Drag You Down

[Cactus]

((Continued from Walk Amongst the Dead))

So this was how it was going to be. As everyone quickly scrambled away from the area, Burton Harris found himself alone once again. It was becoming a bit of a common theme at this junction, and quite frankly, it was starting to become a bit of a nuisance. Obviously, groups were beginning to realize Ken himself didn't have much to offer. He'd met up with Guy twice already, and twice the other kid had made it fairly clear that he wanted nothing to do with the free-spirited young man.

In most other situations, this would have suited Ken just fine, but the problem was, this wasn't exactly an ordinary situation. People were running around shooting each other, and there was absolutely nowhere that could be classified as 'truly safe'. As Matthew left the area, leaving Ken on his own, he began to plot his next course of action.

The cruel irony that I've switched identities with a dead man, who's died in a method in which the chances of repetition are absolutely astronomical...and yet, here I stand, in all likelihood going to die on this island, unless I can manage to defy the odds...

"Armed with nothing but a kevlar vest around my torso. Somewhat of a disappointment in the long run, I'd say."

There was no one place on the map that Burton figured was safer than the other. Obviously, the danger zones were to be avoided at any and all cost, but aside from that, everywhere else was essentially fair game. The idea that he might run into a madman or a psychopath was less than appealing, but that was a risk that he'd have to take. Burton couldn't stay within the graveyard forever. It would eventually become a danger zone and if he were still present when it did, he would have ended off no better than the real Ken Lawson did, sitting down and giving up while within a danger zone.

Unlike him, I'm not weak-willed, nor will I take this sitting down.

Pulling the map out from inside of his bag, Burton unfolded it and placed it across his lap. He'd been sitting atop a gravestone (perhaps not the most respectful thing in the world, but he figured that anyone who may have cared was long gone from this place). Retrieving his pipe from within his pocket, he removed a small bag from his pack and removed some marijuana leaves from it, enough to fill his pipe. After doing so, he flicked open his lighter and lit the inside of the pipe. He needed a clear head, now more than ever. Taking a long hit from the pipe, he kept the smoke within his lungs for a moment, letting the drug take effect as it made its way throughout his body. As he exhaled, Burton immediately felt quite a bit better.

Amazing that I never become addicted to cigarettes, isn't it? I suppose it's because I'm far too smart for that...

Putting the small bag and lighter back in his pack, Burton slung the knapsack around his shoulders and stood up, grabbing the map as he stood. He felt a sudden need to get himself out of the graveyard, and while he couldn't put his finger on it, finding shelter seemed to be a strong priority for him at present.

Folding the map up so that it wasn't so large in front of him, Burton began to walk forward, not paying any heed to where he was going. The way that he'd come had been through here, and provided that he didn't whack his knees on any tombstones that managed to get in the way, he figured that he'd be alright.

"Alright, map...let's show good ol' Burton where to go next, yeah?"

As he examined the map, he was able to find the section where the graveyard was marked, and checked to see which buildings were adjacent to his location. It seemed as though there were more than a few options for him, though he knew that if he were planning on going to a building for shelter, others, both player and non-player alike, would be planning to hea-

"Whuhhhh-AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

What happened next caught Burton so totally off-guard that the pipe that he'd casually been about to take a hit off of still remained in his mouth the entire time. Quite suddenly, he had the sensation of falling, as though the whole world had just turned upside-down and he was in free-fall. The world went dark around him, and Burton found that he'd lost his grip on the map. and that his pack - so loosely tossed around his shoulder, had somehow disappeared.

Before he had a chance to process his situation, and really before he was able to do anything else but scream in surprise, Burton Harris landed, and he landed hard. Both of his ankles screamed in protest at the sudden drop, and his legs crumpled from under him, causing him to drop down to his bottom. Grimacing at the cold, wet sensation that suddenly flooded through his pants, Burton had barely any time to react before his pack, having been tossed in the air when he'd lost his footing, came dropping down and smacked him right on the head.

---

Wh-what the...?

Groaning, Burton Harris groggily forced his eyes open and blinked a few times. It was pitch-black, the only light source seemed to be many feet above him, and it seemed as though he'd fallen into some sort of muddy hole. He sat in the mud at the bottom of the hole, his ankles screaming in pain and his forehead throbbing, he shook his head, trying to determine what had happened. All that he remembered was that he'd been walking one minute, and the next...?

I'm in a graveyard...put it together, Harris...

Cursing softly to himself, he took a second to construct a working theory in his head, and then looked around at his surroundings to see how well it held up. He appeared to be in a hole that was approximately three feet in width on each side, and judging by the temperature of the muck wall that he was laying against and the mud at the bottom of the hole, he had to be at least twelve feet underground. As he looked up, he tried to gauge how he'd managed to fall in such a small hole, or why one would possibly be left open.

"Damn...it's got to be a grave...an open friggin'...grave."

Letting his head fall back against the side of the hole in frustration, Burton knew that his odds just fell astronomically. This was what one might call a 'stupid mistake'. Falling into a hole while not looking where one was going? Wasn't Burton's idea of a smart play. Regardless, he knew that he'd have to make the best of his situation, as he refused to just sit down and die here.

I'm no Ken Lawson, that's for damn sure...

Taking the pipe out of the corner of his mouth where it had somehow managed to stay throughout his fall and subsequent state of unconsciousness, Burton let it fall to the ground. There was really only one way out of here, and that was up. Wincing as he tried to stand, Burton found that while his ankles weren't broken, they still exuded pain nearly every second that he put weight on them. If they weren't broken, then the odds were that he'd managed to at least sprain both of them, which didn't allow for wonderful odds when running away from anyone. His head had been cut, and the blow from the pack had broken his glasses, leaving them hanging off of his face with shards of the lenses still inside the frames. Burton discarded these as well.

