69: Deva
Deva
The explosion rocked the whole lorry. Deva slipped, slammed her shoulder against the crate.
There was a scream, then hurried talking from the Heralds, their voices frantic.
Deva shuffled, found the edge again, rubbed. Everything ached. Sweat coated her back, ran into her eyes.
And her arms flew apart. One hand hammered into metal, and she cried out.
Nobody heard, though. The noises from outside drowned her out. Gunfire, thuds, crashes.
Deva slid along the stack of crates and looked along the trailer.
Light flooded in as the Heralds opened the door. A couple of them knelt at the entrance, and they held weapons that jerked and spat.
One of the Heralds fell. Another took her position, fell too. The next one lasted longer—long enough for a couple to jump out and run.
