At the sound of the gunshot, I run towards Robert. I catch him as he staggers.
"I'm okay," he says as he pats over his chest and feels the side of his head quickly. "I'm okay."
We both look down. Chris has crumpled into a pile on the ground. Blood spreads out in a large stain across his chest. It begins to trickle onto the steps over which he's slumped.
"Oh my god," I say despite myself. My hand goes over my mouth. "Chris!"
Robert is there first. He gently slides his arm beneath Chris' shoulders, and lifts his son's head off of the pavement. "Oh my boy," he says, suddenly tender. "What have you done?"
"Oh my god," I say again, at a loss for words. I whip my head around, spotting several ARs with mouths wide open, ogling the scene from the curb of the street. "What are you doing?" I sc