As he managed to make it to his feet, he took a moment to poke his hands into the side of the hole. Thanks to the close proximity of the other three sides, he couldn't maneuever too much within the hole, but his hand went into the damp mud with enough ease that Burton figured it wouldn't be that difficult to shimmy up the side of the hole. It would probably take quite a while, and be relatively painful, but he figured that it woudldn't be all too difficult nonetheless.

Whose bright idea was it to bury a casket length-wise, anyway? Don't they know that you're supposed to bury a body lying down? Obviously whomever lived here before wasn't much for religious symbolism...

Glancing up again, Burton sighed to himself. There was no putting this off any longer. He couldn't say for certain how long he'd been unconscious for, but the fact remained that Danya could make an announcement or change danger zones at any time. Reaching up, Burton rammed his hand into the wall of the hole, and tried digging his foot into the other side. The dirt accepted his foot and handholds, and he began to shimmy himself up the side.

"Uungh. Uurgh. Damn..."

Little by little, Burton managed to make progress on his ascent. Sure, it wasn't the most glamorous of ways to escape from a hole, but if he'd been looking where he'd been going, then the odds were that he wouldn't have found himself in this situation at all. Grunting as he made his way up, he figured that a small solace was that he was at least intelligent enough and had enough presence of mind not to sit and sulk, but rather find a way out of his situation. It di-

"SHIIIIIIT!"

This time, the fall was a lot less of a free-fall, and was a lot more like he'd just been tossed from a deck or fallen off a chair. His hands and feet had lost their grip almost simeltaneously, and he'd fallen back down again. This time, though, small bits and pieces of dirt were beginning to fall off of the sides of and into the hole. Blinking as he pulled himself up, Burton cursed and vowed to try again. Dragging himself up off the ground, he used the grooves made from his first attempt and pulled himself up again. This time, as he was nearing his previous position, he saw what looked like a root coming from the side of the wall. Raising an eyebrow, he took hold of the root and put all of his weight on it.

This, of course, was not a great idea. The root itself was firmly embedded within the wall of the hole, but the wall of the hole itself was not stable enough to maintain the weight of a twenty-year old man pulling on it. A large chunk of dirt and mud came out of the wall and fell, with BUrton, back down to the bottom of the hole. As the large piece of soil fell down on Burton, he grunted in pain as he felt one of his ribs crack, as a rock within the clump struck him, the dirt them exploding all over Burton and the bottom of the hole.

Unfortunately for Burton, as he pulled himself to his feet and looked upwards, he found that he'd essentially signed his own death warrant. By pulling upon the large piece of soil, he'd dislodged a large chunk of the wall. Due to the fact that he hadn't been all that high up to begin with, the hole itself was beginning to collapse inwards upon itself.

"Aw...no."

Pieces of dirt were beginning to fall with increasing frequency towards him, and the wall was beginning to shift in towards him, obviously in an attempt to fill the gap that he'd created. As the wall buckled and it became increasingly evident that he was quite well screwed over, Burton looked up at the sky for what he assumed would likely be the last time.

At least I didn't sit down and give up like some sad, silly fuck named Ken Lawson. It took a misplaced grave and fate itself to bring me down...

In a split-second, which was all Ken had to think about what he had to say, he kept looking at the sky, and shouted out to anyone within shouting distance. It was the only thing that he could think of to say, as it'd been the one thought perimating his mind since he'd woken up.

"MY NAME'S BURTON HARRIS, AND SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST IS A CONSPIRACY CREATED BY THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA IN ORDER TO CATER TO MILITANT SUB-GROUPS OF THE COUNTRY'S POWER-ELITE! THIS ISN'T ABOUT TERRORIZING TEENAGERS! IT'S ABOUT MANUFACTURING A WAR! MR. DANYA? HE'S PROBABLY SITTING IN SOME CUSHY OFFICE BUILDING SOMEWHERE IN DOWNTOWN WASHINGTON, WORKING AT A NINE-TO-FI-"

Burton was very suddenly cut off by the cavern collapsing in upon itself, the muck enveloping him completely. To anyone looking at the hole from the top, it would look like the hole had simply just filled itself up from the bottom; the ground around the area slightly adjusting to equate the mass of the dirt which had moved around. People who came walking by later on wouldn't have any idea that anyone had just died here, and the only indication was the map that remained on the ground just beside the hole.

Underneath the dirt and the muck, Burton felt pressure all over his entire body that was agonizingly crushing him. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, couldn't move, and he felt a sense of terror welling up within him. This was obviously what it was like to die, and while he admitted to himself that there were other, much less painful ways he'd rather go, at least it would all be over soon enough. As his lungs begged for oxygen and his body began to shut itself down over the fact that he was being crushed, he had time for two more last thoughts to himself.

The first, I can't believe that my last words were 'nine-to-five' was thought with a degree of pained panic, and then, as he felt consciousness slipping away from him and his brain felt like it was about to burst, Burton felt his mouth, basically covered in dirt and barely able to move, change into a strange smile, as the second thought - his last thought, went through his head.

At least I didn't go out like a sucker and get shot in the face...

With that, Burton Harris lost consciouness for the final time, and slipped into eternal rest.

Interestingly enough, there was a small touch that hadn't been noticed up until this point by anyone. The grave markers in the graveyard were in fact far too new to be authentic, and Danya himself had overseen the installation of them. In keeping with his sardonic and disturbing sense of humour, Danya had replaced each gravestone in the yard with that of someone who died in his Survival of the Fittest contests.

The open grave, that had just been filled? The name on the headstone bore the name of an unfortunate young lad who'd died in SOTF v2.

The headstone read:

Burton Harris
1986-2006

BOY 11 - LAWSON, KEN -- DECEASED