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Now twenty seconds had passed. Harold and Stu lay flat. Glen sat cross-leggedon the road, still looking as if he didn't know exactly where he was, or whatwas going on. Frannie was trying desperately to shoot the olive-skinned manbefore he could shoot Harold or Stu, but her gun wouldn't fire, the triggerwouldn't even pull, because she had forgotten to thumb the safety-catch to itsoff position. The blond woman continued to struggle with the second man, and thewoman who had gone after the dropped shotgun was now fighting with a secondwoman for possession of it. Cursing in a language which was undoubtedly Italian, the olive-skinned manaimed at Harold again and then Stu fired and the olive-skinned man's foreheadcaved in and he went down like a sack of potatoes. Another woman had now joined the fray over the shotgun. The man who had lostit tried to throw her aside. She reached between his legs, grabbed the crotch ofhis jeans, and squeezed. Fran saw her hamstrings pop out all the way up herforearm to the elbow. The man screamed. The man lost interest in the shotgun.The man grabbed his privates and stumbled away bent-over. Harold crawled to where his dropped pistol lay on the road and pounced on it.He raised it and fired at the man holding his privates. He fired three times andmissed every time. It's like Bonnie and Clyde, Frannie thought. Jesus, there's blood everywhere! The blond woman with the ragged hair had lost her struggle for possession ofthe second man's rifle. He jerked it free and kicked her, perhaps aiming for herstomach, catching her in the thigh with one of his heavy boots instead. She wentquick-stepping backward, whirling her arms for balance, and landed on her fannywith a wet splat. Now he'll shoot her, Frannie thought, but the second man whirled around like adrunken soldier doing an about-face and began to fire rapidly into the group ofthree women still cringing against the side of the Country Squire. "Yaaah! You bitches!" this gentleman screamed. "Yaaaah! You bitches!" One of the women fell over and began to flop on the pavement between thestation wagon and the overturned trailer like a stabbed fish. The other twowomen ran. Stu fired at the shooter and missed. The second man fired at one ofthe running women and did not. She threw her hands up to the sky and fell down.The other buttonhooked left and ran behind the pink trailer. The third man, the one who had lost and failed to regain the shotgun, wasstill staggering around and holding his crotch. One of the women pointed theshotgun at him and pulled both triggers, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouthgrimacing in anticipation of that thunder. The thunder didn't come. The shotgunwas dry. She reversed it so she was holding it by the barrels and brought thestock down in a hard arc. She missed his head, but got the place where his neckjoined his right shoulder. The man was driven to his knees. He began to crawlaway. The woman, who was wearing a blue sweatshirt which said KENT STATEUNIVERSITY and tattered bluejeans, walked along after him, bludgeoning him withthe shotgun as she went. The man continued to crawl, blood now running off himin rivers, and the woman in the Kent State sweatshirt continued to whale on him. "Yaaaaah, you bitches!" the second man screamed, and fired at a dazed andmuttering middle-aged woman. The distance between muzzle and woman was at themost three feet; she could almost have reached out and plugged the barrel withher pinky finger. He missed. He pulled the trigger again, but this time therifle only dry-fired. Harold was now holding his pistol in both hands, as he had seen cops do in themovies. He pulled the trigger and his bullet smashed the second man's elbow. Thesecond man dropped his rifle and began to dance up and down, making highjabbering noises. To Frannie, he sounded a little like Roger Rabbit saying "P-P-Pleeeeze!" "I got im!" Harold cried ecstatically. "Got im! By God, I got im!" Frannie finally remembered the safety catch on her rifle. She thumbed it offjust as Stu fired again. The second man fell down, now clutching his stomachinstead of his elbow. He went on screaming. "My God, my God," Glen said mildly. He put his face into his hands and beganto weep. Harold fired his pistol again. The second man's body jumped. He stoppedscreaming. The woman in the Kent State University sweatshirt brought the stock of theshotgun down again, and this time she connected solidly with the crawling man'shead. It sounded like Jim Rice connecting solidly with a high, hard fastball.The shotgun's walnut stock and the man's head both shattered. For a moment there was silence. A bird called in it: Whitwhit . . . whitwhit . . . whitwhit. Then the girl in the sweatshirt stood astride the third man's body and gave along, primeval scream of triumph that haunted Fran Goldsmith for the rest of herlife.==Text 2==
→Text (Kap 47)
*Mann 3 verfehlt harold 3 mal, Harold und Glen fallen mit Yamaha um
;20 Sekunde
*1 Frau kämpft mit 1 Frau um Waffe von Mann 1
*Stu erschießt Mann 3
*3 Frauen kämpfen um Gewehr 1
*3. Frau zerquetscht Weichteile von Mann 1
*Harold schießt auf Mann 1, verfehlt 3 mal
*Mann 2 schüttelt Blond ab, tritt sie
*Mann 2 schießt wild, tötet 1 Frau
*Mann 2 erscheißt 1 Frau
*Frau schießt auf Mann 1, Munition leer; schlägt ihm den Schädel ein => Susan (Kent State Universisty) -> Ronnie
*Mann 2 schießt auf Frau, verfehlt, dann leer
*Harold zerschießt Ellbogen von Mann 2
*Stu schießt Mann 2 in den Bauch
*Harold schießt mehrmals erfolgreich auf Mann 2 bis tot
The blond girl was Dayna Jurgens, from Xenia, Ohio. The girl in the Kent State