Read by Elie Hirschman
Johnson looked out at the glistening white expanse, glad for the
barrier between him and the snow covered ice. He noted the research
ship’s position and speed in the log book – along with the calm
emptiness of the Antarctic wasteland – and turned to Ivers, the man at
“Still no sign of Dr. Fenton?” Johnson asked.
“Nope. Nothing from Saunders – how much longer are we waiting out here?”
Johnson shrugged. “Captain says another day.”