Bones on Mars - A paranormal, sci-fi, fantasy romance

Retro

Seagulls were the first thing Floyd heard. Their hoarse shrieks really were unmistakable. Seagulls on Mars? Well, the planet was full of surprises. So why not seagulls? Carefully, Floyd unglued one eye.

A flock of the white and gray scavengers were circling over him. Not liking the look in their beady eyes, he sat.

"Shoo. Eff off."

Not much effing-off happened, but at least the avian bastards didn't come any closer. They kept shrieking, but over the bloody racket Floyd could now hear another sound, the boom-boom of a pretty heavy surf. Tangy air laced with ozone found his sensation-starved nostrils. After so many months of living in a processed environment, all this raw nature was pure, joyful overkill.

It didn't take the cockle lying close to his foot, nor the sand clinging to one cheek to tell him he was on a seashore.

There were no seashores on Mars.

Once there were.

Something cold that wasn't wet sand oozed down his spine.

But the sand wasn't orange. And the sky was clear and blue, dotted with the type of puffy clouds that spoke of good weather.

Corrosion. Mars had been rusting away for millennia. Before, it might have looked quite different.

He should have paid better attention to the history files. But he was the navigator cum maintenance worker of the mission, not a bloody librarian.

With a groan, he stood.

And found himself covered in furry hides that covered his shoulders and back. Another crudely tanned hide, this one without the pelt, had been wrapped around his midriff, and dangled to his knees.

He made another discovery. The air was bloody cold.

Not the I'll-freeze-you-to death-in-five-seconds-flat sort of night-time temperatures that existed on Mars, but cold enough. The draft now swirling under hides that unerringly found bits of Floyd not covered by the fur was reminiscent of an arctic outbreak. Unpleasant, but by no means lethal.

Seriously unpleasant.

Damn it, this place was an icebox.

Whatever else this place was. Or whenever it was.

He walked up and down and stomped his bare feet on the sand. His breath came out on puffs of white, and the blasted sand frosted his toes.

But moving sent the blood coursing through his veins, which helped at least a bit with the chill, allowing him to take stock of his surroundings.

He seemed to be in some sort of half-moon bay, cradled by rough rocks that glistened with water. On all sides, steep cliffs rose. They appeared to be reasonably stable, not some sandstone crap. If need be, he could scale them, he was sure of that. A lot of his astronaut fitness training had contained serious hiking and rock-climbing.

The sunlight of what had to be a cloudless morning outlined the cliffs in sharp relief. Some parts of the rock face hid shadows deeper than he would have thought possible.

Caves, perhaps?

Caves were trouble. Recent past had proven how much trouble they were.

At least those holes in the rock face weren't underground. One had to be grateful for small mercies.

Floyd slapped his forehead. Why was he thinking such rubbish? Why were his thoughts skedaddling all over the place like a bunch of upset ants? This would get him exactly nowhere.