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At the base of the stairs, amongst the crowd of zombies which were starting to form a line for the stairs...

The grenade exploded. Creative, huh?

A big boom followed by a storm of broken metal in all directions. Taking victims all around it: shrapnel has no friends. For the luck of those both living and zombified up the stairs, there was a screen of bloated flesh between them and the metal bits of the explosion. Laying nearly all the zombies flat, knocking several of them down in a domnio-esque pattern of falling bodies. Most unfortunate was that most of them would stir and climb back to their feet, filled with metal fragments that failed to find something vital.

Using the cover fire, no matter how brief, Saul stepped over Brody. Stradling over his back he reached down and put both hands under his arms and tried to toss or pull him up several stairs. Leap frogging someone up a flight of stairs probably wasn't the best idea, but any improvement was good. Nobody would want to be down here in a few minutes.

Turning back to the oncoming, two now, which wasn't something to complain about. Stepping out from his high ground to catch one in the chest with a combat boot. Saul wasn't looking for much, just enough to stumble it back so it wasn't breathing down his neck. His buddy wasn't so easily pressed aside. Trudging up the steps as Saul pulled his sidearm free of the holster and brought it to bear.

Giving the oncoming a whole lot of colt in the head. .45 Long splattering zombie brain down the flight behind it. Looking over at the ascending flight below, Saul couldn't help but notice the line of thriving zombies pushing their way up.

It's like a line waiting for some ride at the carnival or something.

Also noticing the disturbing lack of covering fire. Backing away slowly, going step by careful steps without looking Saul fired twice more at the writhing mass below him, trying to knock the front down and stall those behind it.

"Eh....eh?!" was pretty much the confused and startled sound that came out of Owle's mouth when she was handed the gun. Yeah, she knew how to use one...Morgan Flare had made sure of that. She remembered the butt of a rifle, much like this one, being thrust harshly into her stomach, remembered his demands that she name it immediately, take care of it, and...

Zombies. People in trouble. Remember the here and the now.

"I think...I can use this," Owle said, hefting the gun into a more comfortable carrying position. "I'm coming with you, I'll be more use down there than up here."

She bit down on her lower lip, instantly regretting the decision. But there was something she could do, now, so she couldn't just stand idly by.

He was almost upright now, spinning around only once he had reached 'safe' ground next to Saul. When he rose and turned, he was greeted with the image of Saul kicking the zombie in the chest and nearly back down the stairs again.

Gabe pulled his gun back up, aiming down the sight at the nearest attacker. Right when it seemed he had the shot, the thing's head practically exploded.

Not the most gracious death to be given to anyone, but hell, not like the thing deserved one, either. This also gave Gabe a good glimpse at the crowd of zombies down below. He reached a completely different conclusion than Saul. Something along the lines of 'oh s**t we're ********' variety.

He was now at the landing where he had originally left Drake, and so he gestured towards the swordsman to go help Brody up the stairs before he took up a firing position.

Yes, of course, let the wounded guy be dragged up so all the able-bodied people had to be left behind. Goddammit he loved humane strategy.

Firing his final three rounds of .45 into the frontal zombie, Saul hoped that the flailing mass of falling zombie would slow them down enough. The thing didn't seem to care about being shot in the abdomen, more confused as to why it was on the ground.

Quickly stomped on by more zombies moving over it. Rushing up a couple stairs to grab Saul as he dumped spent casings onto the ground at his feet. Being rushed made Saul try and step back, but the increment of steps seemed to be lost on him. Falling backwards shortly, throwing his hands back to catch himself and drop the gun.

Well, maybe they'll build a stature after me or something.

Stomping repeatedly at the face of the zombie clutching his feet.

These assholes are not making this easy.

After putting several bootprints on the face of the offender, Saul managed to get his rifle out from behind him, swing it forward to hit with the butt of the weapon. Only making the beast uglier, it still held a decent grip as a another come from around him and grabbed at Saul's upper body. Setting claws into the vest and lifting him upwards.

After a good bit of flailing and swinging, Saul got himself free and away from the maw of the zombie. Dealing with NORMAL zombies gave him enough know-how to keep from being bitten, even up close. Pushing forward with the rifle held lateral in both hands, he tried to force some space between Saul and the uglies.

Flipping the rifle up, reaching forward to get ahold of the launcher trigger, Saul raised his left hand to tip his helmet down and cover his eyes. Firing another 40mm HE warhead into the wall near where he had left the others, he'd set off a chain reaction that would rend the stairs into bits of scrap and keep any more zombies waiting in the lobby.

Naturally hesitant, Saul squeezed his eyes close behind the helmet lip, being this close to high explosives was a really bad idea. Doing something this suicidal wasn't good for the ol' survival bit. Close enough to spit on the other grenades on the stairs, Saul gave a shout.

"FIRE IN THE --"

They better build a freaking statue of me for this.

The 40mm grenade hit the wall and exploded. Immediately setting off the other five on the stairs below it, and turning each zombie into a red mist and other random chunks of flesh that scattered all over the walls.

Like a band of close-knit firecrackers of astromical proportions. A rapid staccato of explosions that would shake the building frame.

Saul wouldn't hear it. Slamming into the wall behind him under the wave of extreme heat and pressure. Collapsing instantly and falling against the stairs, dropping the rifle, helmet still miraculously on his head unclasped as he fell face down.

The first flight of stairs began and end with four steps. Becoming bent scraps of burnt metal that lead to half a landing. Nearly eight feet of absent support, nothing was going to use these stairs.

"Seems your friends can do something at least."

Heading out of the room the words had to carry from the hall and Fuller to raise his voice for Tweak to hear them. Holding the grenade launcher close he pressed the stock up against the joint between shoulder and arm.

Coming to the stair well he looked down over the railing to watch their progress.

"Move your asses."

Shouting as he was he aimed downwards and waited for them to clear the area before firing. He wasn't aiming for anything; but saturation bombardment was always a good idea. Six shots of 40mm fragmentation grenades would lay waste to the ground floor, tearing up anything in the storm of jagged metal.

Kalis stopped, and stared at her. Not disbelievingly, but considering for a moment. He gnawed that lower lip a little more.

"Alright, think you can make sure nothing else that might've made it's way up sneaks up behind me?" which, honestly, was a politely misleading way of asking her to stay behind him, but it was practical too. He just had to figure out now if she'd be safer with some distance, or right next to him.

He pulled his shotgun- terms of ownership used loosely, considering the manner of posession- and checked it, heading toward the path back down.

((Do we think there's a stairwell down from the roof, or are we climbing in a window?))

((There is a ladder.))

"You know...." Owle began, disregarding his instructions and leaping straight off the roof. She held on to nothing, didn't brace herself, didn't even try to get in close to the wall after she fell. Any human woman would have gone splat in that manuever, but Owle was...different.

"...I could have just opened that for you," she finished, hovering about eye level with him as her tiny brown wings motored frantically behind her.

She rose higher, then lowered herself in through the window, feet first, using her wings to support herself when she had nothing else.

"I left the guy who owns this place on the top floor...the zombies entered from the first floor, I think we were on the third already when it happened...with the climbers I don't know, but the bulk of them seem to be coming from the ground up."