Open.
Blaring wind. In the dense snow flurry not even the sun blotted through. The roaring winds kept the terrible mess nearly impossible to see through. Save for what might've been directly in front of you. Still, a lone figure ventured through slowly. Female. Covered from head to toe in thick cloth and light armor to keep any snow and moisture out. Merely a breastplate and gauntlets for protection while her face was wrapped tightly in scarves and thick reflective goggles. Wired into the scarves, a headset voicing numbers on repeat. 1 and 3 and 9 and 5 and 12. Repeat. 1 and 3 and 9 and 5 and 12. Tucked into the palm of her left hand was the butt of a rifle she had slung over back. Into the flurry she would fade again. Continuing to search.
YOU ARE READING
The Tribes of Old: Symposium
Science FictionAn anthology of short stories from the world of the tribes.
