. Ever been on fire? My hip felt like it. My friend had managed to get up to the second floor, forcing me to climb even more steps. The blood trail led down to the end of a hall and a closed door. Something tells me that this isn't friendly, so I breathe, and wait. . I know he's losing a lot of blood, and should pass out eventually. I keep swinging my leg around and stretching to make sure it doesn't stiffen up. It seems like an eternity, but after five minutes I start creeping toward the door. There's no way I can do this subtly- I have to hope he's out. Gun at the ready, I rear back with my left stomper in the air, and power forward, popping apart the door frame. It hurts, and my tongue gets a rough bite. The door only opens about five inches- there's something blocking it from the other side. Something that laid a pool of red on the floor, and dropped a hand to the side. . By the third shot, I can't hear the empty shells hitting the ground, or the action of the pump. I squeeze in, and flip on the light. Holy ****.I turn the light back off. Only two words can describe that mess- human giblets. It looked like every ball had over-penetrated. Gotta love cheap construction. . I went downstairs, tired and limping, and grabbed my little brother. He's unconscious, but alive. By the front door, I play the shell game, and pop a flare into the sofa. . Heart pounding, head ringing, muscles aching, adrenaline still shuddering through my veins, and tears riding my cheeks, I'm taking my brother to Disneyland.