Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.

  ~ Ambrose Redmoon

  Total pandemonium broke out. Screams and shouts mingled with the sharp staccato of rapid rifle fire, and the heart-stopping boom of shotgun blasts.

  The choking dust cloud from the explosion was still sweeping across the room, obscuring vision and turning the entire scene into a crazy nightmare.

  People dove to the floor while bullets tore into tables and wood paneling and people who were too slow at getting out of the way. Poor Tawnya, stuck in a booth and slowed by her existing wounds, screamed as a bullet tore into her chest in a spray of blood.

  Sarah hit the ground, barely 10 feet away from the gunman, momentarily stunned by the abrupt and unexpected violence. Beside her, Jill was huddled on the ground, hands over her head, screaming.

  Ryan had dropped into a crouch, But Mark surged to his feet, and with his famous Conan strength, lifted their small table, complete with the remnants of their feast still on it, and hurled it at the gunman.

  The attack caught them completely by surprise, and the table smashed three of the gunmen into the outer wall. One of their guns went tumbling up into the air, drawing Sarah's gaze.

  Unfortunately, Mark's brave attack drew the attention of the other gunman, and the man farthest from their table turned and triggered a three-round burst.

  Mark grunted as bullets tore into his stomach and chest, staggering him backward. As if in slow motion, the gunman turned his barrel toward Sarah. She had to move, or she'd be next.

  In the past, her natural instinct would have been to flee like so many of the other donors were trying to do. In that moment however, a feeling of outrage and a desire to punish these invaders swept through her, crushing any fear, and filling her with a rush of adrenaline.

  She could not outrun a bullet, so fleeing wouldn’t help. Only one option remained, unless she wanted to just sit there and wait to be executed.

  Sitting still was not an option. Sarah charged.

  Taking two quick steps, she leaped into the air just as the closest gunman swung his gun toward her and pulled the trigger. Bullets ripped the air just below her stomach, so close they tugged at her clothing, but her jump saved her life.

  Soaring farther than she'd ever jumped before, she extended her arms, caught the tumbling gun that was still airborne, flipped in midair, and stuck the landing.

  The slit of her skirt ripped almost all the way up to her waist. It was a form-fitting skirt, designed for fashion, not for acrobatic flips.

  She didn’t have time to worry about that. Even as she slid another six feet on broken bits of wood and glass, she crouched and spun, pulling the long gun around.

  It was a shotgun. It's reassuring weight helped calm her nearly-panicked thoughts, and a strange, cool focus settled over her mind.

  She'd had a boyfriend for a few months who was an enthusiastic shooter. He'd taken her to the gun range a few times.

  Even though she preferred firing his handgun, they had practiced skeet shooting several times and she’d surprised both herself and her boyfriend with natural talent.

  Now she turned the barrel toward the nearest gunman and tried pumping the action, but it did not move. It took half a second for her to realize it was a semi-automatic shotgun, not the pump she was familiar with. Hopefully it still had some rounds, or she was dead.

  The gunman who had been standing farthest from her, and who had also been turning his rifle toward her, followed her leap. As he settled the sights of his rifle onto her, Sarah tucked the stock of the shotgun against her shoulder and squeezed the trigger.

  The shotgun bucked in her hands, although the kick was a lot less severe than she expected. It barely rocked her back at all.

  A message box popped up in the corner of her vision, but she mentally willed it away just as her shotgun round slammed into the man's vest. The impact hurled him back against the outer wall with a cry of pain, his rifle flying from his fingers.

  She wasn't sure if his protective vest could totally block a shotgun round from that close, but for a second he was down and out. She spun her shotgun toward the other attacker still standing. He was gaping at her, hesitating for a critical second.

  She pulled the trigger again.

  Click.

  Empty. Sarah had no idea where to find more ammo, or even how to reload a semi-automatic shotgun, and she definitely did not have time to figure it out.

  Her eyes met the gunman's, and she clearly saw his widen, and he cried, “Sarah! Eyes on target!”

  His gaze turned cold and he snapped the rifle up toward her face. He recognized her, and clearly planned to kill her. It was like he was specifically intent on targeting her.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  She hurled the useless shotgun at the man's head just as he pulled the trigger.

  The first round pinged off of her shotgun in midair. The second round drove into her shoulder, just below the collarbone, and the 3rd round tore a line of white hot pain along her jawline.

  Sarah recoiled, falling to her back, biting back a scream, refusing to tear her eyes off of her enemy. Her shotgun crossed the distance like a fastball and caught the surprised gunman in the face.

  His scream was cut short as the impact catapulted him off his feet in a spray of blood from a broken nose.

  Whoa. Sarah blinked through the searing pain that made her gasp. It felt like her left shoulder was on fire, and her jaw felt like she dipped it in boiling oil.

  She was alive, though. The daily quest had increased her strength more than she'd realized. No way she could have thrown a shotgun hard enough to disable a man even a few days ago.

  A heartbeat later, Ryan rushed into the tangle of downed gunmen just as two of the guys Mark had struck with the table started to move. With a couple of impressive Kung Fu kicks, Ryan knocked them back down, and they did not look like they would move again anytime soon.

  Three other donors with fighting training joined Ryan, and within seconds, they disarmed the downed and injured gunman and restrained them. Sarah watched with a weird sense of disbelief, as if she was watching a show instead of living that very real life and death moment.

