Run DOM#67ALOSTON, COLORADOAD 19997:25 PM MONDAY Tal turned. His thoughts were fuzzy. Can’t think. Can’t concentrate. Can’t think.He knew he held a gun. He knew he had fired it. But he couldn’t remember why. Go into the prison. Use the gun again. Shoot something. What? Don’t know.When the door tinkled, he turned."May I help you?" he said to the four people who entered. His voice sounded strange, even to him: emotionless; dead and dry as a petrified stick. He held the gun in front of him, regardless of what the visitors’ reaction might be.The one in front - an older man - brought up a gun of his own. Tal saw the man smiling as the man fired. He felt a shell hit him in the chest and explode and heard the new arrival say, "We’d like to report shots fired."Tal slammed into the wall next to the prison door. He slid to the floor, leaving a wide swath of blood smeared down the wall behind him. His eyes rolled back, and when everything went dark he wasn’t sure if it was because his eyes were closed or if he had just forgotten how to see.Just the perfect way to end my day, he thought. Figures. And he died.***John heard the report, heard the terrifying explosion, and heard something slam into the wall. He hurried to the door that led to the office, knowing that the slam he’d heard was Tal, probably dead now. One more corpse in a night already packed with death and fear. John hoped that Tal was close enough to the door that he’d be able to grab the Sheriff’s key ring and escape out the back, for he was sure that the crazies he had encountered at Devorough's house were responsible for the gunfire he’d just heard.Who are they?
