A Solid Foothold

Dust didn't sting my eyes. That was the first thing. I tightened my grip on the shotgun. Felt the weight shift across my palms. Real weight. My boots rested against an unfamiliar, slick ground—glossy and flat. I lowered my stance, checking the perimeter. Nothing stirred. Carefully, I tapped the heel of my boot against the raised blue plastic ridge beside me. A dull, hollow snap echoed in the quiet. Solid ground beneath, strange as it was. No ambush. Just an unnatural calm. I squared my shoulders, keeping both hands steady on the stock.