As he sprinted down the street, the sound of gunfire became brighter and more urgent.
Malin led the half-humans over the low walls, cutting through someone's backyard, flipping over the fierce watchdog with a small branch. He was the first to vault the wall, landing in a yard filled with dead bodies.
"They all have weapons, damn it." The half-human squad, after scaling the wall, scrambled for cover, rolling and crawling. Malin turned over a corpse and examined the bullet hole on the face—a revolver wound, the bullet entering below the eye and turning the back of his head into a verb in past tense.
He got up, raised his firearm, and Malin twisted his neck, causing the bright flashlight on his helmet to start working.
By then, the leader of the half-human squad had reached the back door. He pulled out a flare from his waist, released the safety, and tossed it through the slightly ajar door.
