His entire right side was in agony. Van suspected he would not have been able to move if not for the combination of meds and other illicit substances he was on. As it was, they dampened the pain, allowing him to react. He could hear the man with the shotgun moving closer. There was a crack as one of the boards of the barn, badly weakened by Van's errant shots into it, broke off and fell to the ground with a clatter. The man turned, and let fly with another shotgun blast at the wall, shredding the wooden boards. Then Van heard the snap of a break-action, and the faint plinks of the shells hitting the floor. So a double-barrel. This was Van's chance. Van pulled himself to his feet. The man didn't notice immediately, being preoccupied with reloading his shotgun. He hadn't managed to get both shells in by the time Van was up. Van took a step forward, and the man looked up, instinctively pulling up the shotgun. Van, working off little but a combination of pain and a desire to not have to suffer more of it, lunged forward, and grabbed the barrel. It burned his hand a little, but he hardly noticed under the sheer amount of agony he was feeling. The man on the other end sought to manoeuvre the half-loaded shotgun round to point into Van's chest, but the ex-detective pushed hard forwards and smacked his opponent in the face with the butt of the gun. The man grabbed at his nose and staggered bag. Van almost fell, but kept hold of the shotgun and leant on a nearby pillar. As the man rolled around on the floor, Van slowly turned the shotgun round. The man looked up at him. Van pointed the weapon down at him. He waited, to see if his victim said anything, but the man instead scrabbled for what was probably a hidden gun. Van squeezed the trigger. At this range, even an injured, drunk, drugged up ex-detective firing one-handed couldn't miss. And Van didn't./p
