She couldn't drop the gun. She wanted to drop it, but she couldn't. She couldn't.
But that wasn't truly driven home, that point, not until Elliot was shouting at her. Even then, Rory had to squeeze the weapon tightly just to keep her hand from shaking. She was bleeding, but it wasn't going to matter. She wasn't losing too much. Her head was still clear. Mostly. Except for all the panic that felt like it was choking her.
Elliot's voice rang through her head again, an echo of his actual shout, and that made her stand. Made her force her way back up, onto unsteady legs, and rush over to him.
Christ, he was wrestling one to the ground. Which one had that been? She couldn't even -- it didn't matter. The zombies didn't have names anymore.
They just needed to die. This last one. And then it would be okay. Somehow.
Rory steadied herself with a breath, remembering how good she was at remaining levelheaded. She needed to remember that right then. Needed to be rational, and proficient, and calm. That breath stopped the shaking, and Rory kneeled to press the gun to the thing's head. Thinking it through, she pushed Elliot back a bit with her other hand. Just so the blood wouldn't go in his face. It couldn't go in his face.
With one squeeze of the trigger, it was over. The thing was dead. And then, then it was a flood of what was around her.
"...you're hurt..." she said, finally dropping the gun. Finally resuming the slight shaking. "Elliot, you're hurt."