Butters shot

Butters sat up from my legs and then stood scowling. "Wait a minute. This is just . . . This is all moving a little too fast for me."
The door behind him opened, and a heavyset man in street clothes lifted a gun and put two rounds into Butters's back from three feet away. The sheer sound of the shots was incredible, deafening.
Butters dropped like a slaughtered cow.
The gunman's eyes were tracking toward the rest of us before Butters hit the floor. I knew who he was looking for when his eyes swept over me and locked on.

Changes Chapter 31, Page 309-310


Then there was a single bright flash of light that showed me the gunman arching up in pain. Then it was gone and there was the sound of something large falling to the floor. Several people were breathing heavily.
I got my fingers onto my amulet again and brought forth light into the room.
Forthill sat against one wall, holding his jaw, looking pale. Molly was in a crouch, one hand lifted as if she'd been about to do something with her magical talents, the way she should have at the first sound of the shots, if she'd been thinking clearly. The gunman lay on his side, and began to stir again.
Butters wheezed, "Clear," and touched both ends of the naked wires in his hands to the gunman's chest.
The wires ran back to the emergency defib unit. When they'd been melted off the paddles, it had left several strands of pure copper naked on the ends of both of them. The current did what current does, and the gunman bucked in agony for a second and sagged into immobility again.
"Jerk," Butters wheezed. He put a hand on the small of his back and said, "Ow. Ow, ow, ow, OW!"
"Butters!" Molly croaked, and hugged him.
"Urgckh," Butters said. "Ow." But he didn't look displeased at the hug.
"Grasshopper, don't strain him until we know how bad it is," I said. "Dammit." I started fumbling with the straps, getting them clear of my upper body so I could sit up and work on my legs. "Forthill? Are you all right?"
Father Forthill said something unintelligible and let out a groan of pain. Then he heaved himself to his feet and started helping me with the buckles. His jaw was purple and swollen on one side. He'd taken one hell of a hit and stayed conscious. Tough old guy, even though he looked so mild.
I got off the backboard, onto my feet, and picked up the gun.
"I'm all right," Butters said. "I think." His eyes went wide and he suddenly seemed to panic. "Oh, God, make sure I'm all right!" He started clawing at his shirt. "That maniac freaking shot me!"
He got the scrubs top off and turned around to show Molly his back. He was wearing an undershirt.
And on top of that, he was wearing a Kevlar vest. It was a light, underclothing garment, suitable only for protection against handguns - but the gunman had walked in with a nine- millimeter. He'd put both shots onto the centerline of Butters's lower back, and the vest had done its job. The rounds were still there, flattened and stuck in the ballistic weave.
"I'm hit, aren't I?" Butters stuttered. "I'm in shock. I can't feel it because I'm in shock. Right? Was it in the liver? Is the blood black? Call emergency services!"
"Butters," I said. "Look at me."
He did, his eyes wide.
"Polka," I said, "will never die."

Changes Chapter 32, Page 311-313