Dr. Wallert and the rest of the team were already there when Dr. Claireborne arrived with Maxwell. The elder doctor cast a questioning eye at Dr. Claireborne.
“Ms. Hallie is still tending to Ms. Patterson,” the doctor said as they boarded the helicopter. “Mr. Valentine here offered his services.”
Dr. Wallert gave a grunt. Maxwell took the seat beside Dr. Claireborne, scooting around before finally settling in.
“All right, we’re going up,” Trevors the pilot said. The helicopter began to lift up and gain height until it was well over the buildings. Then it moved forward, heading off through the morning air towards Erebus in the north. Dr. Claireborne could see the black plume of burning jet fuel coming off the side of the volcano.
“Something’s not right,” said one of the team members.
“What makes you say that, Adamson?” Wallert asked over the sound of the helicopter.
“There aren’t any airline flights near Antarctica,” Adamson said. “There used to be. Then a flight smashed into Erebus during whiteout conditions. Now everyone sees it as too much of a risk.”
“Was that Flight 909?” Maxwell asked, leaning forward with interest.
Adamson shook his head. “Air New Zealand 901, I believe.”
“They’re way off course then,” Wallert said, shaking his head. “No telling what went wrong.”
“Maybe terrorists?” asked another team member.
“Don’t jump to those kinds of conclusions, Banner,” Dr. Claireborne said. “They’ll cloud your mind. Just focus on finding and helping any survivors.”
“How many could have survived?” Maxwell asked.
“Hard to tell,” Wallert said. “I saw the plane hit the mountain. It was going slower than typical, but even for an aircraft that’s fairly fast. It’s highly probable that it disintegrated upon impact. In that case, survival is highly unlikely.”
Nothing more was said. Trevors kept his usual blast of electronic rock off the radio, an uncharacteristic silence. The icy coast crept by on one side, while the dark blue waters of an iron sea rolled on to the left and beneath them. Mt. Erebus grew larger as they drew near. It’s mass sat upon Ross Island like some kind of troll, frowning at whatever might pass near it.
The black smoke from the wreck grew larger as well. Soon, they could see the tail end of the plane sticking out from the ground. Everything else was either too small to be seen or was obscured by the billowing plumes that still emanated from burning fuel.
“All right, we’re going to split into two groups in an effort to get as many survivors as we possibly can,” Dr. Wallert said. “Levine, Banner, you’re with me. Adamson, Mr. Valentine, go with Dr. Claireborne. Try not to disturb what you don’t have to. That wreckage is probably hot enough to melt through your clothes.”
The team members nodded. Trevors radioed back to McMurdo, telling them to have another helicopter on standby in case there were more survivors than the first one could handle. He brought the helicopter down towards the volcano. Loose snow flew up around beneath them as they landed about a hundred feet upwind from the crash site.
The team members got out of the helicopter and immediately divided themselves according to how Dr. Wallert had instructed them. The elder doctor took his two members to the right side of the wreckage, while Dr. Claireborne lead Maxwell and Adamson to the left.
Nestled against the side of the mountain, among volcanic boulders and icy pillars, the wreck was a sorry site. Some parts of it were still burning, but others were free of fire, charred metal in the vague outline of a plane. Dr. Claireborne walked briskly forward, not too eager to rush forward and slip on the ice, sliding right into the heat.
“This doesn’t feel right,” Maxwell said.
“Such things aren’t supposed to feel right, Mr. Valentine,” Dr. Claireborne said. “If a plane wreck feels right to you, something is wrong with your inherent human sense.”
“No, it’s something else,” Maxwell said. “It’s something brooding, watching. We’re not welcome here.”
Adamson grumbled. “Antarctic mystique, doctor.”
“I concur,” Dr. Claireborne said. “Mr. Valentine, control yourself. You can have time to remark on the mystical qualities of this place later. For now, focus on aiding those who need our help.”
They reached the tail section, sticking in the mountain at a strange angle. “That doesn’t seem physically possible,” Maxwell said.
“High velocity impact will do strange things,” Adamson said. “This is actually somewhat typical, considering all the factors.”
“Where will we find the most survivors?” Maxwell asked.
“Hard to tell,” Dr. Claireborne said.
Now the tail section was over their heads. Maxwell paused and looked up at it. Dr. Claireborne and Adamson rushed forward without him. The doctor was preparing himself for the heat that was surely boiling out from the wreck. Yet, as he and his team member moved forward, they soon found that there was no heat at all. The wreck was cold.
