Stealth reaction speed, shooting while running, vehicle melee

Something grabbed her shoulder. She spun and pistol-whipped the ex across the jaw. The backswing crushed its temple and the dead thing dropped. Another eleven shots opened the circle again and left a howling Seventeen with an arm all but severed at the elbow.
A few yards away a king-cab truck gunned its engine and moved for the gate. It pulled out into the wide intersection and its cowcatcher shoved exes out of the way. The Seventeens in the back howled and banged on the roof of the cab as it gained speed.
Her Glocks spat fire and dropped a score of exes as she charged the truck. The Seventeens saw her coming and shouted. Their aim was sloppy and nervous and she felt three individual rounds tug at her cloak for an instant each.
The last ex dropped and Stealth used its body as a springboard. She holstered the weapons in midair and her kick threw the first Seventeen off the far side of the truck and into the mob of exes. Her boots clanged on the truck bed and she drove the heel of her hand into another man’s chin.
They bumped each other, hesitated, and she took them apart.
One hand blocked a roundhouse punch, twisted the man’s wrist around, and a strike slammed into his armpit to dislocate the shoulder. Her leg shot back, burying her heel in a woman’s stomach. She grabbed a Seventeen’s shoulders and the same knee flew forward as his head came down. A knife stabbed at her and she broke three of the fingers holding it and the wrist behind them. Her baton shattered the passenger window and she dragged the man out by his hair. The driver’s nose hit the steering wheel four times before the Glock pressed against his head hard enough to force his right eye shut.

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