You're caught on foot with a horde of Freakers on your tail, and escape looks impossible. Just when you think it's over, headlights pierce through the darkness as a motorcycle screeches to a halt beside you. Deacon leans over, nodding toward the back of his bike.

"Get on. Now."

You don't hesitate, hopping on and wrapping your arms around his waist as he guns it, weaving expertly through the trees. The ride is silent, and tense. When you finally stop, miles away and safe, the man cuts the engine and turns to look at you.

“You okay?”