Chapter 1
1300words
She narrowed her eyes, struggling to make out the vast whiteness ahead.
Visibility had dropped to less than ten meters, the snow plain and sky merging into a single gray-white canvas—no horizon, no direction.
Three days ago, Anna had been sitting in a warm office, staring at satellite maps of Alaska hiking trails on her computer screen. God, how she wished she was still there.
"Damn it," she muttered, her voice instantly torn apart and swallowed by the howling wind.
Anna stopped, fumbling to pull out a compass from the side pocket of her backpack.
The metal case burned cold against her fingers—at minus twenty degrees, exposed skin touching metal created that paradoxical burning sensation.
The needle swung wildly, completely useless. Near the polar regions, the deviation between magnetic north and true north could send someone in an entirely wrong direction—and that didn't even account for this damn geomagnetic storm.
Her original plan had been simple enough: trek alone through this remote region of Alaska, test new equipment, and temporarily escape from the city and all its bullshit.
A five-day journey following clearly marked routes, with a small aircraft picking her up at a designated location at the end.
But yesterday afternoon, a sudden geomagnetic storm had fried all her electronics.
The GPS had flickered erratically before going completely black. Her backup phone wouldn't turn on either, and even the cheap spare compass she'd brought along wobbled like it was drunk.
Anna took a deep breath, the bone-chilling cold piercing her lungs. She mentally inventoried her remaining supplies: half a bag of compressed biscuits, several chocolate bars, a small box of jerky, and a nearly empty fuel canister.
The tent and sleeping bag were still there, but how long her lightweight three-season tent could withstand these wind speeds was anyone's guess.
Most importantly: she was lost. Completely and utterly fucking lost.
The cold wind crept into her bones through the collar of her windbreaker like ghostly fingers. Anna hunched her shoulders, causing the backpack straps to dig more painfully into her flesh—she'd bought this pack three years ago during her first hiking trip to Norway, and the foam padding had worn into small holes that now pressed against her frozen, stiff muscles.
She buried her chin in her scarf. Her exhaled breath froze into tiny frost particles right before her eyes, sticking to her eyelashes and blurring her already limited vision.
Anna forced herself to stay calm.
Panic kills more people in the wilderness than cold, hunger, and wild animals combined.
She'd read survival manuals, attended training courses. She knew what to do.
"First, find shelter," she said aloud, her voice pathetically faint against the howling wind.
But merely knowing what to do couldn't dispel the cold seeping into her marrow.
She forced herself to act methodically: checking extremities for signs of frostbite—none yet, though her fingers and toes had begun to tingle; then estimating how long her current equipment would last. The cold calculation itself brought a strange sense of calm.
She pushed forward, each step sinking deep into knee-high snow. Her strength was rapidly depleting, her body temperature dropping. She needed to find shelter from the wind—and fast.
About half an hour later, Anna spotted a dark silhouette ahead through the whiteout.
As she drew closer, the outline gradually became clear—a low wooden cabin, almost half-buried in snow, its roof covered with a thick white blanket, a crooked chimney jutting toward the sky.
Hope flared in her chest.
Anna quickened her pace, practically stumbling forward as she rushed to the door. The cabin looked dilapidated, but its structure seemed intact enough.
The door was frozen shut. She had to throw her shoulder against it repeatedly before it gave way just enough for her to squeeze through sideways.
The inside wasn't much warmer than outside, but at least there was no biting wind.
Light filtered in through the only small window, barely illuminating the cramped space: a crude wooden bed, an iron stove, a table, a chair, and some unidentifiable items piled in the corner.
The air reeked of dust, mildew, and a faint herbal scent.
Anna dropped her backpack and flexed her frozen fingers. She examined the stove first—old-fashioned but seemingly still usable.
Beside it sat a pile of firewood, damp but perhaps still burnable if she had something to start the fire with.
She pulled waterproof matches from her emergency kit, carefully lit a small piece of solid fuel, then added tiny wood shavings. The flame jumped up, gradually consuming the slightly larger pieces of firewood. Anna held her breath, only exhaling after the fire stabilized.
Warmth began to drive away the bitter cold, making her suddenly aware of her bone-deep exhaustion.
Anna slid down against the wall until she was sitting on the ground. She took out her water bottle and took a small sip. The half-frozen water sent painful jolts through her teeth as she drank.
Now that she had a moment to catch her breath, she began to examine her shelter more carefully.
Several empty hooks hung on the wall, one still holding a small bundle of dried plants tied with string—the source of that faint herbal scent. The desk drawer contained rusty tools, a few pieces of rope, and a worn notebook. She picked up the notebook; its pages were yellowed, brittle and stiff with age. Most of the writing had become illegible, with only scattered words still recognizable: "trap... deer... illness... child..."
The last few pages contained drawings: crude lines depicting human figures, animals, and something that resembled a map.
Anna studied the map carefully. It showed the region, marking mountains and rivers she recognized, but also contained unfamiliar symbols and paths. One mark had "Novak" written next to it, circled.
A place name? Or a person?
Anna frowned. She'd never seen this name on any map before.
Her fingers unconsciously traced over that word, an indescribable feeling welling up inside her—like a gentle knock of destiny.
The bed was nothing more than a hard wooden board covered with hay and animal hides.
Anna hesitated for a moment, then decided to clean it before using her own sleeping bag.
When she carefully lifted the old, brittle animal hides, her fingers touched something hard.
It was a small, hand-carved wooden doll, severely worn but still recognizable as a girl wearing traditional clothing.
On the back of the doll was carved a faded name: "Cassie."
Anna's heart sank. This had once been a child's toy. She gently placed the doll on the table, next to her notebook.
This cabin was no longer just an abstract shelter; it had once been someone's home.
A heavy silence descended, making her feel colder than the snow and wind outside.
She quickly laid out her sleeping bag, pressing it close to the stove, as if that small amount of heat could dispel the chill brought by these silent memories.
What now? Wait for rescue? No one knew she had strayed from her route.
She wasn't scheduled to reach the rendezvous point for another two days, and she hadn't reported her position via satellite phone as required—because the damn thing was dead.
Night fell rapidly, Arctic winter daylight cruelly brief.
The wind howled outside the cabin, occasionally punctuated by the crisp sound of breaking branches or some animal's distant cry. Anna added more firewood to the stove.
Before falling asleep, Anna checked one last time that the door was properly bolted.
That's when she noticed marks on the inside of the door—not made by tools, but more like animal scratches, positioned so high that no ordinary beast could have reached them.
A chill crawled up her spine. This cabin might not be as safe as it appeared.
