Click. The gun was empty. She tossed it to the side, swearing profusely and quietly. The gun made a clattering noise as it skittered across the cement floor in the unit. Instead of staying and listening to her mother lecture her on how not-ready to be a hunter she was, Jo had stormed into her room and down the emergency shoot, sliding into the small room she had stocked with guns, food, water, and ammo.
She growled, low and deep in her throat, sliding down the wall she had been shooting at. Picking at the shoelaces on her boot, Jo heard her mom shouting for her. Let her shout. Jo thought, still angry. I'm a good hunter! I put together my own cases, I know how to kill monsters, and I know how to not get killed. She vented in her mind, and tossed her hair into a ponytail.
Her mom called again, urgently. What was that smell? Huffing slightly, Jo grabbed the gun and started back up the ladder that she had jumped down in order to escape. Is it hot in here? Climbing out of the wardrobe in her room, she realized that her mother was screaming for her. She must be really mad. Jo started to run, out of her door and through the hall. When she turned the corner into the main room, it was empty. There was smoke on the ceiling, and drinks left half-empty at the bar. And there was fire climbing up the walls and across the very wooden floor.
"MOM!" Jo screamed, realizing at once that she had to get out of there. There was no way out of the main room, all of the windows and doors were either on fire or would be soon. She turned and sprinted for her room, grabbing her gun and knife off of her bed and throwing herself out of her first-story window. She sprang up, and bolted around the restaurant, eyes peeled for her mom, or any other hunters. Reaching the front, she would have held her breath if she hadn't been running so hard.
Her mom was there. Standing with her hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes. Jo tackled her in an enormous hug. Ellen held her closely, stroking her hair, breathing her in. It didn't matter that the Roadhouse was gone. Her mom was alive, and that meant everything will be alright.
She walked slowly through the demolished Roadhouse. Jo couldn't help but feel guilt. Maybe, if she had fought, more that a few of her friends would still be alive. It's not your fault. She told herself, as she reached the burned-down bar. Remembering when she would run up to the bar when her dad would get home, and it broke her heart to see it almost utterly demolished. Chunks of wood were missing from almost every table, and the chairs were scattered around the room.
She couldn't handle it. Turning away, she walked quickly towards where her bedroom had been, avoiding debris as she walked. Jo hurried through the hallways, praying that at least part of her home remained unscathed. She turned a corner, and saw a hunter, bruised and bloody, sprawled out in the hallway, eyes blank. Dead. She made eye contact, and his eyes seemed almost accusatory. Jo looked away hurriedly.
She was almost running now, not looking where she was going. Letting her feet take her wherever they may. When she was finally out of breath, she stopped, and sat on a particularly large piece of rubble. Jo felt numb. She leaned down, and threw her hands to her face, only to pull them back quickly. Her face was damp. She was crying. Jo didn't cry. It was one of her rules. But there she was, proof in her hands.
She stared at them for a slow minute, the returned them to her face, allowing herself on moment of absolute sorrow and agony. After she had cried herself dry, Jo stood up, her face blank. I'm going to kill every one of those sons-of-bitches, she thought in a dark voice. They are going to regret this. If it's the last thing I ever do, I will make them regret this.