The county was burning before sunrise. Not figuratively. Actually burning.
Smoke towers rose across the horizon while emergency sirens screamed from every direction and news helicopters circled overhead like vultures waiting for bodies.
Razor had done exactly what Saint warned us he would do. He had attacked everything and everywhere. All at once.
The command center screens flashed constantly with updates and every new report seemed worse than the last.
An evidence warehouse exploded downtown. A police convoy came under attack near the interstate.
Federal vehicles were ambushed outside the courthouse and several allied club properties reported gunfire.
Entire sections of the industrial district had become active war zones. The county looked less like a city and more like a battlefiel
