wind vs grenades

“They’re going to blow the door,” I said to Butters. “And maybe toss in a few flashbangs, and then they’ll roll in here and start shooting. Get over there behind the couch and wait for them. Soon as that door opens, start shooting through it.”
Butters swallowed, and nodded in a jerky motion. His face was pale and beaded with cold sweat. “Right.” He crawled over to the couch.
Meanwhile, I went to the wall beside the staircase that went upstairs. When the door blew, it would slam open, or if it got taken off the hinges, fly back onto the staircase. I would crouch beside the staircase, where most of my body would be hidden except for my gun arm and my head. I got into position and put the gun down on the floor where I could find it easily.
Then I waited.
Ten seconds later, there was a sound like a huge hammer hitting a flat rock, and a sensation like standing in surf and being hit in the chest with a wave, only less substantial. The door flew open. I could barely get the air out of my chest, but I flicked my hand at the door and muttered, “Ventas servitas.”
A gust of powerful wind hit the doorway from my side just as several small objects tumbled in from the other side, and they fell back to the porch with dull thumps before there was a wash of light and sound that would have obliterated my vision if I hadn’t already shielded my eyes with my hand. A couple of wordless cries of confusion went up from the squires outside, and exhaustion from the effort made my vision narrow to a tunnel. I saw someone move in the doorway, and then Butters opened up with the shotgun.


Skin Game Chapter 49, Page 419