Horizon Lost

MOUNTAINS OF MADNESS

The fog lifted, revealing a muted midday sun that cast a pale light on the aftermath of devastation. The scar left by the freighter's descent cut through the pass like a grotesque wound, blackened and ugly, marking the violent trajectory of the ship as it skied down and wedged itself into a U-shaped basin. The aircraft's nose lodged against one incline while the tail propped up on the opposite side. Beneath the underbelly, the snow gave way to a deep fissure in the ice. The battered fuselage, though intact, perched perilously at the edge of a gaping crevasse.

From her vantage point on the opposing precipice, Gann discerned three figures emerging from the rear of the plane. Two of them provided support to the third, who limped and favored one leg. Sidestepping cautiously, they skirted along the slope, perpendicular to the aircraft wreckage. Amidst a flurry of snow, one of the figures stumbled, desperately grappling to avoid plunging into the crevasse's gaping maw. Gann's heart lodged in her throat as she witnessed his panicked expression upon encountering the abyss yawning beneath him.

"Careful!" she cried out, her voice piercing through the air. "I don't know how far the crevasse goes. Stay where you are." The unfortunate man flailed on the precipice, his body suspended over the void, before regaining his grip on solid ground.

Given the treacherous terrain and the uncertainty of their footing in the snow, a single misstep could send the survivors hurtling to their deaths.

As the man struggled to extricate himself from the snow, the other two, still supporting the injured third, shouted back, "Keeling is dead. Pratt's leg is injured, probably broken. Four others are trapped in their seats, but they're trying to free themselves. The rest are grabbing the survival gear and will be out any moment. Are you okay?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice resonating across the chasm as she cupped her hands around her mouth. But she refrained from saying more. Escalating their anxiety served no purpose—the situation was grim, and there was little doubt they all recognized it. On foot, burdened with injuries, their progress through the deep snow would be sluggish at best; survival gear or not, they were ill-equipped for the arduous journey out of the mountains. With one already dead, more would likely follow.

Shaking off her thoughts, Gann refocused on the present. The first priority was to free the injured from the wreckage. Then they could set up a triage and attend to their wounds. Afterward, they needed to find some semblance of shelter and escape the harsh elements before darkness descended.

"Hey," Gann called out. "Take your time. Don't overexert yourselves. Anyone breaking into a sweat will find themselves in serious trouble. It's too damn cold. Keep your hands and feet dry!"

"Understood." The response reverberated across the ravine below, briefly evoking memories of avalanches. As if today hadn't already suffered enough misfortune.

Gann took a small step, gingerly testing the snow before her. It sloughed off like an icy serpent shedding its crystalline skin. She steadied herself against the momentary vertigo that accompanied her slide toward the crash site and the inevitable death that lurked beneath.

More survivors emerged from the downed bird. Gann counted twelve figures standing in the snow—thirteen if she included Pratt, who lay on his side, partially buried in the snow. That left seven still trapped inside, with a best-case scenario of six still alive.

Marooned on the wrong side of the crevasse, unable to lend a helping hand, Gann strained to make out each passenger. They were all bundled up in winter parkas, huddled together for warmth in the subzero temperatures. Fur-lined hoods concealed their faces, with faint breaths visible in the frigid air. The parkas would sustain them long enough to carry out rescue efforts and salvage the wreckage, but without proper gear, they would be dead from exposure within an hour.