I blinked at the large cracks snaking across the glass, twisting away from a small hole on the right side. Beyond it, the Diamond Dogs appeared bent and distorted. And red. The whole snowscape had turned red, the bright, sticky kind I tasted at the back of my throat.
Something scraped there, from my burning lungs and across my tongue and out my open mouth that wouldn't shut. A scream, so loud inside the confines of this jeep. Outside, too. Because the Diamond Dogs were screaming, as well, their bones snapping, their bodies folding in on themselves into the stained red snow. My magic, the dark, killing kind, shoved them deep into the ground, like three boxes made of flesh and diamonds now buried and forgotten. I didn't even remember making the conscious choice to kill them since the moment the hole appeared in the windshield.