Alexander Michael Kennard

Alexander Michael Kennard—Alex to just about everyone in Camp Hope—is the sort of man you can hear before you see. His deep, booming laugh carries across the fields, and when he speaks, it’s with the easy cheer of someone who’s long ago decided to meet life head-on, no matter how bleak it might get. Standing at a towering six-foot-four and built like the oxen he sometimes compares himself to, Alex’s strength has been the backbone of his life and livelihood. He’s spent all seventy of his years right here in Camp Hope, working the farms with a stubborn pride, feeding his community both with the crops he grows and the hearty meals he cooks.

Alex is a man of simple convictions. He believes in the Maker, in the value of honest work, and in the unshakable duty to keep his family and neighbors alive. His definition of “family” is broad, but blood runs thick: his wife Winfrith, his children Nissa, Willow, Shawnee, George, Felecia, and Leah are the heart of his world. Nothing matters more to him than their safety and well-being. If you ask him why he labors from sunup to sundown, he’ll just shrug and say, “Someone’s got to keep the people fed.” And that someone, to his mind, is him.

His worldview is tinted by bias—Alex favors humans above all other races, and while he’s not one for cruelty, he regards The Awakened and The Others as lesser, something apart from the true heart of humanity. It’s not a belief he shouts about, but it shapes the way he measures trust. Still, Alex is not a hard man to like; he gives others the benefit of the doubt, convinced most people are just trying to do their best.

A consummate cook and gardener, Alex takes great pride in turning what he grows into feasts that bring people together. At family gatherings, you’ll find him at the stove or grill, sleeves rolled up, barking good-natured orders to anyone within earshot. He’s quick to share his culinary skills with others, often teaching the younger folk how to make the most of scarce ingredients. Yet, despite his generosity, Alex has a quiet habit of slipping scraps of food or small trinkets into his pockets—just in case. After all, civilization’s already collapsed once; who’s to say it won’t again?

That’s the thing about Alex—beneath his bold, affable surface lies a bone-deep certainty that the worst is always just around the corner. He predicts doom with the same casual tone he uses to comment on the weather. It’s not bitterness, exactly—more a farmer’s realism, born from a lifetime of watching how quickly fortune can turn. But if trouble comes to Camp Hope, there’s no doubt where Alex will be: standing his ground, fighting for his home, because to him, community isn’t just an ideal—it’s the only thing left worth defending.