With swift precision, Dorothy brought the blade up and sliced through his neck with ease. She watched as the head plopped to the floor with a sickening thump. The body no longer jerked. Dorothy gasped, and her eyes widened as she stared at the blood on her machete. She’d had it all this time but hadn’t used it until right then. There wasn’t an ounce of regret—none. And she would use it again if she needed to. She took one last look at the bloody ribbon stitched through the lips of the severed head as she passed it and continued down the hall.
