Uncle Oran jumps on top of me, slamming me into the carpet with his full weight. He knocks the air out of my lungs so I’m gasping for breath, my head spinning worse than ever. Then he tries to drag me up again, pulling me away from the gun. Right at that moment, my hands close around something cold and hard. I grip the handle and curl my finger around the trigger. As Oran yanks me up, I swing the gun around and point it right at his face. He freezes, his hands locked on my shoulders.
