Free WAR: Intrusion by Vanessa Kier Page A

and gave Martin a tight smile and a pat on the shoulder. The boy then passed his new toy over to his grandfather. The older man took the device and turned it over. With a brilliant flash of light, the device exploded.
    “No!” Helen raced toward them. Dropping to her knees, she pulled a pair of surgical gloves out of the pack she carried around her waist and quickly assessed the situation. The grandfather was dead. The explosion had torn a hole in his chest. Martin had extensive wounds and burns, but still had a pulse. Kwesi appeared to have been knocked unconscious, protected from severe injury by his father’s body.
    Other MP3 players exploded, sending the crowd into full panic mode. Then Helen heard gunfire.
    “Catch the traitor,” one of the bodyguards on stage shouted.
    Helen glanced over just as the regional governor collapsed into the arms of the nearest bodyguard. A fleeing woman knocked Helen off balance and she barely caught herself from falling onto Kwesi’s son. Helen repositioned herself so her body formed a barrier between Martin and the stampeding crowd.
    Kwesi sat up. When he spotted his father and his son, he gave an anguished cry and flung himself at Martin, picking the boy up and cradling him in his arms.
    Martin’s eyelids fluttered in a face covered with blood and third degree burns.
    “Kwesi,” Helen said gently, “you need to put Martin down so I can help him.”
    Kwesi didn’t appear to hear her. He just rocked back and forth holding his son. “My fault,” he murmured. “My fault. Please don’t die. Don’t die.”
    LACHLAN WAS WORKING his way through the crowd toward Helen when the first explosion went off behind him. He hit the ground and rolled away, winding up at the feet of a teenage boy who blinked at him in shock.
    “Down,” Lachlan commanded, tugging on the boy’s trousers.
    The boy remained frozen in place a moment, staring in the direction of the explosion. Lachlan heard automatic weapons firing closer to the stage. The microphone emitted an ear-piercing feedback squeal, then went dead. Another explosion ripped into the crowd. People screamed and started running. The teenager broke free of Lachlan’s hold, spun around, and joined the panicking mob heading toward the entrance to the school grounds.
    Lachlan pushed to his feet and drew his pistol. Dodging the people who were trying to escape, he followed the smoke until he reached the explosion site. Which wasn’t at all what he’d expected. There was no crater. Nothing to indicate anything untoward had happened except for the wide berth the crowd gave the area. Wailing family members huddled in a circle, clutching one another and staring at a spot on the ground that Lachlan couldn’t see. As Lachlan drew closer, he spotted two wee legs on the ground, the flesh all torn-up beneath the tattered remnants of a brightly colored skirt.
    Bile rose in his throat. Christ. Not a child.
    “Commander? You okay?” Tony asked over their earbud comm devices. He’d been patrolling the edges of the field.
    Lachlan cleared his throat. “Fine. I’ve found one of the victims. A child. I—” One of the adults moved, revealing the charred remains of the girl’s hand and a familiar piece of metal that had been melted into her flesh.
    The MP3 player.
    Dark fury washed over him. His hands shook.
    “Commander?”
    “A minute.” Lachlan turned away from the grieving family just as another explosion went off not far from him. This time, instead of hitting the ground, he ran toward the blast. It had been small. Localized. Exactly what he’d have expected if it had come from an MP3 player.
    As he neared the area, he grabbed one of the men who was fleeing. “Did the music player explode?” he demanded.
    “Y-yes,” the man stammered.
    Lachlan shook him. “Tell them.” He jerked his chin toward the crowd. “Tell everyone you see to spread the word. The children must drop the MP3 players and run away.”
    Wide-eyed, the man