Armour-Plated Rooftops

Ralphie peered from a tiny chink in the boarded window with the shotgun in his right hand.

"What'er they doin'?" Nichole asked. Hunkered behind an overturned table across the room, she clutched a Berreta like a lover.

"Dunno. They're all milling around some kind of contraption. Gettin' smart, I guess." His knuckles whitened around the gun. "Wait...oh..." Ralphie crouched and scampered away from the window. "Brace yourself."

A distant, muted thump sounded, followed by a moment of silence, then a ...