Marcus nudged me discreetly, whispering, "Did Professor Marshall set us up? Shit, are we lost?"
My heart was racing too, but I forced myself to say, "No way. We should be almost there."
"When is the Professor going to get here? My feet are killing me," Serena complained from the side.
Professor Marshall seemed not to hear, pressing ahead in silence, picking up the pace.
If this kept up, the four of us would freeze to death out here in minus-thirty-degree weather.
Marcus and I exchanged looks — bewildered, frantic, scared. We had no idea what to do.
After another twenty minutes of trudging, just as exhaustion was about to claim us, we finally reached a massive black ship-shaped silhouette moored on the distant sea ice.
My spirits lifted. We hadn't found the research station, but at least we'd found the icebreaker.
There would be crew on board, supplies. We could rest, and tomorrow have Derek come pick us up with the tracked vehicle before continuing our fieldwork.
Serena perked up too, suddenly finding energy in legs that could barely move a moment ago, quickening her pace.
Only Professor Marshall walked on in silence.
True to his nickname — old horse knows the way, I thought.
We hadn't found the research station, but we'd found the icebreaker. Whether by dumb luck or Professor Marshall's memory, we'd made it.
But maybe it was my imagination — the icebreaker seemed smaller than when we'd arrived.
And I could have sworn... our ship was red.
A few more minutes and we stood before the icebreaker.
Icebergs floated on the sea like enormous monsters, their shapes grotesque. The black ship sat quietly on the water.
Everyone froze.
A thick layer of ice and snow covered the hull, mixed with rust. Faded characters were barely visible through the peeling paint.
Expedition Ship 1740.
This wasn't our ship.
---
Marcus stared, mumbling, "Expedition Ship 1740... that's not our ship..."
Everyone's heart sank.
The issue wasn't whether this was our ship — the issue was this ship clearly hadn't been here recently.
Harsh sunlight reflected dully off the thick ice coating the hull. Ice that thick didn't form in a day, or a year, or even two.
All four of us went silent, turning uncertain eyes to Professor Marshall.
By now, the oldest among us had become our anchor.
Professor Marshall's body trembled slightly — perhaps from the long trek through the extreme cold. He kept his head down, his expression unreadable.
After a long moment, his shaking hands lit a cigarette. "Get on board," he said in a low voice.
I looked up at Expedition Ship 1740, sitting quietly frozen on the sea in the biting wind — like a ghost sealed away for who knows how long.
Why was this ship frozen here?
When was it from?
Where had the crew gone?
Had they been rescued, or...
An indescribable oppressiveness settled over me.
Serena dropped her usual sass, creeping behind Marcus and staring at the ship with naked fear.
I heard her whisper, "Marcus, are — are we really going on board?"
Professor Marshall didn't give us much time to deliberate. He circled the hull on his own and announced in a hoarse voice, "The gangway's over here."
He gripped the icy handrails and struggled aboard.
The gangway was covered in a thick layer of ice. Nearly every step, he slipped. Marcus followed behind, heart in his throat, terrified the old man would fall.
Serena and I exchanged a glance and carefully climbed aboard after them.
The cabin was pitch black and as cold as an ice cellar.
The floorboards creaked with each step, stiffened from the prolonged cold.
The stagnant air carried a dusty smell.
We moved carefully through the cabin in a group, flashlights sweeping every corner, hoping to find signaling equipment or something to keep us warm.
But aside from some ropes frozen solid together and long-dead equipment, there was nothing.
Then Marcus let out a whoop from ahead. "Holy shit, canned food! I found canned food!"
Serena and I hurried over. We hadn't eaten since morning, and the long walk had us starving. Just hearing "canned food" made my mouth water.
"What is it? Luncheon meat? Beef? Sardines?"
Serena rushed forward excitedly. "Let me see!"
Marcus stood before a large crate with several black cans scattered inside.
He picked one up and shone his flashlight on it, reading aloud: "Donkey meat, Nanchang, Jiangxi. Production date..."
Serena and I both felt our stomachs drop.
How long was the shelf life on canned food?
Was this even edible?
Marcus's brow furrowed. He read each word slowly: "March 23, 1998."
The cabin went instantly silent. Not even the wind could be heard — only the beating of our hearts.
After a long pause, Serena's trembling voice echoed through the empty cabin: "...This is twenty-year-old canned food?"
"This ship has been frozen here for twenty years?"
She voiced the question pressing on all our minds:
"Then where did all the people on board go?"
A twenty-year-old research vessel, perfectly preserved in Antarctic ice.
Yet there was still canned food aboard, which meant the crew hadn't starved to death.
Marcus and I said nothing. We hoped they'd all been rescued and had simply left the food behind.
But we all knew the other possibility.
They might have all died here for some reason — that's why there was canned food left uneaten.
Marcus turned to ask Professor Marshall if he knew anything about this ship, but the words died in his throat.
Serena and I looked behind us, our faces going pale.
In the empty, wide-open cabin, Professor Marshall — who'd been smoking just moments ago — had vanished.
In the suffocating silence, the three of us stared at each other, chilled to the bone. No one spoke.
Finally, Marcus broke the silence, his voice trembling slightly: "The Professor probably just stepped out for a smoke. Let's search the ship first — find a way to survive tonight, and tomorrow we'll figure out how to contact the research station."
Marcus might joke around most of the time, but he was reliable when it counted.
With Professor Marshall gone, Serena and I instinctively started leaning on Marcus. We both nodded.
Searching the cabin, my heart was in my throat. Every time I opened something, I braced myself, terrified of finding something horrible.
I was scared witless of discovering a frozen corpse.
But surprisingly, while the cabin was cluttered, there were no bodies.
We wiped the cold sweat from our foreheads, somewhat relieved. It seemed the crew really had been evacuated, leaving the ship behind.
Professor Marshall came back into the cabin just then, asking if we'd found anything.
He reeked of cigarette smoke — he must have gone outside to smoke, probably worried the dust in the cabin might be flammable.
The ship's supplies were complete, as if the crew had simply vanished. Unfortunately, so much time had passed that almost nothing was still usable.
The old blankets we found in the cabin were frozen solid — as cold and hard as iron, caked in thick ice crystals.
Marcus's face was grim. Sleeping outside in minus-thirty-degree weather without proper gear was suicide.
If we stayed here overnight, by morning we'd be four human ice sculptures.
I couldn't just sit here waiting to die. I stood up, flashlight in hand. "I'll check the rooms. Maybe there's something we can use."
Now that I knew there were no dead bodies on board, I wasn't so scared. Armed with my flashlight, I made my way down into the quarters.
The rooms were even colder than the cabin. With the air sealed in a confined space, there was a suffocating smell of soot and dust.
I covered my nose and rummaged around.
This room was bare — nothing but stiff, frozen blankets on the bed.
The clothes had apparently been taken by whoever left. The closet held only a thick layer of dust.
Unwilling to give up, I moved to the next room.
The ship wasn't large, and the rooms were tiny — only a few square meters each.
Under the bright beam of my outdoor flashlight, even the dust motes in the air were visible.
To my delight, there was a jacket piled on the bed.
I hurried over and picked it up, but my hopes fell — the jacket was frozen stiff too.
I frowned, feeling it over, then tucked it under my arm anyway. It might come in handy.
As I turned to leave, something behind me hit the floor with a soft thud.