What happens when an eighth-grade boy is the only one who will face that a killer is about to go on a shooting spree at his school?Note: Readers who enjoy this story and also approve of its message should be sure to rate and review the book, so it will gain a wider audience and have a greater impact.From "Nothing But A Gun"Ricky recalled one of the rare occasions when he discussed guns with his Dad. His Dad had taken him one Saturday to the Minuteman National Historical Park in Concord, where farmers with their guns had stopped the British regulars marching from Boston. Stopped them there at the Old North Bridge over the Concord River. Collecting muskets, gunpowder, cannon, and other arms for use by the town militia violated orders of the British military governor, Thomas Gage. Gage had decided to capture the largest colonial munitions supply and it was at Concord, 18 miles west of Boston. It was to be a quick thrust, by night, to seize the cache. But as everyone knew, today, the colonial alarm system of riders like Paul Revere had worked well that night. The Concord citizens were warned and ready.The confrontation came at the bridge, where the statue stood today, where the first shot of the Revolutionary War that led to creation of the freest, happiest, most prosperous nation on earth had been fired.Standing there, looking up at the lanky statue of the Minuteman with his musket, his Dad had said: "The last thing you want to do is live with a gun in your hand, fighting. You'd rather not even think about it. That's why we have the police to protect us from a few people who would rather point a gun at us than make a deal. Or rather steal something than earn it. There aren't many of them, not in our country, anyway, because everyone is free to make his own way."But then, he had looked up the statue above them and fallen silent. He nodded as though to himself. "Sometimes, though, someone is suddenly there, right in your face with a weapon, with plans for you-or you wife-or your property-and he isn't asking. The police aren't there, no way to call them. What have you got?"Ricky had looked up, following his gaze. "Nothing but a gun? Is that what you mean?"His father nodded. "That's right--partly right. Nothing but a gun and your own judgment, with no one to tell you what to do. Fight? Go along and wait your chance? It can take more guts to do that, when you know you don't have a chance. But what you said is right, Rick. Sometimes, nothing but a gun will do it."