Carmo knew about twenty words in Japanese, and through her adrenaline-fueled haze, she recognized that as one of them. The corner of her mouth quirked up into a tense smile that didn't reach her eyes. 

"Back at ya," she muttered. Then she returned her focus to the door and the sounds echoing behind it. 

But then something shifted. The sounds changed and the scraping grew farther and farther away. Carmo didn't know how long she waited, poised and shaking after the sounds finally became nothing but a petrifying memory. 

Eventually she let out the breath she'd been holding, body deflating. The aluminum bat fell to the floor in a clatter as Carmo collapsed in on herself. She was a little ball, shaking and drenched, sitting in the growing puddle that was no doubt ruining the old carpet.