Sam watched the events unfold. The brute exploded in a violent and gory death, and the rest of the horde were running away like cowards.
Sam looked down at Darla, her arm was bent backwards, and her eyes had rolled into back into her head. Sam sniffled, just a little, then broke out into a sob. He didn't care about the zombies anmore, didn't care about the safe-zones, the survivors, anything. He'd just lost a good friend. Even if they'd just met a day ago.
Sam pulled his Desert Eagle out and fired point blank at her head, the top exploding. His uncle was sitting down next to the truck, retrieving his items he had packed.
Sam put the barrel of the gun to his temple, the coolness making him calm. He pulled the trigger. CLICK.
It seemed life wasn't going to let him die just yet.