Surge, albeit somewhat reluctantly, nods in agreement. "Though, I guess nobody can really plan for an apocalypse, ya know?" He shrugs again, before bringing his attention to the rifle in his lap. The weapon was, despite all the wear and tear it sees, is quite well-maintained. He picks it up, ejecting the magazine, and checking how many bullets he has in the cartridge. "Only 20, huh?" He mutters to himself, before replacing the clip and pulling the breech, loading a round in the chamber. He then unstraps his pistol from it's holster, ejecting it's magazine, confirming the ammunition count in it's last clip. "And fifteen in this one..." He reinserts the clip into the gun, pulling the slide back to chamber a round. For some reason, he feels uneasy, and voices his concern to Saffron.
"Something feels off... I can't quite put my finger on it, but my gut is telling me that something's about to go wrong... Could be nothing, but... Just keep an eye out for any trouble, yeah?" He then replaces the gun into its holster, strapping it in, before unsheathing his two knives. The black one that has seen the most use is starting to dull, and Surge makes a mental note to sharpen it up the next time he has a chance, sheathing it and inspecting his other blade. This one, unlike the previous blade, is definitely not standard issue, and hasn't seen much use. He looks at his reflection in the well-polished metal, contemplating it's shine. "I'm gonna have to polish you sometime soon." He speaks to the knife directly, before returning it to it's rightful place in the sheath on his chest. He takes a few glances out the window at the rolling countryside, the sense of unease washing over him.
He narrows his eyes, scanning the nearby hills for anything. "Odd, there's not as many zeds as there should be..."