Willow's comment was harsh – yet not undeserved. "Right. Sorry." Not quite sure what to do, Buffy rocked on her heels and examined the room. If Giles was right, they'd have to be ready to fight off Walsh's army. What did they have?
The duffel of weapons rested on the couch along the far wall. Buffy and Faith had removed most of the smaller items like daggers and stakes. That left the crossbow and a couple swords. "Mom." Ignoring her own internal reluctance, Buffy waved Joyce toward the duffel. "I think it's time for a little Killing 101."
"Wonderful, honey. I was thinking just last week I could use a new skill in case the gallery folds." Joyce smiled brightly, the false cheer a sure indicator of her unease.
"I don't think you can add this to your resume," Buffy warned. She trotted across the room and dug out the crossbow and bolts. "Remember when you played cops and robbers with me when I was little?"
Joyce's eyebrows rose.
Buffy saw the sign and snapped a hand up. "Don't go there. Just don't." Glowering until those eyebrows (and the guarantee of teasing) lowered, she continued. "Using a crossbow is like shooting that Super Soaker water gun. Pull back the string." The well-oiled machinery took only a light tug to nestle the bowstring into place as she demonstrated. "Point at the target." Buffy raised the bow and peered along the sight. "Pull the trigger."
A click prefaced the sound of a bolt whipping through the air. Less than a second later, a bolt pierced the wall behind Walsh's head.
"You try." Buffy pressed the weapon into her mother's hands.
Joyce wasn't as adept. She struggled to nock the bowstring. Finally, as Buffy reluctantly moved to help, Joyce managed the maneuver. "Got it. That wasn't as hard as I thought it would be," she said, in defiance of her troubles. She repeated Buffy's move, raising the weapon and aiming at the wall.
"Good shot, Joyce." Giles was the first to congratulate Joyce's shot as the bolt took a spot barely a hands span from Buffy's. "I daresay we know where Buffy comes by her extraordinary talent."
For a moment, Buffy wanted to throw up. Could Giles be more obvious? It was sickening. She clamped down on the urge, though. "Looks like you're good to go, Mom. When the fighting starts, hang out in the back and pick off anything not a Scooby." She very carefully avoided the issue of their targets' humanity. Joyce could probably hit where she aimed; a kill shot, however, would hopefully take more skill than Joyce possessed.
"What shall I do?" Giles gestured at the weapons bag. "Did you bring more than one bow, perhaps?"
"Nope. We're all out of firepower. You've got your choice of…" Buffy rummaged through the bag. "Swords." The two she'd dragged from Faith's apartment leaned against the foreman's desk where she'd left them earlier. "Sais or a few stakes and daggers. When I packed, I wasn't really planning for a siege." At that, Buffy wanted to throw the bag across the room. She'd known the situation was likely to get ugly and she hadn't thought about arming the rest of the crew. If they made it out of this alive, she silently swore to pay more attention to Giles' lectures on strategy.
"I daresay I am better off not getting close enough for real hand to hand," Giles stated. He stood and picked up one of the swords, examining the edge as if visually verifying its sharpness.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "If that's what you're planning to use, you're better off hiding behind a desk. These guys have guns. Wanna bet they'll shoot you before you even manage to life the sword point off the ground?" She tossed a dagger and a pair of sais in Giles' direction. "Use these. At least you can throw them. You were pretty good at that when you and Wes had that contest last year."
Giles' blush was a riot. "Thank you, my dear. I didn't think you'd noticed." He slipped the blade under his belt and set the sais on the desk in front of him. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do?"
All of Buffy's humor drained away. "The same thing I try to do: stay alive." It was the best advice she could offer. Unless Willow's jury-rigged Ethan jammer worked, they were out of options.
Or were they?
Right now, the soldiers and Ethan held all the cards, with the exception of the few traps she and Faith had set. The Scooby gang was splintered, Buffy's tiny crew trapped inside the construction office. Faith and Tara were alone inside the school. Alone. Willow's earlier reminder of Faith's Slayer status didn't alleviate Buffy's fear. She was the better fighter; she had far more experience than Faith. She should be there, keeping Tara safe. Not sitting in this office, waiting for Riley and his friends to show up.
Waiting sucked. Buffy wanted…needed to be actively doing something, but there wasn't anything but more waiting. Or was there? Maybe there was one thing Buffy could use to even the odds.
Without bothering to explain her actions, she strode across the room and grabbed the back of Walsh's chair. "Time for you to do something useful, Doc," Buffy announced. Tilting the chair, she began dragging it across the room. "When your bullet-happy goons show up, they'll be aiming – and firing – at you first."
Hiding behind her barriers wasn't doing any good. Tara felt Ethan probing deeper and deeper into her mind. "Faith!" she whispered urgently. "We have to get out of here now!" She didn't know what Ethan would do once he breached her shields, but she was sure it wouldn't be good.
"Not until we make sure that last trap works, T." Faith's expression was resolute. "Come on. There's another way to the kitchen." Gripping Tara's arm again, she ran back the way they'd come before veering off into a new hallway. "Found this one day when I was avoidin' Snyder," she explained in a low voice as Tara struggled to keep up. "One of the closet's is got a trash chute that drops ya' off in the kitchen dumpster."
