He had been half expecting the bolt, and managed to turn his desperate dodge into a rather masterful, if entirely accidental, friendly fire incident as one zombie brained another with a morning star. He didn't respond to the magical attack after the dodge, instead simply giving ground, like he was being pressed now by the zombies. He let them push him toward the trees, where he suspected a couple necromancers would be waiting for him, wanting to hit both at the same point. He considered what he had seen so far of the attacks, and guessed that the next attacks would be slightly delayed, one after the other, so as to hit him in the back with the second as he turned toward the first. Likely the first would be on his right side, again on the side without the shield, to try and pull it toward the attacker, so the second could take him full in the back.<br/><br/>He reloaded the revolver yet again, now almost into the trees, fully anticipating the first bolt. He had always found combat to be slightly surreal, even when he was in it, as if he had a sixth sense that told him exactly what would happen about a half second before it did. Usually it was just BARELY enough to get out of the way of something, but when he focused, he felt as if he could feel everything around him. Like he had blind sight, like what the dragons supposedly had. It was something he had never relied on, though he always had welcomed it when it came upon him. With any luck, his guess would be right. He would dodge the first bolt, turn toward the source, presenting his back to the second as the shield moved to block the zombies' attacks. He would hold for that enticing half second, before abruptly dropping and rolling from the zombies, firing three shots at the first source, and then coming about as he came back to his feet, and put three toward the second.