![]() ![]() Whether it was out of my face or my now useless right arm wasn’t clear, but it didn’t matter. I was in hypovolemic shock, likely from blood loss. It made no sense, and that stubborn, rational part of my mind knew why. ![]() So, I’m going to give you a warning: Find your way back to being a good guy, and never threaten us again. Shit! Michael! One voice stood out more clearly than the rest, the voice coming out of that young, busted up face that revealed itself from behind all the layers of metal: Except for Tom, Tom was here somewhere.Įveryone can see. The important ones began to stand out and intermingle: Dad, Michael, Shannon, Clea, Mike, Tom…Jordan? But how could I hear them? None of them were here. Voices screaming and crying, wailing in pain or fear, and some trying very hard to assuage fear and maintain order in a situation of pure chaos. Of course, there were voices, too many voices from too many people. The sound of giant, crashing, metal footsteps moving away certainly should be fading by now, or was that more machine-gun fire? It was odd how clearly I could remember the machine-gun fire but not the shotgun blast, which was right next to me. ![]() ![]() The problem was, I wasn’t sure which sounds were real and which weren’t. I could hear everything, in the most pristine detail. ![]()
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