Explosion - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
After setting the timer Hank raced back to the flimsy shelter of the room divider. Had it not been for the kit he'd pilfered from the military before his dishonourable discharge his insides would have been liquified before the acrid smoke and a chance to choke him. He donned a full blast suit, a gas mask and adopted the fetal position under a fire blanket. The Semtex ignited in a fiery ball of yellow flame, billowing outwards, filling the control room and escaping through the sections destroyed by the blast wave. The noise had reverberated over the sleeping town as efficiently as a thunder clap and by now the police department's finest would be on their way, siren's blazing.
The pillar of fiery smoke and dust, still boiling up from where the bombs had gone off far underground, was being violently agitated at the bottom. A series of new flashes broke out, lifting and spreading the incandescent radioactive gasses, and then a great gush of flame rose. A column of pure hydrogen must have rushed up into the vacuum created by the explosion; the next blast of flame, in a lateral sheet, came at nearly ten thousand feet above the ground, and great rags of fire, changing from red to violet and back through the spectrum to red again, went soaring away to dissipate in the upper atmosphere. Then geysers of hot ash and molten rock spouted upward; some of the white-hot debris landed almost at the acid river, half-way to the armor-tender.
Out on the rolling skyline, fifty miles away, a lancelike ray of blue-white light shot up into the gathering dusk--a clump of five rays, really, from five deep shafts in an irregular pentagon half a mile across, blended into one by the distance. An instant later, there was a blinding flash, like sheet-lightning, and a huge ball of varicolored fire belched upward, leaving a series of smoke-rings to float more slowly after it. That fireball flattened, then spread to form the mushroom-head of a column of incandescent gas that mounted to overtake it, engorging the smoke-rings as it rose, twisting, writhing, changing shape, turning to dark smoke in one moment and belching flame and crackling with lightning the next.
Out of this shock Aaron felt himself issuing amid a mass of terrible sensations: the fearful blow of the explosion, the noise of glass, the hoarse howl of people, the rushing of men, the sudden gulf, the awful gulfing whirlpool of horror in the social life.
...there was an enormous explosion. It was as though a fist of orange flame had decided to punch it's way out of the main complex. Windows shattered. Smoke and fire rushed out. Thousands of pieces of glass and steel, a deadly rainfall, showered down. Alarms - shrill and deafening- erupted. A huge bite had been taken out of the side and the roof of the building. Alex had seen the size of the bomb. It was hard to believe it had done so much damage.
Setting the bomb was the easy part, keeping his cover in tact was more challenging. Axel worked with calculated precision, the right wires to the right place in a colour coding only he understood, using a trigger he had designed himself, his signature for the forensics team to find after. He sat back and pulled his phone out to take a picture, it was art and he wanted to remember it whole and pretty. Then he slid the phone back into the zipper pocket of his black jumpsuit and armed it to explode on first light with a solar switch. Then he left, using his remote to loop the camera feeds for twenty seconds each time he passed one, also his own design. When the dawn broke he was across the street in a high-rise sipping filtered coffee. On minute there was an art gallery across the street, a front for the russian mob, and the next a rising ball of blackened orange-red flame baking the startled air. The windows shook so violently he almost put down his cup. Car alarms wailed chaotically...
A blinding flash came from the point where the missile struck and a white cloud rose in the air.
He ordered a blackout and every flashlight extinguished. There in the darkness was a flicker of red. "Evacuate, stat, suspected bomb. Bomb. Bomb. Bomb." Six black clad SWAT officers knew that meant "run like hell," and they did. Behind them the old house exploded, old nails became shrapnel and glass cut through air as good as any blade. Wood of all sizes rained down on them and the faux-brick cladding shattered casting red dust and projectiles into the dawn air. Every officer lay on the ground, some in fetal position trying to protect their ears and organs, others splayed like rag dolls on the morning dew.