It was still dark when Grandma Bella roused the boys for an early breakfast. It was the best one yet, a full cooked breakfast: bacon, eggs, hash browns, sausage, beans, mushrooms, and tomato. There was also a huge stack of toast, just in case anyone was still a bit hungry.
Grandpa Jake had just come into the dining room and was having an urgent, hushed conversation with Grandma Bella.
After lunch, all of the boys started yawning, and once one started, they all started non-stop. Even though it was still early afternoon, Grandma Bella dispatched all the boys upstairs for a nap.
Again, they could hardly believe their luck. Beds, real beds with sheets and pillows, and one bed for each of them!
To Grandma Bella’s amusement, the pups who would normally object strenuously to taking an afternoon nap all insisted that they wanted to take a nap too. Hamish snuggled in with Seb, Fergus with Charlie, and Angus with Raven. Lewis, of course, had Dogger. Soon all the boys and Hunde puppies were fast asleep, the boys feeling completely safe for the first time in a very, very long time.
After several hours of undisturbed sleep, Raven stirred, waking with a start. Pitch black surrounded him, and it took a few moments to remember where and why he was there. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stretched out his stiff back. Despite the blankets and sleeping bags, the platform had still been hard and cold to sleep on.
Raven could see the luminous hands of Samson’s watch, 6 am. He gently began to rouse the others. Samson, now awake, helped Raven wake the rest. Slowly, the little camp on the East Houndsford subway platform came to life, with only just a little bit of grumbling and one or two mumbles of “just another five minutes.”
Bed rolls were soon re-rolled, and backpacks were zipped. Some of the uneaten snacks from the previous night were re-interrogated for a makeshift breakfast.
Inside Norðvik Hospital, the usual hum of its early morning routine carried through the corridors.
Staff arrived for their morning shifts, stopping by the coffee shop, hot drinks in hand to start their day. Institutional fluorescent lighting ran the length of the corridors as the cleaners mopped the floors, deploying a trail of wet floor signs as they went. Night shift handovers were well underway.
Eugene paused at the doorway, one hand resting briefly on the frame as he adjusted his mask. He pressed quickly at the bridge of his nose.
❄️ Nearing the summit of Vindskarð Pass — “The Wind Notch” ❄️ The Storm: Day 3
The wind had eased enough that the storm’s mood was a little more contemplative, as if assessing its next move. The climb out of Norðvik had been long and sustained. Visibility had opened enough to travel, but the terrain remained cloaked with fresh snow and deep wind-blown drifts.
The hunde in the lead would need to remain cautious, optimising for speed over safe arrival.
General Jake “Ice-pick” Husky, the Arctic Division Commander, had taken immediate and direct command of the rescue. Huxley was not only a well-respected Arctic expedition commander but he was also a personal friend. The two old war dogs, kriegshunde, shared a long and colourful history.
The sled dogs pulled smoothly, not too fast and not too slow. They had been moving like this for hours. The three teams steadily clocked off each waypoint, bringing them a little closer to their planned rest stop, a bivouac site where they would drop most of their heavier items, a small marked cache of vital supplies: shelter, food, and medical. The supplies would remain ready and waiting for their return to the lee of the pass. Following a brief rest during the darkest hours, the teams would soon crest the pass and then make the shorter, steeper, switchback descent into the glacial valley below.
Thermal Array – 3: Research Drilling Station, High Arctic ❄️ The Storm: Day Two
The storm did not pass; instead, it strengthened.
Through the second day, severe katabatic winds drove down from the heights, pummelling every surface, every line, and every anchor point.
The tents flexed continuously under the sustained force, snapping back and forth against their anchors as fabric and seams strained to their limits.
Small tears had begun to appear in the outer shells, while snow drifted and built up along the sides and across the roofs, adding further weight and stress.
A sharp, whip-like crack sounded from just outside the main tent.
Thermal Array – 3: Research Drilling Station, High Arctic ❄️ The Storm: Day One
At 06:03 precisely, it hit.
There was no polite prelude and there was no gentle build-up. The storm hit with a ferocity that no-one expected.
The first impact came not as a sound, but as force, roaring in like a freight train, a wall of moving air slamming into the camp hard enough to make the tents shudder violently against their anchors. The wind was immediately accompanied by thick snow, driven sideways in dense, blinding sheets.
Screw Pile Developments 