“Ohmigod,” Edith muttered, over and over, in a small scared whisper.
“Status?” Bardwell demanded, still tight and controlled. Through her ear defenders, she could hear no hate or triumph in his voice. It was flat and level.
How can he do that? How can he bring about such destruction and it mean nothing to him? She stole a sideways glance at the gun, still now after its violent spasm and the far-reaching pandemonium.
“Is the target down?”
Edith jerked out of it, fumbled with the scope.
“Down?” she repeated, tongue suddenly thick in her mouth, a spreading fire in her belly that she recognised as exultation. “Oh yeah, the target’s down all right. The target is blown away.”
Bardwell nodded without satisfaction. “Then we’re done here.”