Cold Sand Echoes

I shouldered forward in the cold sand. The moon hung low on the horizon, and the grains of silica glittered from my angle. I pressed my face up against my scope. Still no movement.

I reached slowly for the radio, but stopped my hand halfway. Someone had opened a door. Golden-red light spilled out into the desert. It was two hours until morning. The simple lamp glared into the cool moonlight, and my eyes squinted to adjust to this sudden brightness.

The metal of my rifle felt icy on my cheek. Sand lacked warmth, but the metal felt actively cold. I watched the prison as another door opened. Someone walked out from a second door, this time shutting it quickly as they went.

I started to smell morning. What few plants there were prepared for the coming heat, and the scent of the ground changed ever so slightly as the sparse foliage pulled in any last vapors or droplets of water.

Finally the door I had been waiting for started to open. I squeezed the trigger as I saw the light begin to dart out, and my round closed the distance quickly. By the time the door had opened all the way, a figure silhouetted squarely in the middle, there was a deadly piece of metal ripping its way through the air. The man in the door dropped backwards into his room.

The echo of the shot drifted throughout the valley. Doors in the camp flew open, guards sprinting everywhere. I saw a funny glinting reflection coming from the top of one of the towers, or was it a flash? My heart beat twice, then a slug tore into me. A second echo bounced its way up from the valley.