There was a flash and a crack, as the gun spat a tiny elongated seed of ball-lightning into the door.
The silenced gun spat a soundless bullet, hit the beast in a vital spot.
His finger depressed the firing mechanism and the gun spat a tight column of destructive blue fire.
Some of the others were turning even as he fired, the muzzles of their guns still spitting flame.
His guns spat again; this time, with results.
"One witness said it looked as if the guns were spitting fire at the same time."
The gun spat a line of crimson energy.
The gun spit a few shells, then went dead.
My hands closed around her wrists as the gun spit a round past me.
The guns spat at one another all through the night.
