Excerpt: The Monteford House ending

All of them held guns. Many guns, of differing sizes. It was an incongruous sight to behold, and somehow the most reassuring sight Al had ever seen. If this damn hidden closet had been on the fourth floor instead of the first, maybe he would have been able to stop two of his co-workers from getting massacred right in front of him.
“Here, pass these out, and be careful,” Steve said, handing pistols out to Al. Al dutifully distributed them to the other members of the Coalition. Nadia ran her rifle back to her office and tucked it under her desk. Where they were going, they’d have at least a chance of blending in, but that would never happen if they had visible weapons. Small guns they could tuck into their jackets (in flagrant violation of District law, of course, but Al figured those laws ended where another universe began).
Once Steve had closed the closet back up, the Coalition gathered in a circle, and Nadia said, “Everyone remember what I showed you?”
“Yeah,” said Bruce, “this end is where the fire comes out, right?”
She gave him an annoyed look, then turned back to the group. “Safety on unless it’s in your hand and you’re ready to blow someone’s candle out. Hopefully we’ll never come to that point.”
Al weighed the gun in his hand. It felt good. For the first time, he was almost eager to cross beyond an X-door. Not that this was supposed to be a shooting gallery mission—really, they just needed to find that bastard and, ideally, take him alive. Barring that, it would at least be useful to find out where he was not. For all the travels that Sasha had made in the other worlds, she’d still amassed very little conclusive data.
He wondered about, were he to get shot by one of his colleagues, which one it would be. Bruce wouldn’t screw around with the gun, despite his clowning; Al saw the way he held it. Devorah and Julie looked uneasy, but Pat had the appearance of someone holding a live snake. Yeah, it’d probably be Pat, the poor guy.