Two Mercedes saloons rocketed forward into the gap, as wisps of smoke and dust covered the bodies of the Saudi guards, the blood strangely brown and moist as the dust coated and disguised the horror of the broken flesh. The tyres slammed and bumped over the rubble and torn bodies and burst through to the Stepford-like streets of middle American suburbia. Women in pretty flowered tea dresses dashed to and fro incongruously between swarthy uniformed Saudis. The two Mercedes diverged left and right, the heavy clatter of machine guns beating a staccato tattoo of destruction. There was a smell of burning rubber, mingled with the stench of cordite, as the tyres struggled for grip on the hot tarmac. Bullets sprayed in every direction, making a ‘thock thock’ sound as they slammed into the concrete walls. Interspersed with this was the heavy meaty thud as bullets ripped into guards and civilians alike. In horror, Jessica saw one of her friends from the café throw up her arms before crashing back on to the ground.
