"I think this shotgun will do a good job of it," she said, firing off another shell.

This burst of pain was the worst of them all so far. Tom did not experience pain very often and so to feel it now, this hot explosion across his chest and face, he gasped. It was almost a surprise-almost exciting to think that he had made so many people, so many children, feel this way...or worse.

Certainly exciting to think of his mother making his brother feel that way-and all because she couldn't accept that her precious Tommy was rotten to the core.

"Is that all you've got?" Tom spat out a mouthful of blood and raised his sickle, lurching toward the girl who cried out and pumped the fore stock.

"Don't you get it, Emma? You're going to die here tonight. I'm going to kill-"

The next shell burst from Emma's weapon. She pumped it rapidly and fired off the next, and while Tom fell to his knees in a daze, Emma dug through the pockets of her shorts with a visibly shaking hand.

She'd shot this kind of gun before, it seemed.

Breath wheezing anxiously through her teeth as Tom climbed to his feet, Emma raised the weapon again.

One shell at a time, she fired.