Outside, the port had descended into hell. Men sprinted between towering container stacks, flashlights jerking wildly in trembling hands, breaths coming in ragged, terrified gasps.
The immensity of the fear was visible—eyes bulging white in the darkness, mouths stretched in silent or screaming terror, hands slick with sweat slipping on gun grips.
A dockworker in a torn hi-vis vest spun to check on his partner and found only empty air where the man had been seconds earlier.
He turned to run, boot catching on something soft and heavy. He tripped hard, falling face-first onto the concrete. His hands landed in warm, sticky wetness, which caused him to look down.
His partner's body lay twisted at an unnatural angle, throat crushed into a pulpy mess of cartilage and gore, eyes bulging from their sockets in surprise, tongue protruding thick and swollen.
