Elias's tone didn't change. "On my shot."
Zubair watched the roof rifle tick one last useless figure-eight. The shot Elias fired off was fast and to the point.
The man folded off the truck roof like someone had pulled a wire through his knees. He hit hard and didn't get back up.
Everything else moved at once.
Cutout muzzles in the van skin hammered the lane. Sparks skittered off the lead truck's hood as bullets flew through the air without purpose.
Zubair had already laid heat through the metal around him, and the rounds hit and slowed like they'd driven into thick mud. One flattened, stuck, the smoke of the mini explosion of still able to be seen in the air.
He gave the hood a breath more warmth and the next two rounds mushroomed before they could punch.
"Down," he said without raising his voice. Elias slid lower in the seat, rifle already angling to the second cutout.
Pablo on the barricade swung his rifle toward the windshield.
