No Name

A man carries an interesting package through the tundra.

Out in the grey November nowhere, he trudged through the flush snow, the burden he carried growing heavier with each step. A visible chill hung in the dense air. He paused a moment to focus on his target, a sub station about half a mile away and visible only because its red beacon pulsed through the frozen fog, those tiny crystals reflecting the light enough to be seen in the half light of the overcast morning. He'd been walking all night, and the cold made his bones creak in their joints. On his back hung a pack with a few supplies, food, heating equipment, and a larger case shaped like an elongated egg. The case weighed about fifteen pounds and was well-insulated against the elements. Without it, he wouldn't be here on this frozen, desolate patch of tundra. But the profit at the end of the journey would be worth it. For a moment he allowed his thoughts to drift into the warmth of the sub station, and the shelter it offered.

The wind stirred him out of his daydream, and he moved his legs slowly along, one after the other, fighting the exhaustion enough to make his way across the open space. His eyes shifted around the horizon, but were limited by the low visibility of the fog. He was exposed here, not a comfortable feeling, but one he'd grown accustomed to in the last day after he'd passed the treeline and broken into the open spaces. The long walk had dulled his senses a bit, but they remained keen enough to hear the shuffling feet of a creature to his right. He judged it at about 250 yards away and could make out just enough of its figure to know it wouldn't be a threat to him. Still, it concerned him. This animal was a prey animal, and its predator could be close. He quickened his pace and drew his pistol from its holster. He moved about a hundred yards toward the station when he saw the tracks. The predator was here. His body surged with adrenaline as he crouched close to the ground and readied himself to fire.

The tracks belonged to a babur, a deadly predator that moved silently across the tundra. He knew they were fresh, probably no more than a half hour old. Though they were shallow in the packed snow, the wind would have buried them had the babur passed by any earlier in the day. 

It was a stocky, tightly muscled animal that stood five feet tall at its shoulder, even taller when standing on its hind legs. It glided across the land with an almost imperceptible quickness, and attacked with a ferocity that gave its victim no chance of survival. Figuring the spacing of its tracks, though, this babur was likely young. If it did find him, he might have a chance with some luck and a well placed incendiary.

Just a few yards away he noticed a shallow spot in the landscape. He moved there quickly, set his pack down, and focused his attention on the shuffling prey animal, hoping the babur hunted it, not him. It took only a few moments for the creature to disappear into fog. The sub station was a quarter mile away now, but seemed as if on another planet. If the babur turned its attention to him, he'd have to fight. He'd never outrun it. Then, the prey animal shrieked as the babur made its move.

With that first bloody sound, the man grabbed his gear and sprinted for the the sub station. In the fog, he could hear the sounds of the kill. The babur's roar answered the prey's shrieks. Even several hundred yards away, he could hear the struggle as the young predator slashed and pounded its prey. He tried to run, but exhaustion, snow, and cold kept him to a jogging pace. As the station got closer, the sounds of the hunt intensified till it seemed the prey were dying next to him. Then the ground shook as the babur lifted the prey in its jaws and slammed its down onto the packed snow and ice so hard the animal's sides split open, emptying its entrails into the frozen air. 

The sub station came into focus as the man approached, now only a few hundred yards from its entrance. His muscles ached, shooting daggers of pain with each step, but he couldn't stop, couldn't slow down. The backpack began droop from his shoulders, pulled downward as a magnet pulls toward another magnet. The babur let out its roar of triumph, celebrating its kill in its fashion, loud grunts, followed by that loud growling roar that let any predator within miles know to stay away. But the wind turned. As the man approached the last fifty yards of distance, his pace now barely more that a fast walk, he heard the babur's final triumph cut short. It knew him.

His eyes, blurred with exhaustion and sweat that froze onto his skin, found the entrance, and he mustered one last burst of energy. He reached the entrance door, furiously pressing the com button at its right side, not noticing that it was charred and useless. After a moment, he calmed his panic enough to realize that the substation doors were welded tight, its com out of order, and the entrance walls retained a black soot. He dropped his backpack and fell to his knees. Behind him, about twenty yards distant, a low grunting caught his attention and turned his blood.

Slowly, the man turned, placing his back against the sub station doors, and wondered why he wasn't dead. The babur lay in the snow, breathing heavily and grunting its warnings. Its eyes were icy blue, fixed upon the man, and every few moments it bared its foot long teeth and opened its mouth to roar quietly and grunt, grunt, grunt. But it didn't move. The man studied the animal while trying to will himself to raise his pistol and fire. It was indeed a juvenile, inexperienced enough that this kill took much longer than it should have. The babur breathed heavily, wheezing at times between grunts and growls. The animal's brilliant white coat was scarred,though. And the reason it lay in the snow and ice became clear. On its left side, just halfway between its fore and hind legs, a pair of broken ribs protruded slightly through its fur, dripping red blood that had left a grim trail from its kill site to the sub station where it now lay. 

The man raised his left hand just off his lap, steadying the pistol with his right. That motion caused the babur to spring up to its feet, letting out a deafening roar. The creature leapt toward him with murderous intent, but its injury doomed it, slowed it just enough that when the man fired off two incendiary rounds, they caught the babur squarely along its right flank and killed it instantly.

Weakly, the man moved to his packed and pulled out the egg-shaped case. Setting it down beside him, he touched the side and opened the cover to an instrument panel. This panel contained the vital signs of the case's contents. Temperature: Normal; Heartbeat: Slightly Weakened, but still within acceptable parameters; Brain Function: Normal; Organ Function: Kidneys and Liver Slightly weakened, but safe, all other organs normal; Pulmonary Function: Normal; Gender: Female; Species: Human; Name: Unidentified.

The man closed the cover and rested for a short time. He then began to build a shelter around the entrance to the sub station. Using his heating pellets, he warmed himself and settled in for a few hours of much needed sleep.

Author's Note

Please give me some suggestions. This is a very rough draft.

Reviews

[PaulB]

The story is interesting and provokes emotions. There is plenty of detail that allows me to imagine myself as the character. To me, those are the most important elements to storytelling.
There is a bit of redundancy, and some of your sentences could really pop with more force if you eliminated some unnecessary words.
You do have a gift and I hope you're not offended or discouraged by my critique. I look forward to reading more.

[J. Land]

I'm certainly not offended at all. I appreciate all honest critique. I agree that my sentences become a bit too wordy. It's a first draft that I'll be revising and posting again. Thank you for taking your time to read it.