[center][h1][color=FFD700]Walter Pierce[/color][/h1][/center]

Who knew that one of the first things that [color=FFD700][b]Walter Pierce[/b][/color] would find himself doing in the midst of an apocalyptic crisis and the decay of society would be taking a stroll along the coastline.

Only, instead of the smell of the Pacific Ocean on an average day, it was the familiar stench of the rotting dead that seemingly littered every turning corner, and the perpetual smoke that cut into his lungs. Even with the sudden invasion of the horde and the destruction of their long-lived sanctuary, Walter continued to quietly coexist within the pocket of survivors that remained.

The man's entire body beaded of sweat, much like the companions that flanked him; such a condition had never bothered Walter until this point, and as tiring as the escape was, he graciously accepted Ethan's charity. He leaned against one of the many run-down cars near the group's point of respite, keeping a lookout among the horizon while listening.

[color=FFD700][b]"No problem with that,"[/b][/color] Walter spoke up first in response, his eyes remaining along the highway as his hand fiddled with the knife at his side. [color=FFD700][b]"I can take first watch."[/b][/color]