by Nick Gisburne
She thunders through the everlasting mist
Afraid she may not reach her secret place
A finger stabs the scanner on her wrist
The subtle symbols register her face
The creatures catch her scent, but there is time
She doubles back, observant of the plan
Exhausted, she begins the final climb
Below, the streets are swarming with the Clan
The hatch spins open, ready for the bag
She slams the flashing panel on her arm
And blows the filthy crawlers into slag
Relieved, she seals the shelter, safe from harm
Their leader’s heart will feed her for a week
The Clan will never claim the soul they seek
