I shaded my eyes from the fierce sky glow and peered across the tops of the trees spread out below. The locator indicated that the beacon was about twenty klicks to the north. On the horizon I could see a range of hills that were probably at about the right distance.
Shouldering my pack, I prepared to descend from my vantage point and begin the trek to the retrieval boat. I would need to be wary: there was insufficient intel of the hazards these jungles posed; at the briefing I’d been warned to expect stobor, but as nobody had been here before I took that with a pinch of salt.
The unearthly pink and purple sky glowered above. Jagged streaks of lightning coursed through the clouds every now and then, and the heavens growled soon after each such event. The air was thick and heavy, but no rain came.
The second sun had nearly set by the time I neared my objective. I’d been lucky: though I’d heard many signs of fauna in the undergrowth, nothing had approached. The locator pinged insistently; I saw the boat. But at that moment a stobor jumped me, and it was all over.
Word count: 199
Prompted by Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner