Chris checks the straps on his backpack for the seventh time while looking out the window slit.
Mark nudges the rows of magazines nestled in pockets across his chest making sure they can be grabbed without snagging on anything.
The food ran out two weeks ago. Unknown at the time, their winter stores had been completely ruined when the basement wall of the old brick shack had crumbled and collapsed making a small but usable passage way for animals to ravage everything.
Thinking ahead Mark and Chris had established caches of food and supplies whenever possible. They had waited as long as possible for the late winter to bring its heavy snow. Gooey’s wouldn't freeze in this weather, but it would slow them down. If the men waited too long they wouldn't have the energy, strength, or endurance to make the trip to their next nearest base.
They hoped the cold would deaden their sent and the near dark would hide them from the near sightless nightmares that craved to rip them apart in their endless hunger, and the snow would hush their movement. Outside was a forest ringing the men, four hundred yards deep of motionless figures. Flakes of snow did little to cover the rot and gore. Not waiting, not watching. Just there. Yet the forest would come alive, if the word can even be used, as one if any sound or smell held the invitation of food.
It was through this that Mark and Chris were about to thread their way.
Mark laid his gloved hand on Chris' shoulder giving him a nod and a smile. Chris nodded back. He slowly, quietly pulled the door open. The barrier that had kept them alive for the past six months. Powdery drifts of snow spilled onto the carpeted floor.
They stepped outside...
This is a very short story I wrote focusing on the mood of the story and leaving the out come hanging. I like playing with subtext, but try to keep from weighing down the flow of the story with too much of it.
Hope you enjoy it.