"Am I… still alive?"
The thought barely sparked in Jack Winter's nearly frozen brain, like a faint electrical current struggling to break through the numbness. The icy wind whipped against his exposed face, stinging his skin like needles. Every breath he took burned his lungs with cold, and the effort to open his eyes took ten times the normal strength. When he finally managed to pry them open, he was greeted by a blinding expanse of white.
Antarctica. He was still in Antarctica.
His memories slowly pieced together, like fragments of shattered glass floating in a haze. The expedition, the secret mission, the helicopter… the helicopter!
Panic surged through him like a sledgehammer to the chest. He tried to sit up abruptly but was immediately hit by a wave of dizziness and pain, forcing him back down. His head throbbed, and his vision blurred. For a moment, all he could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat, a steady thud in the overwhelming silence. As he fought against the disorientation, he managed to look around, and what he saw sent a chill deeper than the cold itself.
Wreckage. The helicopter was in pieces.
The blackened remains of the aircraft were scattered across the snow like twisted metal bones of a forgotten beast. Sharp shards of debris stuck up from the ground in jagged angles, contrasting sharply with the pristine white of the Antarctic snow. The scent of fuel lingered in the air, mixing with the metallic stench of blood, creating a sharp, acrid smell that burned his nose.
"Is anyone there?" Jack croaked, his voice hoarse and barely audible over the howling wind. He didn't recognize the sound as his own. Silence answered him. There was no one—only the wind, echoing its eerie, cold whispers through the empty expanse.
He tried to stand, muscles protesting with every movement as if his body had been frozen solid. The cold had seeped into his bones, and his joints screamed in pain. Blood trickled down his forehead, thick and sluggish, before freezing in the sub-zero temperature. He reached up to touch the wound, his fingers coming away sticky with dark red. His survival instincts kicked in, dull but insistent.
Stop the bleeding. Stay warm. Find survivors.
He moved through the wreckage as best as he could, the snow crunching beneath his boots with every painful step. Each movement felt like dragging his limbs through thick mud. His mind raced back to the moments before the crash, trying to piece together what had happened. There had been a strange blip on the radar, the pilot's panicked shout, the terrifying spin as the helicopter lost control. Then the fall—the crushing sensation of weightlessness, followed by the deafening impact.
Now, all that was left was silence, wreckage, and the biting cold.
Jack searched desperately for any sign of life, but with each body he found lying motionless in the snow, his hope withered a little more. His heart pounded in his chest as he checked another body—no pulse. Another—no breath. Each frozen face stared back at him, lifeless and pale, consumed by the cold long before the crash had a chance to take them.
Then, just as he was about to give in to despair, a faint sound reached his ears—a low, pained groan. It was so soft that he thought he might have imagined it, but it was enough to reignite a sliver of hope.
"Is anyone there?" he shouted again, this time with more urgency.
"Here…" A weak voice responded, barely audible over the wind.
Jack scrambled toward the source of the sound, finding Sarah Foster pinned beneath a twisted piece of metal. She was the team's occult expert, a woman known for her knowledge of ancient symbols and strange artifacts. Her face was pale, and blood stained the snow around her, but she was alive.
"Hold on," Jack said, his breath visible in the frigid air as he crouched down beside her. "I'm going to get you out of here."
He worked as quickly as his frozen fingers allowed, carefully lifting the debris off her, mindful of her injuries. As he shifted the metal aside, something strange caught his eye. There, in the snow just beyond the wreckage, something glimmered. It wasn't part of the helicopter; the light was different, unnatural. He blinked, squinting against the bright reflection. Was it… a symbol? An ancient rune? The design looked foreign, out of place in this desolate landscape.
Jack shook his head, trying to push the thought away. Now wasn't the time for curiosity. Survival was all that mattered.
But even as he turned back to focus on helping Sarah, a strange sensation crept up his spine, like the feeling of being watched. The wind howled around them, but the air felt heavy, thick with something… unseen. Jack couldn't explain it, but he felt as though something ancient and dark was stirring beneath the ice, waiting for them to notice it. He couldn't shake the feeling that the crash had been more than just an accident.
"Can you move?" Jack asked, his voice thick with concern.
Sarah nodded weakly, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "I… I think so," she said, though her eyes were clouded with pain.
Jack helped her to her feet, both of them leaning on each other for support. The cold bit through their clothing, and they knew they couldn't stay in the open much longer.
"We need shelter," Jack muttered, looking out into the vast, featureless landscape of ice and snow. "Where's the nearest research station?"
Sarah groaned, her head lolling slightly. "Northwest… a few miles… if we can make it…"
Jack glanced in the direction she mentioned, but there was nothing but white, stretching on forever. The wind whipped around them, fierce and relentless. They had no choice. If they stayed, the cold would claim them both.
With no other option, Jack and Sarah began their slow, agonizing journey across the snow, each step heavier than the last. The weight of their survival pressed down on them, but they pushed forward, driven by instinct and the fragile hope that they might still live through this nightmare.
Behind them, unnoticed in the snow, the strange rune glowed faintly beneath the ice, waiting. Waiting for its moment to be discovered again.
As they trudged forward, the wind suddenly shifted, carrying with it a strange sound—a low, guttural murmur that seemed to rise from the ice itself. Jack froze, his breath caught in his throat. It was almost like… a whisper.
"What… was that?" Sarah asked, her voice barely audible.
Jack swallowed, trying to keep his fear at bay. "It's just the wind," he lied, though deep down he knew it was something more.
The wind wasn't just carrying the cold; it was carrying something ancient, something dark. And whatever it was, it had been waiting for them.
Their journey into the abyss had only just begun.