A few minutes later, the squad was running through the residential district.
The neighborhood had probably been quiet once.
Tree-lined streets. Small apartment complexes. Families walking dogs in the evenings. Joggers cutting through side roads before work.
Now it looked gutted.
Cars sat abandoned across both lanes at crooked angles, some half-mounted onto sidewalks where panicked drivers had lost control trying to escape.
Windshields were shattered inward. Doors hung open. A delivery van had plowed directly into the rear of a sedan hard enough to accordion the front end while both airbags sagged uselessly inside the cabin.
Another vehicle still idled faintly near the curb, headlights casting pale beams across an empty intersection.
Nobody was behind the wheel.
Bodies littered parts of the street.
Mostly civilians.
A woman in pink jogging clothes lay beside a storm drain with one shoe missing.
