Just like they'd planned, Sam was hot on Landry's tail as he charged into the room like a wrecking ball. His first blast with the shotgun must have sent a guy flying, because she saw a man hit the wall and collapse as she entered. She started swinging her aim left as fast as she could to clear the corner, lingering mid-arc to fire a three round burst into a shadow holding a gun that starts to rise from behind a bed. A few pops from the other side of the house must be a pistol — not Rebecca's, she'd recognize it, but she had to focus there, mute her worries for now.

Landry fired again, twice more, at a target or targets she hadn't spotted yet. She finished her pan across the room and started to aim back towards the door, but saw movement before she got there. A loud boom rocked the room and Landry fell backwards in her peripheral vision. Angry profanity poured from her mouth and she opened fire as soon as she got on target, putting two or three bursts — she wasn't sure — into the thug partially visible in the doorway.

She advanced to Landry's side and started to kneel next to him in concern, but she heard him groan. Hopefully his armor took the brunt, she couldn't stop, they all knew they didn't have the bench depth to take up the momentum if she did.

She moved forward again, trying to get angles on the room in front of her through the door, to not get blindsided just as she entered. Her sides were clear, but someone across the room popped up just like a target range. She responded accordingly, firing just like at practice. The first burst misses, but she must have corrected without thinking about it as the next volley strikes home. Three or four bursts left in... no, she didn't have to worry about that. She had one of Rebecca's big magazines with twice the capacity she was used to.

Confusing movement flashed to her left just before an impact made her forehead burn and her head ring, knocking her to a knee and loosening her hold on her gun. Did someone just seriously hit her with a fucking mirror?

Before she recovered, her unseen attacker kicked the back of her left knee, harshly aborting her attempt to rise, and lashed out again at the side of her torso. The blow knocked some of her breath away, but thankfully the armor distributed the impact. The unexpected resistance might have put her attacker off balance, because there was a fleeting moment's respite she used to get her right foot under her and lunge at them, twisting to claw at their face with her left hand as she pulled her knife free and stabbed them twice, rotating her fist to turn the knife after each strike to cause more damage and break the vacuum seal on the blade so she can pull it free again, just like Ronnie taught them.

It was her first time stabbing someone for real, but she only spared a brief observation that she didn't really seem to mind . More pistol fire echoed — familiar this time. Crap. Meanwhile, closer footsteps demand her attention, running at her from the right. She turned, launching off the floor to vault a table, using her small stature to get her toes under her again to kick off it like a rabbit with a very sharp blade, adding more impact as she cannonballed into her charging foe. She rode them down and worked her knife again. Twice to the abdomen and once to their neck or underside of their skull — she couldn't which tell with one good eye in the dark. Her left eye stung like a real bitch and she couldn't override the instinct to keep it squeezed shut -- probably blood dripping from the fucking mirror hit.

Her M4 beckoned in the corner of her limited vision and she staggered to it, swapping her knife to her left hand and picking up the gun with her right. The first fuckhead she stabbed was still moving, so she loosely shouldered her firearm and finished him.

A noise registered behind her, and she started to turn... right into the blinding wash of the vehicle lights outside as Chrissie turns them back on. According to plan, but damnable timing.

She heard Rebecca shout her name in warning, more scuffles of movement, and then something impacted her, knocking her down and her gun away again. She landed on a coffee table of some sort, probably still bruising her ribs even through the armor and caught herself, grabbing hold of it.

With an angry scream she spun, smashing the coffee table into her assailant, blinded again by the glare in her available eye. But dammit, she's finished robot fights while hers was on fire and had been simmering on a bubble of grief and rage all day long, so she just let it loose, wanting to be done with this hellish backwater shithole. She lashed out with one fist, following with the other, then simply rushed them with another shout, knocking them back into a table. She followed closely, twisting to throw them to the ground and toppling nearby herself.

She was two different kinds of blinded, but the rage coursing through her seems to have dulled physical sensations and sharpened everything else to compensate. Sweat and a hint of blood tanged her mouth, she could hear her own breathing like a ripsaw, even her sense of smell was dialed up like some feral connection was tapped in her brain. Smell... oh god. Oh god no. She knows that smell, and suddenly every breath seemed too small, too slow.

All her frenzied bloodlust drained away in the span of two heartbeats as she fumbled for her radio. "Pat, Chrissie... anybody... help. Upstairs." That's all the words she could formulate, and she slumped to one side with a plaintive whimper.