Hazel whirled around and spit out a curse. 

"Come on! Help us!" Hazel called up to the attic.

She ran back toward the door and slammed it open. Her breath was coming in ragged and hard. She was not a runner, and she had been hyperventilating only moments ago. Hazel couldn't breathe properly, and her chest was burning. A stitch was beginning to gnaw at her side. 

She wanted to tell the girls to run, to get into the hallway and to the attic. She wanted to tell them that she would handle Amos' body. She couldn't catch her breath enough to speak, though, and all she could manage was a gasp as she pointed into the dark hallway with her left hand. 

She hoped everyone else was coming down the stairs to help. Divide and conquer, that was the saying. If the Tartok managed to separate them and pick them off that way, they wouldn't last until morning. 

There was no way to communicate that, though. She hoped her gesture would get through to them as she stood there, gasping for breath with the eagle and gun held in front of her.

Once she got to the attic, she was going to make everyone else take care of this crap.