  Then, as the truth sank in that the danger was past, her pain suddenly intensified, making her groan as she clutched her wounded shoulder. Her hands started to shake, and she felt lightheaded.

  Had she really done that? Had she charged instead of fleeing, dove into the air and caught that shotgun? Stared down a masked gunman and threw her empty gun at him?

  In the moment, it had seemed like the only possible thing to do, but she'd never done anything like that and couldn't imagine how she’d expected that to work.

  It hadn't worked. Not entirely, although she was alive, which she probably would not have been if she had not taken the risk.

  Jill rushed up to her, face pale with fear, makeup streaked with tears. “That was amazing! Sarah, how did you do that? You were like Black Widow.”

  Sarah managed a weak smile. “Black Widow wouldn’t have been hit.”

  Jill's eyes widened in horror and her gaze dropped to Sarah’s bloody hand pressed to her wound, then her jaw and she gasped. “Sarah!”

  Jill dropped to her knees beside Sarah and screamed, “Medic! We need a medic over here!”

  “I think medics are only in the army,” Sarah said, trying to smile, but that tugged at the graze along her jaw, making her wince.

  A man in the red shirt of a waiter rushed up to them with a handful linen napkins. Jill snatched them from his hands and pressed the bundle against Sarah's jaw. She winced at the pressure and took the napkins from Jill, who was pressing way too hard.

  “Thanks. I can hold this,” She said, trying to move her jaw as little as possible. “How is Mark?”

  Her shoulder was aching, but she had always imagined getting shot would hurt more. Maybe she was just going into shock. That was likely, but the way her mind felt all weirdly detached, she couldn't make herself worry about it.

  “Mark was hit pretty bad, but people are helping him,” Jill said, pointing back toward the wreckage that had been their table a moment ago.

  A couple of other donors with first-aid training, along with a pair of restaurant staffers, were already helping to treat Mark’s wounds. More people were tending to Tawnya and to the handful of other people who had been injured by the explosion or the initial volley of gunfire.

  As far as Sarah could tell, No one had died. That seemed like a miracle. The incident felt like it had taken half an hour, but as she ran the events back through her mind, barely five seconds probably passed from the explosion until she threw her shotgun.

  At least a dozen people were all on the phone with 911 at the same time, while scores of other people fled the building. That might not have been the wisest idea.

  If there were other gunmen still outside, people could run right into another disaster. Thankfully, she did not hear any other shooting.

  Sarah felt shaky, both from her wounds, and from the fact that she had just shot somebody. It did not look like the man had died, but she hadn't hesitated to pull the trigger. That fact rattled her more than she expected.

  Sure, she just survived that crazy fight with Mai Luan in the vault, but somehow this felt different. Why had masked gunmen targeted them? Why had that one recognized her and acted like he wanted to kill her specifically?

  Were they previous renters, or related to renters who had lost their bodies? Or were they part of the angry group related to the dead convicts? That group was growing bigger and angrier every day, but targeting the donors seemed like a stupid reaction.

  People were stupid sometimes. On the other hand, how had she reacted so quickly? Why wasn’t she freaking out more that she'd been shot?

  “You should probably lie down,” Jill said, then grimaced at the floor covered in glass and wood splinters. “Maybe you should go to one of the benches. No, you shouldn't stand up. Wait, that might be bad. Aren't you supposed to elevate your legs?”

  She was babbling, kneeling beside Sarah, wringing her hands together, her expression terrified.

  “I don't think I was hit too badly,” Sarah tried to reassure her friend. “I think I will move to a chair. The floor's not that comfortable.”

  Jill made an exaggerated effort to try to help Sarah to stand. Then she hovered so close, she almost made her stumble while she was trying to reach a nearby chair that remained somehow undisturbed from the insanity.

  Sarah's jaw and shoulder ached, but the pain seemed to be lessening already. She'd always heard that if wounds stopped hurting, that was a bad thing.

  She had been pressing her white jacket against the wound in her shoulder, but risked peeling it away to glance at the wound. Honestly it didn't look as bad as she feared it might.

  The hole was very small and the bleeding seemed to have already stopped. Had those gunmen been using really small caliber bullets?

  The sight of the bloody wound made Jill almost swoon. She staggered over to a nearby bench and dropped down into it. Several other donors rushed over to see if she was okay, then rushed to Sarah when Jill pointed and explained that she had been hit.

  Christine, her hair mussed and her dress smeared with food stains, but otherwise looking unharmed, crouched beside Sarah and asked, “Are you okay?”

  “I don't think its too bad,” Sarah told her.

  Christine breathed a deep sigh of relief. “I’m so glad. You’re a hero, Sarah. You and Mark saved all of our lives.”

  And they'd both gotten shot for their trouble. Still, if they had not reacted as quickly as they had, she and everyone standing around her would probably be dead by now.

  As sirens started sounding in the distance, approaching rapidly, Christine and the others left her to help gather more towels from the kitchen to use as bandages. Sarah closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing heart.

  They'd survived. She'd survived, and even helped save her friends. That was a lot better to focus on than the fact that she'd been shot.

  When she opened her eyes again, she noticed a blinking icon in the corner of her vision. When she focused on it, system messages started popping up in her vision. Apparently, she had mentally minimized more than one without even realizing it.

  Might as well take a look while she waited.