In the Season of Killing Bolts

Chapter 16

Even through the rain, the lethal nature of the attack was clear; as one of the beasts launched feet-first at the nearest agent—its tail whipping frenziedly, its fore-claws splayed—and knocked him to the ground: pinning him there like a moth on cork, filleting him so that his entrails burst forth and steamed. The second man was luckier, so much so that he was able to turn around and begin firing even as they backed him toward the window, his pistol bucking and flashing, going ca-crack, ca-crack, its shells flying and clinking off the asphalt, until he was close enough to Coup and Rory that they were able to grab him and pull him into the store—which they’d barely managed to do before the pursuing raptors skidded into the glass and began thrashing about.

And then, bedlam—as more raptors descended and more men in suits opened fire (as well as the state troopers, one of whom was instantly pounced upon and swept from his bike); and the limo began to move: accelerating away from the gas pumps, swooping alongside the store, where its doors were opened even as the agent they’d rescued shoved wide the entry, and a largish man in a suit was hustled into the building—although not before a raptor’s jaws darted for his head and an agent dove between them, pushing him down, and was promptly decapitated. And then it was over, or nearly so, as the surviving raptors fled and the surviving Secret Service agents—both of them, as well as a State Trooper—followed the President into the store. Until the only sounds were several women sobbing and the hum of the refrigerators; and it wasn’t until things had settled considerably that Tess realized the old-young man—Henry—was no longer in the building. That he was, quite simply, just gone.

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