IT STARTED, INNOCUOUSLY enough, with the thump, thump, thump of the smoke grenades, which launched at an angle from both sides of the cab and bounced off the overhanging tree branches—as well as breaking at least one nearby window—before falling to the pavement and bursting into clouds of gray smoke. Nor did anything happen immediately—almost as if everyone outside were in a state of shock. But then the smoke began to rise, obscuring everything, and illuminating too the beams of the lasers—which lengthened as I tracked them and led straight to the top floors of Doc Maynard’s Public House—at which I depressed the ‘fire’ button and lit them up; even as Lazaro opened fire on the other side and feedback whined from the loudspeakers.
“Move—if you would live,” shouted Nigel. “Get up and run, al
