The heat from the explosion was so intense Ferguson rolled on the ground, thinking he was on fire. By the time he realized he wasn’t, he could hear sirens.
“Guns?”
“Here, Ferg,” yelled the marine from the other side of the car.
“We want the highway.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
Ferguson leapt to his feet and began running in the direction of the road, crossing toward the perimeter road and then climbing the fence; with his arm, he pinned down the barbed wire strands at the top, ripping his parka but getting over without tearing his body to shreds. As he hit the ground, he saw a car approaching from the direction of the highway. Ferguson ducked behind some trees. Once the car passed—it turned out to be just a car, not the police as he’d feared—he climbed one of the trees and looked back in the direction of the plant they’d just escaped from.
“What’s goin’ on?” asked Guns from below.
“They’re putting out the fire,” Ferg told him. He slid back down. “You got the gamma meter and the laptop?”
“Left it in the car, Ferg. I’m sorry. I got everything else.”
Almost on cue, a fireball rose from the vehicle. The laptop had self-destructed.
“Sorry,” said Guns.
“It’s all right. Wouldn’t have been a good idea to go back and get them anyway. Most of those guys were carrying submachine guns instead of fire extinguishers.”