The three of them strung a fluorescent yellow rope between them, each one bearing a box of the precious medicine. They trudged in the midst of the miry snow, unsure as to which way was up. The compass was, for the most part, a loss, having taken critical damage in the crash. They were able to obtain a vague sense of the way north, the needle oscillating back and forth between two values. It was by no means the pinnacle of precision, but it was better than nothing.

The trio had been walking in nigh zero-visibility conditions, making their way forward inch by inch, for the better part of seven hours when the sky, already forebodingly dark, almost completely voided all its color. The wind increased tenfold.

A wall of turbulent air currents came barreling towards the men. Helpless, the force plowed straight through them.

Instantly, they were airborne, the three of them twisted and gyrated along their common safety thread. They felt the sensation of falling…