He dipped into a pouch and came out with a fragmentation grenade. “Frag out,” he roared and hurled it underhand so that it arced over the monsters trying to squeeze through from outside.

We dropped into a momentary huddle, all of us crowding around POTUS.

The blast radius of the grenade cleared the door and showered us with bloody debris and jagged glass. I hooked an arm under the president’s shoulder and jerked him to his feet.

Bunny cleared the last of the obstructions and then we were on the valet parking ramp.

“Oh . . . fuck . . . ” breathed Torres.

The Mystery Bus was half a football field from where we stood. Fifty long goddamn yards. Between it and us were hundreds of the dead.

Hundreds.

I did not see a single living person out there. Not one.

“Grenades,” I barked, and the three of us, Top, Bunny and me, began bombarding the throng.

We threw half a dozen grenades each. The blasts shook the world, deafened us, punched us over the hearts. Then we ran into the red-tinged smoke, skidding on blood, firing in all directions, killing anything that moved.

We slaughtered our way to the monster truck.

— 14 —

The keys were in the truck.

So was the driver. He had no arms, no face, no eyes, but he thrashed because he was belted in place. I put a shot through his temple and Torres popped the lock and pulled him down. I saw Bunny pick up the president and actually throw him in through the back door. There was a sharp cry of pain, but then Bunny shoved Chang up after him. I turned to yell at the two remaining Secret Service agents, but they were gone. I never saw them fall. They had simply been edited out of the world. Top crowded in behind the wheel. Doors slammed and hands began banging on the truck’s metal skin. The blows were weird. Hard, but also soft. Limp hands striking without skill, powered by raw need.

“Go, go, go,” I yelled, but he was already turning the key. The powerful engine roared to life and I nearly wept with relief when the little arrow on the fuel indicator swept up to full.

“Hold onto your dicks,” Top said and put the truck in gear.

The crowd, weakened and dismembered as it was, still wanted to keep us there. They had numbers and weight and they could not feel pain.

The truck was truly a monster. The over-built engine roared like a mad bull and the massive wheels turned. We braced ourselves for impact, but it wasn’t like that. Not at first.

No, the truck ground its way down the street. The tires were sixty-six inches high and forty-three inches wide, with deep tread. The massive weight of the vehicle and those brutal tires crushed the fragile bodies into pulp. I made the mistake of looking into the rearview mirror and saw that we were leaving a lumpy red road behind us. Nothing I’ve ever seen was as awful.