Chapter 41: Survival

Karl knew he was in trouble.  It wasn’t the first time, but he had to admit that this time it was different.  The possibility of his death was more than real.  

Karl was an adventurer.  He enjoyed the great outdoors and he always had his pack and gears ready for whenever he needed a respite from the city.  When the stress, the pollution, the people was too much, he simply grabbed his things, got a bus ticket for the Outback and hiked for 2 or 3 days.  Being one of the most successful architect of Australia helped in allowing him to go out when the desire strucked.

This trip had started as any other.  On last Monday, he had grabbed his pack and left.  On the bus, he had kept an eye for the kangaroo’s.  Contrary to the popular beliefs, these beasts were far from the "cute" Skippy from the popular TV show.  They were wild animals and behaved like so.

Even though, it wasn’t them that had him worried.  Not even the Inland Taipan scared him for he knew how to avoid it and always had the most powerful antivenin available on the market in a specially designed wrist band he could activate with only his mouth if necessary.  The Tasmanian Tigre was almost instinct and avoided humans like a swarm of locust.  Nop.  What had him scrambling for his life was a pack of moaning, shambling and very hungry Zombies.  

Like every human...except probably a few crazy indigenes out there, he had heard of the monsters.  He had also heard how everything was done to protect the world’s population.  He never dreamed that he would meet one outside of their food source area; the city.  Here in the Australian outback, the possibility of meeting one such creature was so ponderous that he never even entertained it.

Let’s face it, thought the 33 year old architect, probable or not, you’re in deep shit this time buddy.  And how does one gets out of a dangerous situation?  He uses his head father, answered Karl.  His dad had been a great outdoor expert, guiding tourist who searched thrills and other endorphin situations.  He had retired five years ago but was still trekking for his pleasure.  He had thought everything he knew to his son who had inherited his passion for adventures and "interesting" situations.  

Keeping his pace steady, he looked behind him.  Yup, they were still coming after him.  Six of these beasts had found his "scent" and were tracking him with their distinctive walk.  They had no expression what so ever and only the constant moan following him allowed Karl to know they were still there.  Otherwise, he would never have known he had been marked to be eaten or worst, become one of them.

Karl was walking in the direction of a small rock formation that would allow for some high ground.  While walking ahead of them, he had picked a sturdy piece of wood that he had shaped in the form of a crude spear.  Using one of his spare knife blade and some paracord, he had attached the blade to the shaft and had tested it against bushes and the ground.  The blade was a bit chipped but the whole thing would withstand the ordeal that was coming up.

Securing up the 3 piece formation, he moved toward the southern side where it would make it impossible for his pursuer to climb after him.  There, he made as much noise as he could, baiting the monsters toward him.  It worked.  The Zombies were fast approaching his position and would be in range not long afterward.  Holding his makeshift weapon, he allowed his mind to wander to another of his father’s lesson.

Karl was 12 years old and he was hunting with his dad.  They had crafted spears from wood, sharp obsidian rock and used their shoe laces to secure the weapon.  Then, they had practiced thrusts, slashes and hoe to use the shaft as both a weapon and a shield.  He has also explained how, whenever possible, using high ground or bushes when hunting or running from predators would allow of either complete protection or at the very least, cover from one side from attacks.  It was solid theory but with the living dead’s there was one factor that his dad could never have anticipated: these predators never got tired.  As long as Karl was there, they would try to get at him.  

Sitting there, he looked at what he was facing: 6 undead who were determined to make him their lunch, him with his gear, most of it useless against undeads, and his spear that would have to hold against God only knew how many thrusts until all of them were actually dead.  Well, sitting there would accomplish nothing.  Hefting his spears, Karl took one last steadying breath and prepares himself to kill...