Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25394259-20140911015542

I'm not sure if I should call this "Beneath the Snow" or "Lost in the Drift". This is something I quickly jotted down just to keep the idea in my head.

The landscape was frozen completely. Any life that may once have existed had long since been withered away by the unrelenting, dry winds coming from seemingly every direction. Only the suits kept them alive. This was a cold harsher than those on even the outer reaches of the Solar System, and only the compact layers upon layers of fabrics, metals, and other materials stood between the landing crew and an icy death. Their visors were frosted within seconds of contact with the atmosphere. The leader was the last to exit the vehicle they arrived in. There was only enough fuel for a one way trip to the lost planet, but the committee had been certain that fuel existed on the frostbitten wasteland. The leader couldn’t see the screen of his PDA. There was certainly water on the planet, and it had all decided to freeze onto the foreigners as soon as possible. The planet had a defense system, and the crew had the suits. They knew it was an unfair fight, so they had to move quickly. A few of the men used telescopes and various attached tools to find the lowest portion of the rocky terrain, a place where the wind might pass over them and they could pry some life from the planet’s dying core. Their footprints hardly lasted seconds in the knee-deep snow. Most of the snow was swirling through the air, only meeting the ground for a few seconds before flying away to obstruct the crew’s view again. The crater was more tranquil, but the snow was much too deep to camp in. The captain remained calm, and ordered the men to dig away at the heaps of white impediment. The wind began to pick up, hiding the movement beneath the mounds. The first man struck the snow, and the others followed suit, spreading across the crater, each taking a portion to personally excavate. The movements picked up in speed, and then stopped. The captain pulled a mapping device out of his pocket and inserted it into the ground. A screen not dissimilar to radar began loading, and displayed the various surrounding elevations with varying shades of gray. His crew appeared as small orange dots. He ceased study of the map, noting a member of his crew had stopped digging. The captain was mildly disconcerted, and he prepared to check in on his men. The movement beneath the snow had picked up again behind the crew. There was a lack of movement near the first man’s trench. There was also a lack of the man. The snow behind the last few men began to fill in the trenches behind them. This went unnoticed for several seconds before the captain sent a distress signal. Turning around, they found themselves just as buried alive as they had been before the trenches began. The second man did not have long to ponder the situation. The captain remained near his post. He had seen the trenches collapse, and had seen the radar show changes of elevation around his first few men. He removed an ice pick of his own from its sheath and held the sharpened alloy close to himself, beginning to become panicked. The last trench digger disappeared beneath the snow. He could not be heard from beneath his thick glass visor and the now violently raging blizzard. The captain removed the radar from the ground. He had seen what he now assumed were tunnels turning towards him. His feet were caught in the thick, wet snow, but he knew he had to run. Run. His ship emerged from the static haze of the snowfall. Run. He pounded the number pad, hands darting from number to number, trembling uncontrollably. Run. The ladder hit the ground, and the captain grabbed the first rung, Climb. His hand slipped from the bar. Succumb. 