Ian dove at him.

Before Ian's shoulder reached Mr. Hershel's chest, Mr. Hershel fired his gun.

For a moment I was sure he'd hit Ian in the top of his head, but he must have missed, because as Mr. Hershel toppled backward under the weight of Ian's body blow, Ian immediately tried to wrestle the gun from his blood-soaked hand.

Mr. Hershel didn't utter a word. He just kept breathing at the pace of a dog's panting, without stopping. His whole body was heaving with every breath.

Before Ian was able to pry the gun from his fingers, Mr. Hershel pulled away and brought the butt of his gun down hard right behind Ian's ear.

Ian tumbled backwards, dazed, and fell at my feet.

I knew this was it. I knew this was the moment I had to pull the trigger. I was already aiming right between Mr. Hershel's eyes.

But I couldn't do it. Whatever strength I'd summoned to help Ian carry the mutilated body from the locker room without vomiting was all the strength I possessed. This was different. This was too much.

Mr. Hershel grabbed onto Morgan's ankle and pulled her off the table. She cried out again as she fell awkwardly on her shoulder. She made a muted, coughing cry as she hit the floor. Mr. Hershel held tightly to her foot, twisting her leg up away from her body like he was dragging a club.

And still I couldn't pull the trigger.

I was so ashamed. As certain as I'd been a moment earlier that I was going to kill whoever I found hurting Morgan, now I was just as certain that I couldn't bring myself to end the life of the man I'd grown up next door to, no matter what he was doing.

I felt myself letting out a sob.

I heard the heavy blast of Mr. Hershel's gun.

I was sure, in the next moment, that I was dead. Everything was black. I was lying on the floor.

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