STEEM-POCALYPSE SURVIVAL GAME CONTEST - Day 6 Round 1

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this” said the younger of the two men as they listened to the group of people approaching. “I reckon we should hide until they go past.”

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His father considered for a moment and then nodded his head. Together they took to the bushes at the side of the track and quietly eased their way in as deep as they could. Every few steps they checked for ticks, or anything else that might decide to crawl up a trouser leg.

The brush with the GMO ticks had left them feeling very wary about bush bashing through the scrub.

The voices became louder, and although they couldn’t understand what was said, the pair knew that they were outnumbered by quite a few people. The father nodded to his son, indicating he’d made a good decision. Neither of the men were in any sort of shape to get into a fight, so avoiding possible conflict was their best option.

Crouching silently in the deep shadows, they waited until the voices had faded into the distance, and the dirt road was quiet. Their legs were beginning to cramp by the time they decided it was safe enough to come out of hiding. Slowly and carefully they made their way back to the road.

The son peered left and right, slowly easing himself out into the open, like a nervous deer. He then motioned for his father to follow, and they continued their journey along the winding dirt road.

Nearly an hour passed with them back in trudge mode, but still keeping a sharp eye out for trouble. They had learned a hard lesson with Tom, and just because it had turned out well with him, did not mean they would be so lucky in the future.

It wasn’t their eyes that alerted them to the next potential hazard however, it was their ears. the familiar sound of a diesel engine growling up ahead, caused them to pause. A running engine meant people, people with fuel and probably other resources.

That could be a big bonus for their survival, if they had something to offer in return. They looked at each other and both realised the truth straight away. They had nothing they could offer in trade that would keep them alive longer than the time it took to rob them. And they were not scary enough that anyone would feel threatened by them, and let them live.

Anyone they encountered would see them for what they were – two rag-tag souls barely surviving, barely worth saving, just extra mouths to feed.

Silently the old man pointed to an opening beside the road that seemed to lead away from the location of the engine. The terrain was mostly flat will just small bushes. Enough to give them good cover, but not so much that it would be difficult to walk through. After the bush bashing they had been doing and the hills they’d had to climb, it seemed like a friendly option, so the son nodded and bade his father to lead on.

Hitching his pack a little higher, the older man did just that, weaving his way quickly between the trees and low bushes. Off in the distance the engine still growled, accompanied by the clank of something heavy hitting something hard.

The terrain began to change as they put some distance between themselves and the road. The forest floor here was sandy and soft. At first it made a pleasant change, but the going began getting softer and softer, with the sand dragging at their feet.

A shape filtered through the shadows under the trees and the son whipped around to try and catch what it was. What it a bird? It seemed too large to be a bird. He heard his father curse and as he turned to see what the problem was, he stumbled in the soft sand.

He struggled to pull his foot out and found that it wouldn’t come. Instead his other foot sunk even further.

They were in quicksand!

“It’s quicksand dad!” he shouted in warning. But his father, already up to his waist, had figured this out for himself.

“No kidding Sherlock” was his terse reply. “What was your first clue?”

“Ok, don’t panic” said the son, trying not to panic himself. He was now up to his knees and sinking fast.

“I’m not panicking, I’m trying to get my bloody pack off!” said his father, not at all amused with the situation. He struggled with the straps, eventually getting the heavy pack off and flinging it as far as he could towards solid ground. He then used the strap he was hanging on to, to help pull him onto his stomach.

He wriggled and squirmed and grunted and swore as sand got into places sand really shouldn’t be. But eventually he managed to get himself lying flat on the surface. He then used the weight of the pack as an anchor and pulled himself along, puffing and spitting out bits of sand and debris.

It took a while, but he finally made it to the edge and rolled onto solid ground. He lay there with his chest heaving, waiting for the heart attack to kick in. Just as he thought he might just survive this one, his son arrived next to him, equally covered in sticky sand, and looking just as bad as his father.

It was quite some time before the men spoke, and when they did it was to agree that sand was bad, and that they needed to find somewhere to wash the sticky grindy stuff out of their underwear.

For the bird sitting high in the tress, it must have been a strange sight, two men covered in muck stumbling along with their legs wide apart, and muttering curses as they sought out a small stream to remove the sand from their nether regions.

This would not rank as their worst day, but it would also not rank as their best.

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STEEM-POCALYPSE SURVIVAL GAME CONTEST - Day 6 Round 1 - the Kiwi's story

Stories in this series

Check out my stories here on Steemit

Running Deer

Charlie Rabbit

Little Peppers Adventures

Dark Angel Regiment of the Space Marines - Mission Files

Other stories

Also don't forget to check out my Dad's blog