There was the distinctive click-clack of a shotgun pump, before a shot rang out from Richard's direction. The man with the machete stumbled back, already starting to bleed from the many bullets that had pierced him. A second shot widened the hole in his chest, and he dropped to the ground, making a horrible, wet gurgling noise.

Jinny was frozen in the bed of the truck, her hands still firm on the pistol. They hurt, very bad actually, because she was squeezing the gun's handle so hard. But she couldn't move her hands. She'd seen the man she shot go down, covered in blood. She had done that. She'd killed him... A tiny whimper escaped her throat.