The pair I spoke to, Lizzy and Brandon, felt like they used to be preschool teachers just from the way they spoke to us, but with a dozen or so deadheads in the immediate vicinity and around 50 more in the distance from where they came from, I showed them that we didn't need any help at all.
To their surprise, I drew my pistol—which made them back off except for their trainees who were methodically clearing the dead—before I whizzed each shot by them and stole the kills they were planning to steal from me.
"What are you do—"
And before she could finish her sentence while I ignored their group's curses from "almost" getting shot, I holstered my pistol then I pulled on my rifle's strap—unfastening it from my back—before I cleared them from left to right, reloading once, and then finishing the rest with a few more bullets left in my magazine.
"..."
"..."