Zandra's first step into the fire is onto the long, thinner length of wood she'd requested. The unlit end rests like a lever over a log on the edge of the flames. The lit end springs upward with Zandra's left-foot stomp. Her stronger ankle keeps her upright as she wraps both hands around the wood. Sliding the length upward and spinning away from the fire, she wields the wood like a baseball bat.

Despite never having played baseball before, her first swing is a homerun. The lit end of the wood rockets through the video camera in the hands of the man nearby with a crack. The camera flies into the woods somewhere out of the light of the fire.

The aclla may be the symbol, but nothing matters if it isn't on video. No one will believe it otherwise. The psychological power of Gene's ritual, the immaterial side, is gone if the camera is gone.

I just hope I hit the video camera far enough.

Zandra stumbles from the force of the swing, sending her bowed head rushing into Glenn's stomach. Glenn shoves her away, redirecting Zandra toward Gene. In his advanced age, Gene hasn't reacted yet to Zandra's flailing about, despite him still holding a pistol with a finger on the trigger. That sets her up for her second swing.

And now for the material side.

The swing is more of a jab, with Zandra shoving the glowing embers into Gene's face with a quick thrust. Gene's head snaps backward, and he instinctually raises his hands to shield his face. That's when the pistol fires.

Holy shit.

The bullet enters through Gene's chin and exits through the top of his head. He's dead before he hits the ground.

It takes a moment for everyone, including Zandra to realize this. It all happens so fast, Zandra figures the shot is meant for her. She's numb and her vision comes in pinholes, but her heart pumps in her ears. The adrenaline won't let her feel relief, but it does drown out the screaming pain in her bad ankle.

A surreal feeling settles over everyone around the fire as the realization Gene is dead sets in. Except for Elle. She remains huddled to herself, not making so much as a peep after the gunshot.

Zandra drops the length of wood and hovers over Gene's lifeless body. She's joined by Glenn and several others. They all stare at the corpse for several minutes as if they're waiting for him to get back up. The musky, sweet, iron smell of death curls into their noses.

All those decades of horribleness, of paranoid "civilization maintenance," of bullshit and murder, in the name of building and consolidating power, and it's all over in the pull of the trigger.

Was it worth it, Gene?

Someone needs to say something. Zandra goes first. She struggles to get the words out through her breathing and palpitations.

"OK, ah, so, there are two things we can do here. You all can go ahead with this ritual thing, or you can see this as a chance to stop all this. OK? And I think you all, uh, you all want to make the right choice here," Zandra says.

Glenn starts to reach for the pistol.

"You sure you want your fingerprints on that thing?" Zandra says.

Glenn stops.

A man Zandra recognizes as an executive for a healthcare company speaks up. "We can't just stop."

Blood snakes its way through the dirt toward Zandra's foot. She takes a step back and says, "That's how Gene wanted you to think. He pushed you into all that collusion and corruption to keep out competition, and you never got a chance to stop. This is as clean a break as you'll ever get, and not one of you is responsible for pulling that trigger."

I could say the same for myself.

"You cannot even begin to fathom how much money is going to be affected by all this," the exec replies.

Zandra glances back at the fire. It still burns hot. "Of course I can't, but that doesn't mean you all aren't just as rich right now as you were when you got here."

I wouldn't expect them to be saints, since they've probably had as many people murdered as Gene did, but I do expect them to be selfish. Keep your money and move on. I'm not getting back in that fire.

"But there's you. You're a problem," the exec says.

"Yes. A big problem," Glenn says.

Fine. Have it your way.

Zandra grabs the pistol before Glenn can stop her. She tries to scurry away from the group surrounding Gene, but Glenn knocks her to the ground. He stands over her, feet on either side of her hips, clenched fist pulled back. Zandra jams the barrel of the pistol into his groin. He freezes.

"You don't even know how to use that thing," Glenn says.

He's probably right, although this is the exact .45 Glenn carried back at the house. I had some time to check it out.

"You want to bet?" Zandra says.

"Stop. I'm not playing that game where you get in my head, tell me I don't have these scars on my face," Glenn says.

"What scars?" the exec says.

Wait. What?

Zandra and Glenn simultaneously turn their heads toward the exec.

"The scars on his face," Zandra says. "There's one across his forehead and one down the side of his face."

"Funny. I don't see them," the exec says, apparently missing the social cues for conversation during standoffs.

"You didn't?" Glenn says.

Probably because it's dark, and also probably because I smeared mud across your face when you found me by that tree.

Glenn's fist unwraps finger by finger. He steps away from Zandra, shaking his head in disbelief. "She's not a problem."

"What're you talking about?" the exec says, irritated.

"No. We're done here," Glenn says.

"Fucking kill this bitch so we can go home."

Glenn crosses his arms. "Then you do it."

Zandra gets back on her feet. She aims the pistol at the exec. "Maybe it's time you got your own hands dirty for once."

The exec laughs. Zandra puts a bullet in his arm.

I guess I know how to use this thing after all.

The exec isn't laughing anymore.

"Pick this shit up. Make sure Elle gets home safe. Someone figure out a cover story for Gene. You people know how to make that stuff happen. It's over. It's all over," Zandra says.

"What about the video camera?" someone says.

"It's mine now," Zandra says. She shuffles backward toward the dark woods with the pistol stretched out in front of her. "If any of you fucks try to follow me, you'll be eating through a tube."

Despite the dark, the video camera isn't hard to find. Zandra's swing surely connected with the device, but a couple LEDs remain on. She spots their glow cradled inside some dogwood.

The video camera goes into her pocket. Zandra then goes to get the lawnmower knife back. It's still where Glenn slapped it out of her hand behind the fallen tree.

Looking down at the clearing, where Gene's lackeys and the high-profile attendees attempt to process the chaos, Zandra allows herself a smoke break. Each drag brings more relief than usual. A sense of calm washes over her. She aims a plume of smoke toward the full moon.

You there, David? I hope you're seeing this.

She closes her eyes and searches for the pain that brought him to her in the hedges. It's still there, but it doesn't burn as brightly. After a minute, she opens her eyes. No David.

It's alright. We'll meet again when we meet again.

If I can't figure out how to turn this gun off, we might meet sooner rather than later.

The pistol rests in her pocket, a poor substitute for a holster. The barrel points at her thigh. Zandra calls out for Glenn and draws the weapon. He joins her at the top of the trail.

"You're not really going to pop me after all this, are you?" Glenn says, his hands up after seeing Zandra with the gun.

"Not unless you want me to. Can you make this thing not go bang?" Zandra says.

"I'm not touching that. It's evidence now," Glenn says. "Your prints are all over it."

"Let me worry about that. Just tell me how to turn it off," Zandra says.

Glenn walks Zandra through sliding the magazine out and ejecting the cartridge from the chamber. It's as "off" as a .45 can get. Zandra stuffs everything back into her deep pockets.

"Thanks. Now fuck off," Zandra says.

Glenn retreats down the trail toward the clearing. Zandra heads in the opposite direction. She uses the same trail from earlier on. To her surprise, a car waits for her at the end.

Not just any car. A shitty car.

The car comes to life when Zandra nears. A door opens, and a man steps out.

"Darryl," Zandra says with a grin. "You'll never believe the night I had. It's going to take all the attorney-client privilege in the world to tell you about it."

"It's over?" Darryl says.

"It's over," Zandra says. "Although there is the small issue of disposing of a weapon used in the death of Gene Carey."

"Dispose of what now?"

"There'll be plenty of time for you to brainstorm in the ride back to town," Zandra says. "I've got a court appointment to keep."