Robotic Kangaroos on George Street
You’re at the kangaroos, desperate for a rest with that aching scratch on your ankle. The zombies have followed you this far, and the group has exploded in number. City shoppers, bus drivers and workers have turned into flesh-eating crazies.
You want to stomp your foot in protest. This is stupid, and it shouldn’t be happening, but it is. You wish Morgan would stop calling you so Katy Perry would stop singing and these weirdos can stop following you.
You stop at the robotic kangaroos, and frankly, you don’t give a damn. Sure, they’re an art piece, but you’re not a student today. You’re someone else, maybe turning into something else, with that scratch on your ankle. You look down. It doesn’t look so bad. Does it?
The kangaroos don’t seem themselves today. Last time you recalled they weren’t wearing clothes. Not blood stained t-shirts anyway. And they didn’t talk. You spin around surprised when you hear, “What the hell you doing on my turf?”
An old, scruffy man peers out from under the kangaroo lying on the bench. “Are you going to stand there all day or what? Or you gonna be their tucker? Get in here!” He drags you down.
You’re amazed by what you see. The old guy has a small campfire set up and belongings strewn all over the ground. Matches, cans of baked beans, a stereo, a compass, a first aid kit, a gun, and a book titled, “My Zombie Plan.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” you say. “Are you going to use any of that stuff? Like now? To save us?”
“Nope. Don’t need to because they don’t eat metal.” He pulls his pants up and shows you two steel artificial legs attached from his knee joints down.
“Can you run?” you ask, as the zombies approach.
“If you don’t turn off that bloody phone, I’ll have to.” The old man wrenches the phone from your hands. He throws it to the ground, and his boot squishes it like a bug. “I hate them technology things,” he says. He looks at you with crazy eyes, holding a match in his hands. “Want a light?”
You would have urged him seconds ago to come with you, but that was an expensive HTC. And your only connection to Morgan! All you needed was the time to put it on vibrate…
“You’re on your own!” you yell. You start to run, remembering the Kurilpa Bridge. Maybe that’s a way out of the city.
You reach for a loose street sign pole along the way and surprise yourself how easy it is to wrestle it out of the ground. Where’s that superhuman strength coming from? Armed now, you head towards the next obvious escape route, the Kurilpa Bridge.
Run down Tank Street and go midway across Kurilpa Bridge (brandishing your street sign pole like a warrior!).