If any one thing could be decisively said about Evan Marchand, it was that he was resourceful.
Groups didn't work for him. Too many people clustered together made for a messy, uncomfortable situation where one person (generally a self-appointed leader) ended up doing all the covering and the rest of the "team" made some sort of half-cocked effort to watch each other's backs. Every single "group" that Evan had been in since this whole shit-show started had ended with at least one death, and frankly, he was through with having people's deaths on his conscience. It had taken enough of a beating these past few years and he wasn't sure it could deal with much more.
From the convenience store he stood in, he could still hear the team leader barking orders at the rest of the peons, and his happiness for being separated from the group had never been higher. He'd already raided the cash register and was busying himself with filling the duffel bag he was carrying with canned goods. There wasn't much left. What was left behind by the owners had long since been raided by either his fellow Immune or people who were using the current situation to their advantage to reign chaos throughout the streets.
It was about that point in time that he heard some muffled gunfire coming from opposite where his former team had just headed. Generally, it wasn't in Evan to go too far out of his way to save people's asses, but for some ungodly reason he felt charitable that day. Pulling his kukri knife from its magnetic holster on his back, he shouldered his pack and stepped out the back entrance of the convenience store.
Hacking at a couple infected on the way (and cringing each time his blade made that skin-slicing sound, because no matter what came to pass he would probably never get used to that sound), he paused when he saw someone who looked… just a little bewildered.
He was about to call out to that person when he saw a runner come barreling around the corner, so rather than waste his breath, he unsheathed his survival knife and tossed it at the infected bastard's head. While it was staggering back, he took another couple of bounding steps forward and with a quick slice (and another sickening squishing sound), decapitated the flesh-eater.
"Dunno if you got the memo," he mumbled to the other man, his accent thickening from lack of effort to keep it hidden, "but it's not safe to just walk the streets and think anymore."