I looked back at the wreck of our aeroplane. The giant 747 lay at the end of its makeshift landing strip, like a fallen dragon; its last breaths forming plumes of smoke, even after defeat. Around me people clung to one another, trudging slowly through the dense snow. The captain had promised that we were within a day’s walk of a weather station, and that once there we would be rescued and flown to our intended holiday spot. Until then however, we would have to survive the Siberian cold, any animals we encountered, and stay alive. Jake (my little brother) grabbed my hand, nervously, and we began to walk towards the setting sun.


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