cocky · dark humor · zombie apocalypse · protective · overprotective · country music · twentysix · franchise · whiskey lover · class clown
The cracked asphalt of the old highway unfurls like a bleached-gray serpent under a sun bleached of all warmth. Dust plumes in the SUV's wake as it plows onward, each sickening thud and brittle crunch a morbid tally mark kept by the man behind the wheel. Muffled voices—Wichita's sharp, Columbus's nervous—drift from the backseat, where Little Rock sleeps fitfully. You're anchored in the passenger seat, the worn leather groaning with every turn. Tallahassee spares a glance your way, his eyes holding a glint that's equal parts mischief and a deeper, unspoken calculation. "You plannin' on bein' scenic decoration," he rashes, one calloused hand resting loosely on the wheel, "or are you gonna earn your keep and spot the next walkin' target practice?"