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stage and everyone on it.

  Spreck managed to escape the blast by diving off the rear of the stage when he saw the rockets coming. As the smoke cleared, he furiously dug through the rubble and burning pieces of stage equipment, tossing melted chairs and kicking ash-covered debris out of the way. He finally saw the battered face of Gray. He carefully lifted a steel beam off Gray’s chest.

  “Was it . . . too late? Did we stop the king?” Gray said, gasping for breath.

  “Yes, my friend,” said Spreck, squatting on one knee and assessing Gray’s condition with a small scanner he pulled from his belt. “He was unable to give the command to activate his weapons. His plan has failed.”

  Gray smiled a feeble grin. “That’s good. Do you think he has many sympathizers – those who will try to carry out,” he choked on some blood, “carry out his designs?”

  Spreck frowned at the scanner’s readout, then put it away. “We will hunt them down and put an end to this madness,” said Spreck.

  “Well then, that’s -”

  Gray’s eyes glazed over and he went limp.

  “Farewell, Joshua Gray.”

  THE END

  © 2011 Michael D. Britton, Intelligent Life Books

  All rights reserved.