The group moved slowly through the ice, the sludge, and the cold dragging on their every movement. Each step in the arctic felt like a hundred. Harvard had never done anything as remote as this, and he didn’t plan to ever again.

His fingers were freezing, even below the ten layers he wore that felt as though they were blocking all blood in his body. In fact, his shivering never seemed to stop, and the moment it did, he was covered in sticky, disgusting sweat. Not ideal. He wondered again and again why he even came along on this trip. It wasn’t like he had been talked into it, he’d done this actively. He researched this trip himself. It’ll be the journey of a lifetime. Sure, but for all the wrong reasons. And what was there to see? A penguin, lovely, never seen that before. A sea lion or seal or whatever it was, wow, I could’ve seen that in a zoo. It would’ve been cheaper too. Oh, and the rules. The god damn rules their guide yelled out every twenty minutes just in case the idiots forgot. No littering, it’ll take a thousand years for it to deteriorate. All food and food wrapping go into the food bag and is to be brought back to the ship. And the companionship he’d resorted to was also awful. A girl, quite ugly—Clementine was her name. What sort of name is that? Bloody Americans. And his handy man friend with big hands, Hans. Again, who names their child that?

There were a few others, mostly Norwegians. He knew they spoke English but was it really worth the effort for him to try and communicate with someone in their second language. Second rate conversation wasn’t worth his time. Nor was this trip. Silly snowdrifts scattered overhead, freezing even more of the hair that stuck out from the thick red hat that made him look like a fatter Santa. He’d been given a radio to communicate with each-other and the base, which were constantly blaring. He wanted to turn it off.

Blah blah blah blah blah, said one Norwegian to another, who promptly replied with another few Blahs. He couldn’t take much more of this. There was nothing surrounding him. Maybe he’d see something other than these penguins. Maybe a glacier. Was he on a glacier? He had no idea, he hadn’t read the brief. The guide was eerily quiet, knee deep through the sludge, their tracks already starting to disappear. The guide was watching a small device, something with a compass on it.

Harvard noticed the walk uphill, another mountain of ice just ready for the climb. Wait. This isn’t right. He hadn’t remembered this specific hill. Though, they were all similar. No. Wait. That ice pillar doesn’t have penguins on it.

“Okay, this will sound awkward, but do penguins migrate?” he asked Clementine. He waited, some Norweigan’s muttered something he didn’t bother to understand. He asked again into the radio.

“They do migrate. Just not until March.” Clementine stopped, looking around. “Where are they?”

“Alright. So, why have the penguins that were on top of the hill moved?”

“They could be off hunting.” Clementine said as the radio began to crackle.

“Okay. We’re lost.” Harvard added, if not to just gage a reaction. “I said we’re lost.”

“Idioten mener vi har gått oss bort.” One of the Norwegians said. It sounded like Hans.

“Awesome, please can we get some verification. I don’t want to be out much longer, I’m tired.”

“We’ve been out an hour.” Clementine said quietly.

“Two hours. We’re basically in a blizzard.” He added. This reminded him of the time he got lost in Courchevel, he’d hated France ever since—and skiing.

“The guide is there for a reason. This is a heavily regulated trip. There’s no way —” Clementine began but was quickly cut off by the radio static.

“Ah faen.” The guide said over the radio. Harvard saw him stop again and the slow line behind him stopped too. “This is serious so I will say it in English first. Not to panic, but the GPS has been broken for about an hour now and we may be a little bit off course.”

“I knew it,” Harvard said triumphantly, “I want a refund.” The guide went on talking but Harvard didn’t listen, he eyed Clementine as she rolled her eyes.

“We’re fine. It’s just a little detour. We’re on the coast, and we have GPS trackers on us, there’s no way—”

“I’m not panicking, I’m fucked off.” Harvard felt the wind on his face pick up. As he tried to wipe it away it dived deeper into his eyes. “My dad paid fourteen-thousand pound for me to be here, yeah that’s not much but it’s enough that I’m entitled to be pissed off. I had to go to ew-shit-yeya waiting for this bloody boat. It better not leave without us.”

“Ushuaia.” Clementine repeated, slowly.

“I’m freezing my ass off,” he picked up the radio again, pushing hard on the button, “how close are we?” a few people spoke Norwegian in reply, but not the guide, he just looked at Harvard and shrugged. “Really?”

“We can’t be too off course, we’ve walked straight.”

“This is ridiculous. We’ve all paid for you to do your job.” Harvard shouted. The guide pretended not to hear and put his radio back on his overly large belt. Harvard clicked his near frozen tongue. “Absolutely fucking stupid, ridiculous—”

“Harvard, please shut up, I’m stressing out here too.” Clementine added, she gestured vaguely in his direction, which somehow annoyed him more. Harvard began to notice the snow more and more as he waited, each breath he took burning his lungs. He needed his vape, of course it was still on the ship, as if vaping was somehow going to kill the penguins. And really, what else was there in this wet desert.

“I need to pee.” Harvard said. He always needed to pee when he was nervous, though maybe it would rush the others along. That was a bonus.

“You can’t. You’ll have to wait until we’re on the ship.” The guide added and the Norwegians laughed.

“I can’t pee in the arctic? Is that some other stupid law?”

“No but exposing yourself at this temperature is dangerous. There’s a blizzard starting.” The wind was picking up, the guide looked around, starting his way up the great mound. I’m going to make a call to the ship—”

They followed the guide up the hill as he spoke on the fat wad of technology, he’d called a phone. The height of the hill was actually quite impressive, it seemed to be built of snow, but obviously it was some sort of glacier. Everything was a glacier down here. He’d read on the boat that there was in fact land under the masses of ice, it wasn’t just some floating island. Which shocked him a little bit, therefore everything on here must’ve been technically a glacier. Does it constitute the same as permafrost? Beyond the sea, beyond the stillness of the waves, he made out a few points, moving slowly toward the group. It was far away, far enough that he could make out only the whiteness of what he imagined as the ships side.

“I think I see the ship.” Harvard said.

“Isfjell—an iceberg.”

“Those move quick.” All he wanted to do was sit down, his feet ached and burned. The shoes were too tight, his stomach felt like it was in his throat. “How did we get lost, we’re on a coast.”

“I’m not sure, Harvard. Maybe the ice froze, and we ended up on some new land.” Clementine looked like she was guessing.

“That’s so stupid. The waters moving, it’s not going to freeze in the hour we didn’t see it. Haven’t you heard of global warming? Look, I say we split up and look for the ship. Why was he the only one with a GPS? I’m sure it’s right over there, maybe it’s behind the iceberg.”

“No, don’t leave the group.”

Harvard started moving, half tumbling, half walking down the hill. When he arrived at the bottom he looked up, unable to see the path he’d come from. The snow so thick. He wiped his eyes and still he only saw white beyond himself. Voices swelled in and out of his mind, until only the snow remained. He tried to retrace his steps, but found himself against clear, frozen water. Unable to see his reflection in it, he stepped on, the ice was firm.

“American? Guide?” he called out, still walking toward where he remembered the iceberg being. Lost in the cold. A moment later, he heard them again.

“Harvard? Don’t go out in the snow!” Clementine shouted from the nothingness.

“It’s over h—” he called out, the ice giving way beneath him. Immersed in coldness, his lungs flooding as he tried to scream out. The ice of the water seeping through the cracks of his coat, down his arms into his trousers. Numbness overtook him.

The ship pulled up against the mound, the ice cracking between its immense hull. A foghorn blew alerting the group. Finally, they could go home.