Rules of Vengeance

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The world was on fire.

Flames licked at the ruined cars littering the roadway. Coils of black smoke choked the air. Everywhere there were bodies sprawled on the sidewalk and in the street. Debris rained down.

Jonathan Ransom lay on the hood of an automobile, half in, half out of the windshield. Lifting his head, he caused a torrent of fractured glass to scatter across his face. He put a hand to his cheek and it came away wet with blood. He could hear nothing but a shrill, painful ringing.

Emma, he thought. Are you all right?

Recklessly, he pulled himself clear of the windshield and slid off the hood. He staggered, one hand on the car, getting his bearings. As he took a breath and cleared his head, he remembered everything. The convoy of black cars, the tricolored flag waving from the antenna, and then the brilliant light, the sudden, unexpected wave of heat, and the liberating sensation of being tossed through the air.

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