The distinctive marks of Shel’s form of locomotion was frozen into the snow – step-drag, step-drag. He grimaced. They’d follow that, for sure. He massaged his leg, knowing it would do no good. Time to move forward.
Moth-like, Shel stayed focused on the light half glimpsed between the trees. The sky ahead was glowing orange: civilization.
The trees ended in a park at the edge of a sleepy slice of suburbia.
He had to risk the open since the hard-packed snow would hide his tracks.
He was blinded as he reached the road.
“Freeze! On the ground, now! We’ll shoot!”
Word count = 100