A dumpster? Was Faith kidding? "Faith…" Tara started to ask and then broke off. It might be a dirty, bumpy ride; it was still better than facing Ethan and whoever he'd brought with him. "OK," she agreed. She even managed a little more speed despite her labored breathing and the stitch in her side.
The run seemed to take forever – like every other run since she'd become a Scooby. Tara repeated her vow to get into shape as they reached their destination and Faith wrenched open a seemingly normal janitor's closet. Inside, though, was the promised chute. "You first.
"But," Tara said immediately. The grim expression on Faith's faced stopped the protest before it could get farther. There was no place to climb up. Was she supposed to go head first? Slayer senses weren't required to hear the sound of pursuit. "Bend your leg." Not even a hint of stutter marred the terse command. Placing her left foot on Faith's obligingly offered knee, Tara stepped up. Her right foot slid down the metal chute until she was partially sitting, and Tara was very happy for the darkness. It hid the grime. "Wish me luck," she mumbled before swinging her left leg around.
It took only a second before gravity took over. Tara's stomach dropped along with her body. She picked up speed and prayed. Until that very moment, she hadn't thought of the possibility that the dumpster could be missing since the school was closed.
The Goddess must have been waiting to hear from Tara. With a sickening drop, Tara ended her wild ride with a soft thump. She scrambled to the left to clear a path for Faith just in time. A soft curse announced Faith's arrival.
"Last time we fucking do that." Faith's hand gripped Tara's arm in the darkness. "Come on. We got to hurry. I heard one of them soldiers talkin' upstairs. They musta spotted something and are headin' for the office. "
Tara didn't resist as Faith helped her over the edge of the dumpster. "I c-can't do the glamour," she warned urgently. "Eth-than's here."
"No problem, T. We ain't got time anyway." Faith was pressed against Tara now, steering her through the kitchen. "Gotta help the gang." Her voice was tight; it was the first indication that things weren't going well. "In fact, I'm done playin' nice."
What did Faith have in mind? Tara wondered worriedly. Letting a group of the soldiers fall into the traps upstairs or locking them in a freezer wasn't particularly kind, in her mind. "F-Faith?" she asked hesitantly. Whatever Faith was planning, Tara knew she could do nothing more than try to talk her out of it.
The hand on Tara's arm urged her forward with more speed. "Good thing you got me," Faith mumbled. "The princess is good in a fight, but she ain't got my skills." The explanation didn't make Tara feel less confused as they approached the loading dock and the two cars parked there. "Hop in."
Tara didn't move. "What?"
"Get in the damned Jeep!" Even though Faith was little more than a black figure against the dark, Tara could easily imagine her scowl. "There're too many guys with guns. We can't risk runnin' into one of 'em."
"Sorry." Feeling her face burn with a mercifully hidden blush, Tara held both hands in front of her in a search for Joyce's SUV. It took a few minutes before she located it. As she moved carefully around to the far side, she heard Faith open the driver's door.
The engine roared to life as Tara finally touched the door handle. An instant later she blinked against the blaze of the headlights. In the illumination, she glimpsed Faith jump out and run to the dock door and yank it open. She climbed in, heart pounding, waiting only a second for Faith to rejoin her.
Faith put the Jeep into gear. "Hang on," she said. It was a timely warning. Tara had just enough time to brace her feet against the floorboard when the vehicle lurched backward. They hit the ramp without slowing. Exhibiting amazing ability at the wheel, Faith spun the Jeep around. The tires squealed in protest and the vehicle slewed from side to side before stabilizing. They accelerated smoothly through the empty parking lot – and then jumped the curb and the sidewalk.
"I bet you c-colored outside the l-lines when you were little," Tara said. She wished she'd had the foresight to put on her seatbelt. Faith ignored anything in their path. They'd already driven through a row of hedges. Bits of greenery clung to the windshield and stuck under the wipers.
Chuckling, Faith took one hand off the wheel and pointed at Tara. "Don't tell Red. She gets all freaky 'bout things like that."
Tara was going to get freaky if that hand didn't go back on the wheel soon. She watched it closely, relaxing only when Faith returned all of her attention (and limbs) to the task of driving. Her focus meant she didn't notice the line of camouflaged men in front of them. Didn't have time to worry about the guns pointing in their direction.
A soft pop distracted her. It was followed closely by a louder explosion and glass rained onto the dashboard and seats. Tara screamed, shrinking away from the sudden hole in the seat next to her.
Faith, on the other hand, remained stonily silent. The Jeep's engine roared and they barreled toward the soldiers. The line held. And held. Tara reached for Faith. They had to stop. She wasn't going to let Faith run the men down, even if they had shot at them.
At the last second, two of the men broke formation and dove out of the way. The Jeep sailed past the rest and kept going. Now that Faith had the SUV at full steam, she appeared determined to get them to the construction office without any more disruptions. Unfortunately, the soldiers hadn't really been deterred by Faith's tactics.
Gunfire chattered behind them and the Jeep jerked to one side. "Son of a bitch!" Faith wrestled with the steering wheel as the Jeep shuddered and slowed. "When I tell you, get out and run."
Staring across the seat, Tara tried to understand. Run? With all those guns out there?
Turning her head, Faith stared back for a heartbeat. "We'll use the Jeep for cover. I'll be right behind ya'." She turned the wheel hard to the left and then stepped on the brake. Grass and flowers flew up, illuminated by the headlights. "Go! Now!"