“Doctor, when something burns, it’s usually hot, isn’t it?” Adamson asked, a little uneasy.
Dr. Claireborne nodded in agreement. “That is typical.”
There was a cry from Maxwell. The two turned back and jogged to him. He was looking at the tail section and holding his hand. “Is it hot there?” Adamson asked.
Maxwell turned to them. His face wore a scared expression and he shook his head. With one slow motion he reached out and touched the metal of the tail section. The metal rippled as though it was water that had been disturbed by a pebble.
“It’s cold,” he said. “Very cold.”
“Oh my...” Adamson trailed off, unable to complete the thought.
Dr. Claireborne walked forward and stood beside Maxwell. For a moment, he looked at the metal, trying to see if perhaps there was some residual heat here that had caused the ripple effect. Finding none, he reached out and touched it himself. It was very cold indeed. The chill bit right through his glove. And again, the metal rippled.
“Doctor, what’s wrong here?” Maxwell asked. “What’s happening?”
Nothing came to Dr. Claireborne’s mind to explain this. No mirage, no optical illusion, no shared hallucination, there was no sound explanation for this.
A sudden cry from the other side of the wreck gained their attention. “That’s Banner,” Adamson said.
“Let’s go to them,” Dr. Claireborne said. “No doubt they have discovered the same thing that we have.”
The three men rushed around the tail section, their breathing labored from the altitude. They found Dr. Wallert and his team near where the fuselage would have been. The elder doctor and Levine were standing in dumbfound amazement. Banner was lying on the snow a distance away, his eyes wide and staring at the wreck. And there was a fourth person there. At first, Dr. Claireborne thought that it might be a survivor that had surprised Banner.
“Have you found someone?” he asked as he ran up to them.
They did not reply, but simply kept staring at the other person. The fourth man turned towards the three newcomers. They stopped in their tracks. Dr. Claireborne’s heart ran cold and his legs grew weak.
Half of the man’s face was gone, burned away and horribly charred. His chest and stomach were ripped open with bits of metal stuck in them. An unearthly sound came from his throat. It was a moan of immense sadness, that spoke of great pain and suffering.
“Dear God, what is that?” Maxwell cried out.
“Oh no,” Adamson said, putting his hands over his mouth in shock. “Oh no oh no oh no.”
Dr. Claireborne found himself unable to say anything. The sight before him violated all rules of reality. That man should be dead, yet there he was standing and moving around.
His moaning was joined by others. The medical team watched in horror as more people climbed up out of the wreckage. All of them were in either the same shape as the first man, or worse. Metal shards in their heads, limbs twisted in profoundly unnatural ways, flattened chests that still tried to force moans out of their throats. Banner screamed and covered his face.
“What is this?” Dr. Claireborne finally asked.
“Dr. Claireborne, look,” Adamson said. The doctor turned and followed the medical team’s finger to see where he pointed. There was a piece of metal laying a short distance from them. There was collection of letters and numbers upon it that spelled out a monstrous thing: AZN 901.
“Flight...Flight 901?” Maxwell asked.
Indeed it was. Written in words of blue so plain there was no mistaking them, this was Flight 901. All the medical team drew away from the frightful thing, this ghost wreck with it’s ghost people trapped in the moment of their death.
“This...this should not be,” Dr. Claireborne stammered, his hands holding his head. “This isn’t scientifically possible.”
“Where science ends, Dr. Claireborne, magic begins,” Maxwell said, though he seemed not to know what he himself said, simply speaking without thought. His words hung over the sight. To Dr. Claireborne the twisted metal now seemed to resemble some kind of ghastly cathedral and the moans of the ghosts within now seemed to be the chanting Latin of some undead Mass.
The team fled from that place in horror. They raced towards the helicopter, never daring to look behind them at the sight they were fleeing.
“Trevors, go now!” Dr. Wallert cried out as he clambered aboard the helicopter. “Take off, man, take off!”
The pilot paused as if to question this sudden urge to leave. Then he cried out too. “What the hell is that?” A hint of horror that could be worse was in his voice.
“Go before you see more!” Dr. Wallert cried. “Just go!”
The helicopter took to the air as quickly as Trevors could make it rise. As he turned to leave, he inadvertently gave them one last glimpse of the ghosts of Flight 901. The frightful apparitions stared up dumbly at their would-be saviors, mouths still open in sad moaning, eyes filled with pain. Who knew how long they would stay there in that place. Perhaps forever. But the team would not stay. The helicopter sped back to McMurdo as fast as Trevors could make it go.
