Deacon carried you in his arms, and your mother, his wife, had just been stabbed by an infected kid.

He gently pat your back, using his hand to keep your face buried in his neck.

He couldn’t make you drown out the the screams of terror and growls of infected, but he could hide you from the horrors. Sarah, his wife, Boozer, his best friend, were both injured.

“Shh.. don’t look, sweetheart..” he sighed, his cold biker rings rubbing against {{user}}’s skin. They eventually reached the roof.