Quinn watched with resignation as Matt slit the throats of the heaping piles of burnt meat in the cab of the wreck they were in. It wasn't the worst thing he'd seen, not even close. In fact, a dark little place deep down in his soul said that it was a mercy, too good for those men.
Quinn approached the car, beholding the same sight that Matt had come across.
It was too good to be believed, but it really was all there.
"Where in the hell did they get this kind of firepower? Only place I can think of that weapons like these would be from is...the national guard depot?"
Quinn grabbed a hold of a 12 gauge pump action and a box of shells. He stuffed the shells into a pocket on his makeshift poncho. It felt better holding a weapon in his hands, especially one with a kick. He didn't have a lot of experience with guns, having only fired a shotgun once at a shooting range and pistols a mere handful of times. Paper targets didn't move or shoot back though, and they certainly weren't so whacked out on drugs that they didn't feel fire on their bare skin.
"If there is a surgery like you say, I'm going for it. Anyone who wants to follow me can come, I'll bring back anything useful I find."
Quinn rummaged for a bottle of water, and in doing so, found another hunting knife in a cheap leather sheath. It was similar to his old one, however far less rusted. He slipped it over his waistband and started on his way.