Gordy’s legs were weak, and felt like rubber. He could barely draw in breath. Egil’s arm was around him, holding him up, practically carrying him up the bill. Gordy felt his legs starting to go our on him. “Stop, put me down!” he said, but it was too late, he was already going down. Egil held on to him and went down with him, trying to lessen the impact of the fall, but Gordy still hit the ground hard. A jolt of pain shot through his body and he let out a muffled cry.

Egil was breathing hard. He looked up the steep hill. Their destination was within sight. ‘Come on, little brother,” he told Gordy, “it’s not much further.”

Gordy managed to roll onto his back. Ills legs were twisted and contorted into an unnatural position and didn’t move. He looked up the hill, then looked to Egil and shook his head. Gordy knew he’d never reach their destination. Rockcastle couldn’t save him now. Gordy knew that this is where he’d draw his last breath. “I can’t feel my legs,” he said, and then was seized by a series of liquid coughs from the blood that was filling his lungs.

“I’ll carry you,” Egil told him when he stopped coughing. “Do you have strength in your arms? Can you hold on to me?”

Gordy felt blood rising in his throat. He turned his head away from Egil so the blood wouldn’t splatter on him, then gave way to liquid coughs. Egil looked up the steep hill again. The doubtful expression on his face revealed his thoughts. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get Gordy up the bill by himself. He looked back down at Gordy with a pained expression. He wanted to yell at him, asking why he didn’t just walk away when he told him to. No Valkyrie had come for Gordy, they’d only come for the two state troopers; the ones who now lay at the bottom of the hill, dead. When a third Valkyrie appeared, she stood off to the side, but Egil knew she was only waiting for Gordy to decide his own fate. She came with no decree for him. Instead of yelling at him now, though, Egil spoke to him in a compassionate voice. “Are you in pain, little brother?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on Gordy’s shoulder.

Gordy turned his head and looked up at Egil. The tears he saw in the eyes of his friend touched him deeply. Gordy was in terrible pain from the gunshot wounds, but still he shook his head no. “Where’s Butterscotch?” he managed to asked before another round of bloody coughs seized him.

“I don’t know. Last time I saw him was right before all the shooting started,” Egil replied. He looked back down the hill and whistled, then called out, “Butterscotch! Here, boy!” A few seconds passed before he heard, then saw, Butterscotch. The beautiful Golden Retriever stopped about thirty yards down the hill and looked toward Egil. The dog seemed to be waiting for some sign that everything was okay before coming any closer. Egil slapped his leg and called to him again. “Come on, boy.” The dog let out a muffled “Woof!” and then ran excitedly on up the hill.

The smell of blood was thick in the air. Gordy’s clothes were saturated with it, and a fair amount of it had gotten onto Egil’s clothes, but Egil himself had sustained no injuries. The dog whined in obvious distress as he drew closer and saw Gordy. The strong odor of blood made the dog nervous. When he reached Gordy’s side and began inspecting him from head to toe, Gordy seemed to sense that his dog was there with him now. His eyes were staring upwards, unfocused, and he smiled weakly. Egil saw that his teeth were blood stained, and in the gaps between, the blood was thicker where it had pooled and was starting to congeal. The dog lay across Gordy’s chest in a gesture Egil perceived as protective, and Gordy raised an unsteady hand toward the dog as Butterscotch licked at the blood around the corners of his mouth arid whined with concern. Gordy’s hand fell sideways before it found Butterscotch, and Egil quickly snatched it before it hit the ground and placed it on the dog’s back.

Gordy’s eyes sparkled for an instant when he felt his shaky, unsteady hand along the dog’s back, and he seemed to be laughing. Almost in a whisper he said, “Butterbutt,” and then was hit with another round of liquid coughs.

Egil lifted Butterscotch off Gordy’s chest and held him back. The dog whined again and looked up at Egil, but Egil’s eyes were fixed on Gordy, watching the last of his life slip away. He reached down and took hold of Gordy’s hand, then Gordy seemed to turn his head in deliberate fashion to look at something. Egil’s eyes followed Gordy’s and he saw her, a Valkyrie, standing ten yards away looking at Gordy. Egil looked back down at Gordy, and in a voice filled with emotion said to him, “I’m sorry, little brother.”