With his lips peeled back in a primeval snarl, Michael stepped forward and drove the barrel of the shotgun into the back of the man’s head with all his might. He felt bone shatter as the muzzle punched through the skull, sink into the soft mass of his brain and continue until it hit the other side of his cranium with a dull thunk. His target stiffened, fingers relaxing their grip and Abby dropped to the floor, coughing and gasping weakly for breath. With adrenalin-fueled strength, Michael held the man suspended on the shotgun for a moment watching the bright red blood pour down the barrel. Everything moved in slow motion; the blood advanced down the barrel in crimson rivulets and dripped off as large, shiny pulsating globules that splattered into hundreds of smaller pieces upon hitting the ground. He looked back up at the piece of trash on the end of the barrel and with a growl, yanked it out of his head and watched him collapse, dead. For a flash of an instant, the guilt of killing another human being visited him but immediately the image of two large, luminous blue eyes being violently extinguished washed away any trace of regret. Those marvelous blue eyes brought him back with a rushing sound in his mind, and as he gazed about the tent, the grayness seemed to evaporate and everything sped back into its rightful place in his vision.