I brought you Jessica Hope's scrapbook as well. I always kept it for her. We look through the scrapbook. Without warning a huge metal battering ram smashes through the wooden wall behind her. A tank, bearing the letters ATF is attached to it.
Canisters shoot from the tank's turret spewing tear gas.
The three of us fall to the floor choking as uniformed ATF officers wearing gas masks crash through the screening and begin to spray automatic weapon fire along the length of the verandah. I watch horrified as the bodies of Tyler and then Mrs. Longstreet jerk around violently as though they were puppets gone mad. I brace for death. If anybody's getting killed, it's surely in your head. I struggle to my feet, my body raw in the identical parts as before.