even know how to shoot a weapon like that?” Quicker than a flinch, Anne points out the open door, fires the pistol. Flame gouts from the barrel. The twins scream. Canary clutches them.

Cinnamon yells, “Anne. Stop!”

Anne positions the pistol to blot out Dredd’s face. “Back the fuck up.”

Moving away from everyone, Dredd stands with his back to the opening, the world rushing by behind him.

Anne remembers her family. The belittlement, the mistreatment. Tells him, “You’re no different from the family I ran away from.” Her eyes well up with moisture. “Always making others less. Abusing them.” Stepping toward Dredd.

He steps back. Tells Anne, “Let’s put the piece away. Maybe talk. I got a little heated. Lost my shit.”

“Now you got a change of heart, that it?”

Anne steps closer, catches a whiff of the discharged round.

Behind Anne, Cinnamon screams, “No!”

Dredd backs up one more step, only there is no step to take. He reaches, but there is nothing to grab but warm, flowing air. And out the opening he goes. There is the meaty smack of his body hitting a tree as he disappears.

Turning back to Cinnamon, Trot, Canary, and the twins. Lowering the pistol. Everyone huddles. Sniffling. Crying. Horrified. The act of violence is past. Gone. Done. Over.