The rain fell in unrelenting torrents over the ruined courtyard of the Reed estate, washing away the blood of Gillian's fallen army, but doing nothing to cool the raging fires still gutting the eastern wing. It was 3:00 AM. The once-impenetrable fortress was now a scarred, smoky landscape of rubble, shattered concrete, and ringing sirens and dead bodies.
Down in the main medical wing, the air was heavy with the smell of antiseptic, copper, and burning insulation. The second bomb blast—the rocket that had caved in the vault ceiling—had claimed far more of Asher's loyal guards than the initial gunfight. Row after row of wounded men lined the cots, attended to by the surviving nurses.
