A gunshot sounded upstairs.
“Eight.”
Then another.
“Seven.”
The lights flickered.
“Six.”
An explosion shook the farmhouse.
Claire screamed.
The transfer froze at 79%.
“No!” Margaret shouted.
Smoke began entering the corridor.
Russell grabbed my arm.
“We leave now.”
I stared at the screen.
79%.
All that truth.
All those lives.
About to disappear.
Then the percentage changed.
80%.
Margaret stared.
“How?”
81%.
Daniel looked at another terminal.
“Backup battery.”
82%.
Rebecca stopped counting.
Her voice disappeared.
