The guy now slumped on the floor, makes an awful gargling sound with his throat that shudders through me and lays motionless on the floor a few feet from me. He looks like a combine harvester has run over him. So much blood and mess over his face, and I feel instantly nauseous at the sight.

Tears are still pouring down my face, more than before, as I crawl to my knees and get up shakily, putting weight on my ankle and finding it’s not as bad as it first seemed. It aches, but I can ...