Mellark.

[ She slaps her gun into his hand with one of hers, claps him on the shoulder with the other. ]

Don't waste it.

[ Her face is streaked with sweat and blood and grime, and normally she's not so free with her weapons, especially not one with the sentimental little hourglass carved into the grip, but there's a wound pulsing ugly pain out from her hip where one of those creatures got her, and she knows she won't be needing it much longer. ]

I heard someone radioing about a weapons cache about twenty miles north of here. You go there, you team up with whoever you can find.