Using the trailers as cover, I weave toward where Sean is hiding. The gunfire is calming a little, and I spare a thought for my brothers, hoping they have kept themselves safe. I told them their pistols would be next to useless from such a distance and to keep hidden, but there’s no telling what those two might do. It’s hard to tell if the gunfire I still hear is from behind or in front of me, but it has definitely slowed down.

Ears ringing, I make my way to the front of the trailer Sean snuck inside. I slowly raise my head until I can see through the corner of a blown out window. I hold the pistol tightly, finger on the trigger.

“Get the fuck out of there,” I shout.

“Come in the door and I’ll open you up, asshole!” shouts Sean.

“You’re unarmed,” I say. “It’s over.”

“Come inside if you want to see how unarmed I am.”

He appeared to be unarmed when he confronted Camille, but I guess I don’t have any way of knowing for sure. He might have even shown up here ahead of time and hidden guns inside the trailers, but that wouldn’t make sense. His friends had no problem showing their hand by approaching with guns. I think Sean chose not to bring one because he didn’t want to look weak in front of Camille, like he didn’t need one.

“Have it your way,” I say, shifting across the mobile home until I’m right in front of the door. I can tell what side of the door Sean is on from the sound of his voice, and when I kick through the flimsy door, I spin immediately toward him, gun at the ready.

Something hard connects with the back of my neck, making my vision swim. I realize I’ve fallen to one knee and the gun has clattered to the ground.

Shit. He’s not alone.

My mind struggles to recover from the blow but I reflexively turn, seeing the big man with the tire iron who was behind me. I rush him clumsily, head still spinning. We crash into the back wall, which is so rotted through with mold that we burst right through and fall to the ground outside.

I manage to get a grip on the tire iron as my vision clears and smash it into the guy’s face.

I hear a metallic scrape and turn to see Sean picking up my gun. Everything slows down, and the only thing I see is the weapon. I don’t see the trailers, I don’t see the muzzle flashes far above, I don’t see Sean. I just see the weapon being lifted as if in slow motion, arcing upward toward me, and I know I’m not going to be fast enough. There’s nowhere to get cover, nothing to do but charge.

Most men would probably still try to run, even my brain is screaming for me to try to get away, but I know I have to risk rushing him, for Jen and for Camille, I can’t turn my back.

I let out a guttural shout, springing to my feet and moving faster than I’ve ever moved toward him. He raises the gun and I try to anticipate the shot, jerking to my left just before I expect him to shoot.

The gun goes off and I feel something confusingly mild, like a half-hearted punch to the chest. I don’t slow down, and Sean realizes it just before I reach him. His eyes go wide and he pulls the gun back, turning his shoulder to brace himself for the impact.

I crash into him and it feels like we both fly several feet through the air before smashing to the ground. I strip the gun from his hand, taking a position of power on top of him and then I whip the barrel of the gun across his temple.

His head jerks to the side from the force of the blow. He blinks a few times rapidly, eyebrows drawing down in confusion, and then his eyes roll back into his head and his body goes limp.

I feel for a pulse, and with relief, it’s still strong.

I’m grabbed from behind and I throw my head back, feeling the back of my head collide with something solid. A muffled curse follows and the grip on me loosens, but when I throw my full strength against the hold and expect to break free, I’m surprised to find my body is sluggish. There’s a burning pain in my chest and a sphere of icy numbness spreading out from the point of heat.

I look down and see the blood gushing over the arm wrapped tightly around me. My blood.

Fuck. He shot me.

Something whistles through the air and the man holding me lets go immediately. I turn in time to see him collapse and to see Camille standing there with the tire iron in her hand.

“You were supposed to stay in the--” It feels like the ground lurches beneath me, throwing off my balance. I stagger to the side, barely catching myself on a broken table.

“Dean!” she shouts, hurrying to my side and helping hold me up. “Oh my God. You’re hurt.”

“It’s okay,” I say, looking down at the bloody hole on the right side of my chest. “I don’t think there’s anything important inside me on that side. Right?”

She makes an incredulous face. “There’s your fucking insides, Dean. You’re shot. We have to get you out of here to a doctor.”

“We need to bring Sean. We have to find Jen.”

“I’ll get it out of him, but we’re getting you to a doctor first. Give me your phone,” she says, rooting through my pants to find it without waiting for my help.

She pulls it out and growls in frustration. “Give me your finger,” she says, yanking my hand to the fingerprint reader on the phone to sign in.

She taps her fingers rapidly and puts it up to her ear, calling someone. I watch it all through blackening vision and fading awareness. When I look down and see how soaked my shirt is with blood, I feel vaguely surprised, but it doesn’t seem as urgent as it probably should. I have an overwhelming need to lie down and take a nap. The only thing keeping me from taking the rest I need is Jen. I won’t stop looking until we’ve found her. No matter--