The explosion was a physical wall of pressure that flattened the world. The thermobaric canister hadn’t fully detonated, but the fuel line it ignited had turned the center of the garage into a roiling sun of orange flame and black, oily smoke.
For a few seconds, Jolene’s world was nothing but a high-pitched ringing and the taste of burnt rubber. She felt herself being dragged, her boots scraping across the grit of the concrete, until her back hit something solid.
"Stay low!" Silas’s voice was a muffled roar, barely audible over the ringing in her ears. He was a shadow in the haze, his shotgun spitting fire toward the breach.
But where was Vance?
The smoke was a living thing, thick and suffocating. Through the swirling grey, a new sound emerged—not the rhythmic cadence of the mercenarie
