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 de
