Chapter 4: Hand It Over

"Hand it over," Dean said again, and stretched his palm toward her fire.

Demi did not stand up.

"The fire is mine. Your stove is down the hill. Go and light it."

"It will not light. You know it will not."

"I know," Demi said. "Whoever packed your fuel did not pack matches either."

Dean's jaw worked.

The camera operator stepped sideways to catch both of them in the frame.

"Get that thing out of my face," Dean said.

"It is live," she said. "I am not allowed."

Dean grabbed the tarp off the branch and tore it loose.

It was the only roof Demi had.

He kicked at the edge of her fire pit, aiming to scatter the coals into the wet.

Demi moved.

She caught his ankle in the air, turned her hip, and dropped him on his back.

He hit the ground so hard the breath left him in one long sound.

His right hand slapped down on the hot stones at the rim of the pit.

He screamed.

Bruce lunged across the fire and grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Let go of him!"

She stepped inside his reach, hooked his knee with her heel, and put one hand flat on his chest.

The biggest of her brothers went down on his back in the mud.

He looked up at her with his mouth open.

Demi stood over both of them with the firelight on her face.

The camera did not blink.

"Camp is down the hill," she said evenly. "You came up here to take what I made. Do not do it again."

Dean curled around his hand and swore at her.

Bruce lay still, looking at the rain falling out of the dark.

"How?" he said.

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