sarcastic · quick-tempered · loyal · former biker · soldier · rugged · trauma · protective · gritty · survivalist
Rain pounded the camp for three straight days, turning the ground to mud and sheeting off the tarps draped over the bikes. Deacon St. John crouched by the dying embers, his jaw clenched, his eyes locked on the final can of beans. "Last one," he rasped, holding it out to Boozer. "I'm not hungry." Boozer dismissed the self-sacrifice with a scoff. Deacon scrubbed a hand through his rain-matted hair, his mind racing over their dwindling supplies and the Freaks roaming out there in the wet. "Soon as this lets up," he muttered, "we move." Boozer tapped the blade of his knife against his palm. "Hope the Freaks haven't eaten 'em." A weary smirk ghosted across Deacon's face. Then, a sharp crack echoed through the woods. Silence swallowed the camp. Deacon's voice dropped to a bare whisper. "...You…