She backed out of the car, landing on her ass, an instant before it was rammed. Her attention fixed on the van. Bullets were still bouncing off it, not doing any damage except for what appeared to be some faint scratch marks.

“MOVE!” Rusty yelled. “Follow me.”

Kat turned her head as the New Species got to her feet. She pulled her weapon but didn’t fire at the van. Kat reacted, her years of training taking over before she could think. She yanked the handgun from Rusty’s hand, rose and flipped off the safety.

“Shoot the tires,” Kat yelled.

She took a shot at the windshield where she saw two assailants sitting. Both wore tactical assault gear with full-face shields. The vehicle windows held, which meant she couldn’t do any damage but that went both ways. Movement in the back of the van assured her there were more of the bastards. She advanced, ignoring the gunfire, hoping the guards on the wall didn’t target her.

The driver turned his head as she stopped next to his door. She grabbed the handle but it was locked. She gripped the gun with both hands. He pressed on the gas, tires squealing, and the smell of burning rubber assailed her as he pushed her rental a few feet. She moved with it and scanned the door for a flaw. The lock was exposed so she fired into it. The hole that appeared seemed to surprise the driver and she might have hit him but the bullet wouldn’t do much damage with the chest rig he wore. She yanked open the door and aimed for the two inches of skin revealed at his throat when he looked her way and made the mistake of glancing up at the wall, lifting his head. She fired.

The passenger attempted to raise a military-grade assault rifle to shoot her but he snagged the end of it on the center divider, between the seats. She fired at him but the bullet didn’t pierce his face shield. He did lunge back. The driver choked, blood flowing over his vest. He wasn’t wearing a belt. She fisted one of the straps of his vest and yanked hard. She turned as he fell out, putting her side against the van, out of the passenger’s sight line. The driver fell to the ground and she released him.

Bullets tore into the open door next to her and she knew if she swung forward to fire at the passenger again, he’d hit her. She focused on the dying man at her feet. She bent, careful to keep out of the open door of the still-running van but it wasn’t moving forward anymore. Her car prevented it. She yanked his handgun free of its holster and spotted two objects that looked like grenades.

Holy f**k. They aren’t screwing around. She dropped the guns on the ground and grabbed the two explosive devices. They were handmade, by her guess, but looked deadly. She didn’t have time to ponder exactly how they worked or what they would do. She feared the other assailants would burst out at any second and attack. She saw the switches and used her thumbs to activate them, praying they wouldn’t instantly blow. She risked exposure when she threw them inside and leaned over to grab the door. She slammed it closed, spun and sprinted away.

“Run! Bomb!” she shouted at two advancing NSO officers.

One of them followed orders by diving behind some kind of barrier they’d set up near the guard house but the second one kept coming.

“It’s going to blow,” she got out. At least she hoped it would. It would be really bad if she’d just set off two chemical weapons, thinking they were explosive devices. She’d had mere seconds to examine them.

The guard still coming at her had to be at least six-foot-five. He didn’t point his gun at her, which was a blessing. She tucked her head when his arms opened as if to grab her but she tackled his waist. It knocked the air from her lungs when she slammed into his solid frame, reminding her of hitting a wall at full speed. They both went down though.

BOOM!

The sound nearly deafened her and something slammed into her back. She wasn’t sure if she’d been hit by a flying object or if it was just the shockwave from the explosion. Her ears rang, she felt numb and was unaware whether she was hurt. The big body under her moved. She was sprawled on top of him. He rolled over and she suddenly felt the unforgiving pavement under her back. His weight pinned her as she managed to open her eyes, not even aware they had been closed until then.

Her hearing improved somewhat as the trauma lessened. The guard was heavy, crushing her between him and the ground. He’d turned his head to look behind him. She stared up at a tan throat, revealed beneath his tinted face shield, and even noticed his square chin. Popping noises and a hissing sound filled the air.

“Son of a bitch.” His voice gave her chills. There was a gruffness to it that wasn’t quite human—too deep, almost a snarl.

He pushed off her and she sucked in air, her lungs starved for oxygen. She got her first glimpse of the van, or what was left of it, when he rolled to his knees then got to his feet.

She sat up enough to stare mutely at the destruction. The windows had blown out at the front of the van and the back doors were open. Flames shot from both sides of it and black smoke rolled upward. A body lay near the driver’s door—the man she’d shot in the throat. He wasn’t moving and she didn’t expect him to. The bullet she’d fired had been a kill shot.

Her attention returned to the van and the dark object hanging out the back, to the ground. She was able to focus enough to make out what it was. Bile rose as she identified the shape of a head and arms. He wasn’t moving. She managed to choke back the urge to throw up. It sank in that she’d just killed at least three people, unless the passenger had exited the other side before the explosion. The NSO guard moved but she couldn’t take her horrified gaze off the burning van.