“Gun oil,” Stormtiger called out, whipping around to face Grue. “I smell gun oil.”
Is that what he’s carrying? A barrel of oil?
Or… a coddamn bazooka?!
That would certainly explain why Taylor’s in such a hurry to get the hell out of Dodge.
Grue hefted the long metal object back with both hands, then flung it forward.
…that doesn’t sounds like something you’d do with a bazooka, though.
He didn’t drop both his arms as he let go. Instead, he used his left hand to follow up with a directed blast of darkness to cover it as it rolled into the clearing.
I clamped my hands to my ears, painful as it was with the bandage on my right ear.
A grenade launcher? Though it sounds like he’s throwing the whole thing. Some kind of giant makeshift bomb? Why would he prepare to throw that towards Taylor was, though?
Grue’s right hand was already withdrawing a gun from his jacket pocket as he backed up.
Ah, okay, I’m going back to the barrel of oil, to be ignited with a gunshot once Taylor is out of harm’s way.
His arm jerked twice as he fired the gun at the oxygen tank he’d fetched from the back of the ambulance. The first shot missed. The second didn’t.
…close enough. Makes a whole lot more sense to keep this in an ambulance, anyway.
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