Part 90
We resumed our march as the shadows began to lengthen,
stretching across the canyon floor like long,
dark fingers.
The terrain became increasingly vertical,
requiring us to use climbing ropes to secure the sled as we navigated narrow ledges.
Every muscle in my body ached from the strain,
the heavy load of the supplies pulling against my harness with every step.
But the thought of what lay ahead,
the potential to find others who shared our freedom,
kept my legs moving forward.
As the sun began to dip below the western peaks,
painting the snow in shades of deep orange and purple,
we finally reached the entrance of the valley where the mine was located.
The air here felt heavy,
charged with the same high-frequency static we had detected through the drone's sensors.
I pulled out my handheld tracker,
noticing that the compass needle was spinning erratically,
completely disrupted by the jamming field.
"We are close,"
I whispered to Khloe,
signaling for her to stay behind me as we approached the massive concrete structure ahead.
The entrance to the mine loomed out of the twilight,
a dark,
gaping maw in the side of the mountain,
surrounded by jagged remnants of old machinery.
The tracks we had seen on the video feed were gone,
freshened over by the recent winds,
making the place look entirely deserted and dead.
We stopped fifty yards from the opening,
standing in the middle of the snowy expanse,
completely exposed to whoever might be watching from the shadows.
I unhooked myself from the sled harness,
stepping forward with my hands raised openly,
palms facing outward to show I carried no weapons.
"We are not your enemy,"
I shouted into the wind,
my voice echoing off the concrete walls of the structure.
"We are survivors from the southern valley,
we saw your drone,
and we came in peace."
For a long,
breathless minute,
the only response was the whistling of the wind through the rusted iron girders above.
The dog stood perfectly still,
his tail low,
his eyes locked onto the darkness inside the main tunnel entrance.
Then,
without a sound,
three figures emerged from the shadows,
moving with a fluid,
practiced coordination that spoke of military training.
They were clad in pristine white winter gear,
their faces covered by thermal masks,
their hands holding advanced kinetic rifles pointed directly at my chest.
One of them stepped forward,
the weapon held steady,
his eyes visible behind a tinted visor,
cold and evaluating.
"State your designation,"
a synthesized voice demanded from his collar communicator,
the tone harsh and devoid of emotion.
"We don't have a designation,"
I responded clearly,
maintaining eye contact through the visor,
refusing to show the fear that was pounding in my chest.
"We are free humans,
May you like
we live on the old estate to the south,
and we came to talk."
