Sam instinctively dropped to the ground and drew his handgun after the first shot rang out. Now partially under the dining table, he looked round the sea of legs and others diving to the floor for both the shooter and Dean. (He left with Jess-- the new girl. Fuck!)

Since the only non-human cover was one of the overturned chairs, Sam reached for the nearest one. He couldn't make it without further exposing himself, and more shots were being fired and something was snarling. (Snarling?!)

That did it. Sam didn't care if he risked turning into a psycho like Max. He had to protect these people and most of all his brother, and he couldn't do it if he were shot. The chair shuddered, then slid to his outstretched hand. He scrambled behind it and took aim over the seat. The last thing he'd expected to see was Ripley, bleeding from multiple wounds, with one hand wrapped around the brainwashed guy's throat. Steam curled up from wherever the blood touched -- including the shooter. His screams were blood-curdling.