Avery got his hands inside the waistband of my jeans and yanked me back, me still without the gun and him exerting one hundred and thirty years of accumulated strength against my fear. He thrust his hand down onto my neck and tacked me to the floor with his thumb and middle finger, pressing against my throat and completely cutting off my air. With his other hand he collected both of mine, holding them against the ground.

When you’re not breathing, you don’t struggle long and you don’t struggle hard. My fingers flapped uselessly against his wrist. I felt my blood rise to my skin’s surface, and my face went hot. I didn’t close my eyes, but after a minute I couldn’t see.

That’s why I was confused when he let go. I was so confused that for a few seconds I just lay there, wondering why he wasn’t hurting me anymore. Then, as my vision cleared, I was almost tempted to laugh.

Of all the unlikely heroes, Malachi had flung himself off the bed and onto Avery’s back. His hands and feet were tied, but that only meant he couldn’t let go of Avery’s neck even if he wanted to.

Together they twirled and spun as Avery tried to shake him, and Malachi’s bound wrists hung heavily at my grandfather’s throat. His full weight (though it couldn’t have been much) was dangling down Avery’s back, pinned at his neck; Avery was wearing my cousin like an unwieldy cape.

While he was thus distracted I turned over, dragging myself to my hands and knees.

My head drooped down and my eyes were watery, but I could see the gun just a few feet away. One raw palm after another, I crawled towards it. Slowly. Painfully. One scraped knee after another I propelled my broken, bloody body to the one thing I prayed would save me. I clawed towards that damned gun like it was the Holy Grail.

It had to be.

If it wasn’t, we were all dead.

I dropped one hand down onto it and it slipped around in my fingers. With both hands I picked the thing up and held it firm, then rose to my knees, aiming at the struggling duo. They were still waltzing about, Avery trying to shake Malachi, and Malachi determined to hang on.

I flipped the safety, pointed the barrel, pulled the trigger tight.

The first shot threw me backwards, almost out the door, but my shoulder landed up against the frame. I put one leg up on the wall to brace myself and fired again.

And again.

The rotating tussle of wrestling limbs jerked and jolted with each bullet.