Message #45

[Tempest]

Stopping to get her bearings, Chase looks around at the scenery, trying to determine her location after he moment of panic. "Ah hell," she mutters, the words coming out muffled through her face mask. She realizes that nothing looks familiar, whether due to the snow or that she rarely came out so far, she was unsure. She takes this moment to break, moving til her back is pressed to a wall and the wind is blocked. Letting herself sidle down the building, she lifts her slightly fogged mask to catch her breath. The wind chills her slightly sweat-covered face and forces a shiver to run down her spine. Shaking, she reaches for her canteen and takes a long swig. If nothing else, the winter months meant no lack of water supplies.

She lowers the canister as she sees a strange shift in the snows back towards the market. Startled, she rubs her eyes, blinking rapidly to make sure she was not imagining things. It was really moving, that mound of snow. . . or was it really snow? If it was a person, there was no way it could be a zombie, they were too clean, Nor could they be the Anons (due to the utter lack of heavy fire-power) or the mysterious black-clothed organization. Curiosity gets the best of her, as she puts the stopper back into place and lowers her mask once more.

Dusting the snow off, Chase departs towards the supermarket, keeping to the shadows and spots free of snow as best she could while remaining a safe distance from poor-lit openings in the buildings. She stops a few buildings away, crouching down behind a drift to hide herself as best as possible. Slung at her side, her shotgun seems to weigh against her, the familiar itch to defend herself to survive bubbling up. Without so much as a second thought she welcomes the sensation like an old friend.