Survival Of The Fittest

Lying on his back in an open grave, Nicholas was assessing the situation, his hands folded on his stomach. He'd been there for a couple of minutes already, trying to get an idea of what he should do. His bag lay beside him, and next to that another bag he was unfamiliar with; he had yet to check his assigned weapon, but he would tend to that once he figured out what he was gonna do...

'I don't wanna die,' he thought, biting his lip and nodding. 'That would suck. I know Swainson and Zed are here; they said everybody in the district. Is Gatti here? He said he wasn't coming...whatever, the point is I'm not gonna kill Swainson and Zed. No fuckin' way. They wouldn't kill me...would they?'

Nich was fairly positive that neither Andrew nor Zed would sell him up the river under normal circumstances, but this was a matter of life and death, and they were both pretty spazzy. Maybe one of them would freak out and try to kill him...maybe even act friendly to get him to let his guard down. He had a tough time accepting his coming demise himself. Nich shook his head. This was gonna be a tough call.

'Ok, ok,' he finally concluded, nodding once more. 'I'll find Foreman and Swainson. I won't kill 'em. But...I will keep an eye on them. If I find them before they get their asses shot, that is.' Smiling confidently, he began to sit up, then suddenly laid his head back down quickly into the dirt. 'What about everyone else? There've gotta be some people here who don't like dying. Unless they're all emo kids.' He scoffed. 'Fuckin' emos.'

It was quite a dilemma, but in the end, Nich decided that anyone who posed a threat to him or his two idiot friends was fair game. On that note, he sat up and went through his daypack beside him; there was no way he was setting foot outside this grave unarmed. He felt his way around the contents and pulled out a survival guide, tossing it beside him on the ground. No need for that; he knew how to survive, thanks. It was pretty straightforward. He finally withdrew the handaxe he was designated, and smiled. Not because he figured he was at a particular advantage, however, but because he'd often fantasized about hacking at zombies with something like this.

Nich got on his knees, grabbed his daypack and dufflebag (although he was dissappointed to find that his knife had been removed), and eyed the axe over one more time, blowing strands of long hair off of his face. This was certainly going to be interesting. He'd neglected to put his map back in his bag, and looked it over quickly. He was in the cemetary...cemetary...what? There was no damn cemetary. He peeked his head up out of his 6-foot deep cover; there was a church nearby. And sure enough, there was one on the map as well. Nich finally got an idea of where he was.

He climbed up onto the edge of the pit and looked around. He couldn't see anyone, but he could hear voices in the distance, and neither of them sounded anything like his friends. Nich suddenly became much more aware of the danger he was in, and concluded that he would do well to head somewhere else, somewhere less open. The church wasn't an option, seeing as the entrance was on the other side, where the voices were coming from. He'd head into the forest, where there was much more cover. Maybe he'd find the guys, and they could figure something out from there. Either way, he was getting the hell out of here. Although he had to admit, it was pretty funny that he'd woken up in an open grave. 'Heheh...Nich of the Living Dead...'

((Continued in Welcome to the Jungle))