Stealth’s cloak-parachute, kicks, batons, stamina

She drew her weapons and leaped down into the crowd, her cloak spreading to slow her fall. The Glocks spat out two-four-six-eight rounds each before she landed in the space they’d carved for her in the mob. A quick split kick broke jaws on two exes. A sweep took down four and gave her a beat.
With one smooth motion she holstered both pistols, swung the cloak aside, and grabbed the two ASP batons stored across the small of her back. A flick of each wrist snapped two feet of black chrome into position. The move flowed into a pair of strikes that shattered heads on either side of her. The batons whipped out again and beat out a drumroll of broken bones, making sure none of the dead things she’d knocked down would ever get back up.
She spun and smashed one baton through a dead brunette’s forehead. The other cracked open a teenage boy’s skull. Her boot lashed out to break the neck of a pink-haired woman. An old man. A small girl caked in blood. A businessman. A police officer with a gaping hole in its chest. Her weapons cut through the air as she marched forward and exes dropped around her.
A heavy Asian woman fell and revealed a Seventeen with a green bandanna wrapped around his head. He was dizzy, still trying to shake off the sight of Gorgon’s eyes. He looked at Stealth, blinked, and tried to raise his rifle.
One baton struck the rifle barrel and jarred it from the Seventeen’s hands, even as its twin swung back to crush another zombie skull. Her grip switched and the first baton bounced up from the rifle to catch him under the chin. His mouth sagged. She brought the other down and broke his wrist, then drove a kick into his chest. He hit the ground just as the pain reached his brain and he tried to scream through the fractured jaw.
Four swings bought her another moment. She’d worked her “way out past the gardens flanking the gate. The guards on the wall were putting exes down one after another, but it was like dropping pebbles to divert a flash flood. The Seventeens were firing at the Mount, but it was random. They were children playing a game, not an army.


Excerpt From Ex-Heroes, pg 423-424
Peter Clines
https://books.apple.com/us/book/ex-heroes/id585738407