SevenThe room clung with the stink of cordite, the walls continuing to resound with the blasts from the many discharged firearms. Elisabeth crouched behind an ancient piano, an instrument that would never again ring out its plaintive tones. Two bullets had ripped through its sides, shattering hammers, destroying ivory. The girl huddled herself into the corner, trembling, wondering what would happen next.
From where she sat, she could see the body of the old man, lying spread-eagled across the floor, his eyes wide open, the back of his head nothing more than a gaping, black hole. The sadness threatened to overwhelm her. She didn't know the old man, but something about him reminded her of her father, and she imagined General Randall in a similar position, the life seeping out from the wound
