I'm sure many of you would be more appreciative of a 'warm' story full of sunshine rather than this 'cool' (sorry for the pun, LOL) story which will probably have you all grab armloads of fleeces and blankets and whatnots to find a modicum of comfort. ;D
So, here are my most sincere apologies for the extra bouts of shivers on top of all you guys have to endure with these extreme weather conditions in the States. I hope the weather turns for the better soon.
Anyway, enjoy the reading. If you really can't, well...save it for the hot days.
Chapter 2: The White Monster
Day 3: 81° 6' 35.9994"N 59° 47' 59.9994"W
Greenland - Project Blue Ice Research Unit
First thing in the dark morning, they got onto their ski-doos once again after the local guide had urged them to make haste, tersely reminding them of the storm condition Delta warning for that day.
The two agents had no clue about what "condition Delta" entailed, but those accustomed to spending time in the Arctic were well aware about the drastic weather changes and knew better than to throw all caution to the wind.
As they were waiting for the last man securing the camp, the US training officer explained them about the high surface winds which blow off the ice cap causing a deadly combination of wind, snow, and sub-zero temperatures.
These southeasterly winds are then channeled into the valleys where they are amplified with the velocity increasing. These conditions are ideal for the notorious whiteouts when the soft, loose snow is blown all over the place making visibility non-existent.
So, no, Tim and Tony didn't want to get caught in the middle of such a climatic monster and this time, their eyes weren't laughing for sharing an adventure as two friends on a polar expedition.
No.
That debonair attitude had already been dampened the closer they got to the remote camp, the day before. And later, when Bennett's frozen body had been brought into the research unit. And now, when there was this threat of an icy storm – a "Condition Delta" as the Thule residents called it - which might possibly wipe them all out, the winter wonder land had become an exceptionally hostile environment of white death.
Suddenly, their trip wasn't so amusing anymore. Not that it ever was to start with. After all, they were here to investigate what could now only be considered a murder and so in their line of work, there seldom was cause for amusement but to make it bearable, some lighting up with a laugh now and then, or some goofing around really helped them to cope with the awful things they would see.
Now, however, they were being told there might be the chance they'd have to fight for surviving a "Condition Delta" storm! Or a polar blizzard.
Still, the katabatic winds hit them suddenly and it was like an impenetrable white wall looming up all around them, particles of ice hitting them from all sides.
-o0o-
Visibility was getting worse and soon the men could barely make out the backs of those ahead of them.
The US Training Officer drove the small party mercilessly, urging them for more speed lest the plane that would take them back to base would take off before they bloody well got there. There was no telling for how long the pilots would be able hold the plane when facing the risk of getting grounded there by the storm because the investigating group couldn't reach the pick-up point on time.
As a result, Tim was hyper concentrated to keep Tony's back in sight but it was getting harder.
Then, to makes matters worse, his engine faltered, sputtered and then fell altogether silent.
Oh no. No-no-no-noooo! Don't let this happen! Not here. Not now!
Tim yelled after the others to stop but his calls were drowned by the howling winds sweeping down from the vast Greenland Ice Sheet.
He tried to start his ski-doo again, to no avail.
With growing apprehension, he tried again and again, until, dejected, he sank down beside his sled, his eyes to the ground and then back to his stranded snowmobile.
And then he noticed something peculiar; a dark, albeit small, spot in the snow. He quickly leaned over to touch the spot with his gloved hand and rubbed the oily substance between his fingers.
"Call for help! My satellite phone!" Tim thought, almost breathless with trepidation, and at once set to search for what might be his one remaining lifeline. If he was able to reach Hilltop, Thule's Communications Center, they would know exactly where he was and maybe direct him back to the others…or send help his way and get him out of this frozen hell hole and back to the civilized world.
His movements became more erratic as he failed to find the item right away. Where was it? C'mon! C'm-ooooonnn!
He'd been over his things twice or thrice and it just wasn't there.
His last sparkle of hope dashed, he felt a chill taking over his body which had nothing to do with the freezing katabatic winds gusting all around him.
The all-consuming feeling of dread and defeat was overwhelming as confusion slowly gave way to fear at the realization – the only conclusion - somebody had quite deliberately left him without any means of communication. He'd been robbed from his satellite phone, plain and simple.
He was toast!
Oh, he was so, so screwed…
Weak-kneed, he got up and started walking. To where? Only God knew. Still, it was better than staying on the spot. He would think of further plans as he walked.
