Alice forced herself to stand on legs filled with iced water, muscles shaking, and grabbed her smoldering jacket. She flipped it over and searched for her gun. It was intact, the drum charged, though she didn’t know how much use it would be. The Walther was designed for close contact, and this sounded like a long-range match. Her ceramic knife still sat in its spring-loaded sheath. She tugged it free and slid it down the back of her jeans, hissing at the pain in her chest. Next was her phone. That hadn’t been so lucky, its body shattered by the rocket impact. There was no way to call for help, they’d have to make it out of this by themselves.