Within a few minutes, the last of the runners had fallen. His shoulder ached dully, and his ribs felt like they were stabbing into him, but other than that, he felt fine. He made his way over to her, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. "Thankfully." He said quickly, his mind still trying to regain control after running on reflexes for so long. Brennan found that it helped to just shut off everything when he was fighting, though thoughts always slipped through the barrier, and his concern for the people he'd sworn to protect had always prevented him from dissociating completely. He was always afraid that one day killing these infected would become so second nature and that if they all managed to survive this and this war ended, he wouldn't be able to recover anything of himself.
Once he was sure she was steady on her feet and the thick silence had once more fallen, he moved through the room, collecting the knives and rifle that had been tossed all over, packing them all away, except for the rifle which he reloaded. He righted one of the tables in the room and pulled the medical kit out of the bag. He turned to look her over, checking for any kind of wounds. "Are you hurt anywhere?" He asked as he wrapped the palm of his left hand with gauze, having already picked out any little shards that were still in the wounds. Brennan didn't have much to take care of the ripped open gash in his shoulder, but he pressed a wad of dressings into the wound, attempting to stop the bleeding, hoping he could find someone to sew it up later before it got infected. He wasn't going to be immune to this raging plague and die from staphylococcus and leave everyone one man short.
"Did you find what you were looking for, or should we keep going?"
Every instinct in him thought that just getting out of this place was the best course of action, but he also didn't want to return empty-handed.