32
Sara
I land painfully on my side, my head banging into the side of the couch as another shot rings out and a warm, metallic spray hits my face and neck.
“Peter!” Terrified for him, I scramble to my knees, wiping the blood out of my eyes—and then I see it.
Mom sprawled on the floor, her face splattered with blood.
Or rather, most of her face.
Part of her cheek and skull is missing, leaving a bloody hole where a cheekbone used to be.
My mind shuts down, a wall of numbness sliding into place as a third shot rings out.
I look at my husband, on his back and bleeding, then at the agent in the doorway, his face twisted with hatred as he aims at Peter’s head.
My gaze falls on the gun Peter dropped while wrestling with the other agent.
It’s three feet away.
I reach for it and pick it
