Sam had heard gunshots, likely from the survivors. He knew he'd fair better than them. He may be overweight, and he may not be the best shot, but he had found three survivors in the store. They were armed to the teeth, mostly with some not so legal weapons. Uzis, Mac-10s, M4s, he even saw one of them hefting an M60!
" So much for stealth" Sam mumbled under his breath. The wind picked up then, the stink of the undead picking up with it, and the breeze nocking his necklace, a crucifix, up against his skin. Sam looked down at it as he entered the survivors truck, the very same one he nearly dashed his brains open on. The cool metal sent chills down his spine. He took the cross of as he buckled up, and looked at it in his hand. It looked dwarfed by the size of his hand, but it felt comforting as he held it.
It was something his parents had given him, right before his dad was called up, for 'peacekeeping', which lead to the current crisis. Tears came to Sam's eyes. He remembered what had happened to his mom, and his sister, and his older brother. He had gone out for supplies, and came back to find his brother dying, and his mom and sis gone.
His brother said they'd run while he fought, but Sam couldn't see his mom doing that. She used to be a cop, she would've forced his brother to run while she died instead. His brother asked to be put down, so he wouldn't come back, and Sam did, it was the very least he could do, that and cremate the body.
Sam got angry, at the Russians for making the bomb and the virus, at the Middle Easterns for using it, and at the goverment for not acting sooner.
The truck started up without a hitch and they drove off to Chicago, where apparently there was a safe zone. Sam doubted it would stay that way for long.