Kurtz’s head exploded in a spray of blood and brains and bone.
Kurtz’s head exploded in a spray of blood and brains and bone. Owen saw one final expression in the man’s blue, white-lashed eyes: amazed disbelief. For a moment Kurtz remained on his knees, then toppled forward on what remained of his face. Behind him, Freddy Johnson stood with his carbine still raised and smoke drifting from the muzzle. Freddy, Owen tried to say. No sound came out, but Freddy must have read his lips. He nodded.
“Didn’t want to, but the bastard was going to do it to me. Didn’t have to read his mind to know that. Not after all these years.”
Finish it, Owen tried to say. Freddy nodded again. Perhaps there was a vestige of that goddam telepathy left inside Freddy, after all.
Owen was fading. Tired and fading. Goodnight, sweet ladies, goodnight, David, goodnight, Chet. Goodnight, sweet prince. He lay back on the snow and it was like falling back into a bed stuffed with the softest down. From somewhere, faint and far, he heard the eagle scream again. They had invaded its territory, disturbed its snowy autumn peace, but soon they would be gone. The eagle would have the Reservoir to itself again.
We were heroes, Owen thought. Damned if we weren’t. Fuck your hat, Kurtz, we were h—
He never heard the final shot.
