Sam silently pulled the Desert Eagle out of his jacket, ejecting the empty clip that would've been his demise earlier. He grabbed the magazine before it could clatter to the floor, and put a new magazine in. He had enough spare bullets for 22 magazines, but only five magazines to fill.
Sam looked at the merc woman next to him, who was surprised, as if he shouldn't be able to carry the thing. He put his finger to his lips. This'll be our little secret,he tought to himself. The bio-chem suit had now lost its sterility, but he knew something the Russians didn't. The virus had little to no life-span in the air, and the suit wouldn't protect against the main forms of attack the undead gave out liberally. He read that in one Newspaper article he found somewherre, it was a warning to the rest of humanity. One that made little difference now.
Sam's uncle was allowed to drive a car that they had stolen,that held everything they packed, including the guns. Sam prayed they wouldn't need to use it, but the impossible had happened, so..., likewise, so must the inevitable.
The shambling corpses that wandered the road were quicly dispatched by one quick run-over by the Humvee. Sam heard the far-off roar of a brute, and wished he could simply get ahold of a few more 6.5 Grendel rounds.