The city streets had swarmed with looters before the blast. She hoped they’d all been blown to hell. The sheer brilliance of the sky crept higher, denser, closer, and all she could think of was running faster than light. When she picked up the headlights on a lane running along the flank of the hill, she turned off her own lights before the crossroads, hoping she hadn’t been seen. She slowed as the car shot over the crossing and saw red tail lights of a stalled van ahead, heard the crunch of tyres, glass shattering. A woman’s voice cried out.
Not all blown to hell.
She reached into the glove compartment for the Glock. Behind her, vicious light seared the night sky, illuminating two men. She fired. Once. Twice.