Kerney stood watching it all happen in slow motion. The
screaming in his head drowned out everything else. He
shoved the guard aside and swung the M-60. With Griffin in
the sights, blurred by tears, he squeezed the trigger. The
weapon shuddered. Tracers flew from the barrel to the
gangly orange figure vaulting over the grass and sand.
Griffin rose triumphantly in a movement more beautiful
than any Kerney had ever see, then floated down and
collapsed, limbs askew, like a broken marionette.