-o0o-
81° 8' 2.4"N 62° 5' 31.1994"W
Greenland
When the drift had somewhat abated, the formerly appealing scenery had vastly changed and it was as if he had just awoken into a chilling nightmare.
Anxious for a way out of this freezing hell, he gazed around him, breathless from the arctic wind which seemed to have been more a blast of sharpies sent to each and every single compass point as it whirled and screamed like a living thing around him.
Finally, with mounting uncertainty, he turned around and, hoping he'd manage to retrace his footsteps, started to tramp in what he assumed to be the direction they'd come from. If he could make it back to the camp…
After hours of seemingly aimless perambulating, Tim had no clue where he was. All there was, was this white emptiness. What had looked like a picturesque, yet alien place before, now was a hostile and dead environment.
The way things looked, the surrounding whiteness, which spelled out "LOST" like some flashing neon light – in white, no less - would pose the ultimate challenge for survival. He realized this outing as from now would become a race for his life with no clue in what state he would reach the finishing line…if still alive.
He struggled on, ice crystals freezing onto his brows and stubble, an icicle hanging from his exposed nose. Progress, no matter what direction he was going, for he had no clue whatsoever, was agonizingly slow.
As he sluggishly yet steadily progressed, he occasionally scanned the horizon. He didn't quite know what to think of this place, what came closest to comparing what his eyes took in with. He settled for a frozen and snow covered lunar landscape. Or better yet, the frozen equivalent of the harsh and forbidden Sahel, and it stretched on and on, with no end in sight. No sand here, only snow. Not the parching heat of the sun burning sands but the just as burning and blinding cold of that same sun, its light reflected back by the white expanse.
A silly thought struck him and it brought a mad grin to his face. A hot desert still had oases, with lush green grass, palm trees and spring water…camels. He could drink camel milk.
He stopped and took a moment to look around.
No camels here.
Only a vast, uneven plain covered by wind driven snow.
But… He held a gloved hand above his brows to squint in the distance. At least, he now could make out the mountains from where the glacier was slowly but surely inching down.
He almost gave a whoop as relief flooded over him. He had carefully checked his mental map of the region and he had a fair idea where he was heading, now. At least, it was something.
But the sinking sun was now once again obscured by a white and impenetrable haze which was getting thicker and thicker and he realized he had to make haste.
Another storm was brewing and he quickly set out a mental course towards a point he assumed he would find the glacier mouth. Glacier caves provided shelter, he knew. It was a good thing they didn't tend to crumble in this season – and in hopes this one was one of the variety which didn't move too fast - so he certainly stood a better chance finding his way into one to ride out a whiteout and before it got too dark.
A straight line. That's what the LCDR at Thule Base had told them to walk if they were headed to a specific location.
With the sun going down – the sun never gets to rise very high in the sky anyway, this time of the year – temperatures were starting to drop really fast to -30°C.
God! This all permeating cold was numbing. Good or bad? He had no idea. Not anymore.
He fixed one last look upon his chosen destination and, with renewed vigor and a determined tilt of his head, he planted his trekking pole in the snow and started walking again, the pristine snow crunching beneath his boots. He would get there. He only needed to walk a straight line…more or less…and focus on staying alive.
Tim thought about his options for survival, inexperienced as he was. Thankfully, he was carrying some live saving essentials in his back pack. More importantly, Abby would always be able to find him via the minuscule tracking device she'd provided him and Tony with. It was indeed a comforting thought he now cherished. All he had to do was staying alive until a search party would pick him up.
Keep walking in a straight line and kill the time.
Soon, he couldn't see a thing anymore and an irate panic took a hold on him, causing him to hyperventilate. He hadn't known until know if one could hyperventilate in this freezing hell.
Calm down, McGee. Regulate your breathing.
He pulled the scarf – which he believed would be more insular besides the balaclava he already wore - over his nose which helped. In fact, right now, it was the best thing he could do anyhow to save his face from the exposure.
And so McGee plodded on across the ruddy terrain. Scrambling over shelves of ice jutting up and often sinking knee deep into depressions filled with windblown snow did draw a lot on his energy.
With the gale force icy winds which drove the snow all around him, walking had become a hard and strenuous process.
After a while, the numbness was back and spreading over his body as well as his mind and his progress became automated. He was running on auto pilot, and, unbelievable, still on course.
Suddenly, he stumbled and, before his brain could register what was happening, he was plummeting, tumbling, sliding down a sloping surface. His eyes widened a fraction and a multitude of cries involuntary broke past his lips.
Feedback's more than welcome! I've never been to Greenland, so I apologize for any inaccuracies.
Let me know what you think. :)