daryavolkov:
It had been a long time since Darya had seen snow, and they weren’t entirely prepared for it as the Days moved northwards. There were no seasons, in fallout like this, they knew, and it was pointless to think of this as winter, especially when there would never be any kind of spring, marked by growth and new warmth and renewal, ever again, but they found themself unable to think of it as winter anyway, trying to locate their journey against old measurements of time, wondering distantly if this meant it was February, or December, if in another world Christmas might have been near.
None of that mattered, they had to remind themself. This wasn’t the old world. Seasons had no meaning; months had no meaning. Weather had no meaning except where it was an obstacle in their progression towards a goal. They’d hunkered down behind a bank of snow, trying to get a sense for the lay of the land before they turned back to camp, charting in their mind a pathway for the Days to follow when they pressed onwards tomorrow, despite the snow.
They’d never liked the snow. Tolerated it, but hated the way that moving through it made them feel sluggish. It muffled all sound, sure, but not being able to hear movement around you was worse, somehow, than when your potential enemies could hear every sound you made. Darya knew how to hide their footsteps. They didn’t know how to hear movement in the snow.
But–
–clack.
Maybe sound wouldn’t be such a problem, they thought, the sound of something hitting concrete nearby, and their head whipped to look as they automatically flipped the safety off of their rifle. They hadn’t seen any of the telltale signs of walkers nearby, but it could have been a scavenger, or a chance meeting. But their gaze found nothing, where the noise had come from, a flash of movement so brief they were almost positive they’d imagined it, and then nothing, and then stillness.
Still, they would be wary. Still, their finger hovered over the trigger of their sniper rifle, which they propped up atop the snowbank they were settled behind, and looked down the scope, hoping to see something that their eyes alone had missed.
Even with the most settled people -- the ones who were stoic and war-worn and had become accustomed to the nature of this world on the whole almost as soon as it had come to pass -- would make motions and get jumpy at the unknown. It’s the nature of humans as a species and the way that most people found comfort in themselves. It was easy to forget your humanity when you were bred for war, but most humans hadn’t been born into it so much as thrust and adapted, so Li Liu knew that the motion she saw was likely that of someone at least partially fresh within the nuclear fallout.
She still didn’t move for a span of beats, even the breath she exhaled through the snow and ash to kick up flurries was nigh paced in time with the shift of the breeze that whipped through the landscape -- devoid of trees or anything to break the constant, chilling whip of wind -- and only out of necessity for that. She knew to move would give away her position, so she had to make subtle motions, neck deep in snow and other detritus as she tried to make slow shifts forward through the snow.
A figure could be made out, but barely (likely partially thanks to her one eye, though she’d never admit it,) and if it had been anyone but her it might have gone as unnoticed as she had. There had been a flicker of their gaze that had twitched their head in her direction, and she knew she had not been so subtle as she had wanted. No, the wrong motion and she’d likely be shot, and it would be a hell of a thing to hide her position when her blood started to paint the grey landscape in crimson.
There was a choice to be made: continue to shamble on and try to get closer to asses the target, and likely be confused for a walker, or offer temporary surrender to the situation so they could figure out if they were in need of such confrontation.
A shift of her fingers into her bulky coat -- its outer layers were now covered in a thin layer of gross, murky wetness from the combination of snow, dirt, and ash -- and pulled free the thing she always had prepared for these moments. Surrender was not weakness, especially when you were just as trained in hand-to-hand and could disarm most opponents without breaking a sweat, but still...
The flag raised slowly from the snow bank, but only after she’d rolled a bit to the side and angled her arm just right so that if they’d tried to take a shot at her body they’d get snow... or her arm... a thing she could tend to better than a shot to the head.
It was a matter of waiting after that, her breath held to not shift the snow that covered her torso now and kept her safely from being found, by either her new found friend or any walkers that were becoming alerted to the sounds of motion that they were both making, no matter how subtle.
