Chapter 10: Daring the Impossible

That mountain was impossibly abrupt, as if it had materialized from thin air.

It looked like a shark fin, all hard lines and stark shadows against the endless daylight.

Judging by its location, it had to be at the South Pole.

Danny’s GPS flickered uncertainly, but there was no mistaking where it pointed.

From where we were, it was at least one hundred fifty miles away.

Distances in Antarctica are deceptive—everything looks closer than it is. But this thing dwarfed everything.

Plate movement can create mountains, but not in under an hour.

Even my high school science classes made that clear. This was geological time sped up to nightmare speed.

And for a mountain to be visible from a hundred fifty miles away…

I tried to wrap my head around it, but my brain refused. It was too big, too sudden.

That meant it must be at least sixteen thousand feet high—maybe even taller than Everest.

I did the math in my head. That was nearly five miles straight up—an impossible monument.

I sat in the snow, staring at the mountain, not even noticing when the quake finally stopped.

My legs felt numb, my mind buzzing. For a moment, all I could do was breathe and stare.

Danny recovered first, pressed the walkie-talkie, and shouted:

"Calling Resolute! Calling Resolute!"

He twisted the dials, tried every channel. Just more static.

Still just static—no response.

He slammed the walkie against his knee in frustration.

Danny scratched his helmet and patted me: "What do we do? Go check it out?"

He tried to keep his voice light, but I could see the fear in his eyes.

I shook my head firmly: "There’s not enough fuel. If we go, we can’t come back."

The words felt heavy, final. I looked at the fuel gauge, wishing it would magically refill.

Danny picked up the bike, wiped snow off the fuel gauge, and said gloomily:

"We just escaped, used up extra fuel. Without resupply, there’s no way we’ll make it back."

The realization hit both of us at once—this was it. No help, no way home.

Resupply?

Even the idea felt laughable, given the landscape of destruction around us.

The quake must have devastated the Antarctic coast.

Who knew what was left—runways, radio towers, everything might be gone.

Who knew if comms would be restored, let alone if a plane could bring supplies.

I thought of the Resolute, of the other teams. They might be gone, too.

When I volunteered, I’d thought about the risks.

But you never really believe it’ll happen to you—not until you’re staring it in the face.

But now, staring death in the face, despair seeped into my heart, as cold as the endless snow before me.

I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to block out the wind and the fear.

So be it.

I felt a strange sense of calm, the kind that comes only after you’ve accepted the worst.

After all, my purpose in coming here was to uncover the cause of the Antarctic megaquake.

The mountain wasn’t just calling—it was daring us to come closer. And I knew, somehow, that nothing on Earth would ever be the same.

My gut told me that strange mountain was at the heart of it all.

A kind of scientific intuition—part dread, part curiosity. I wanted to see it up close, even if it meant risking everything.

As Benjamin Franklin once said, "If you would not be forgotten, as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write things worth reading, or do things worth writing."

I laughed quietly, thinking of old Ben. What would he have made of this?

Since the odds of survival were slim, why not… leave a mark on history?

If I was going out, at least I’d go out as part of something nobody would ever forget.

With that thought, my spirits lifted. I joked:

"Let’s go check it out! Worst case, they’ll put up a tombstone for us—the ‘Mark Evans and Danny Wu’ memorial."

"Future climbers can visit our graves when they come to challenge this mountain. Not a bad legacy."

Danny laughed: "No way, I’m not getting buried with you."

He grinned, the tension breaking for just a moment. It was gallows humor, but it worked.