Chapter 3

"Before the trip, who was in charge of checking the gear?" Alex continued.

"Usually Damon and Ken. Ken was the photographer, so he kept a close eye on the equipment."

Alex's stare cut into me. He didn't look angry, but the pressure in his gaze felt like a weight pressing on my chest.

"Strange, isn't it? You woke up and everyone else was dead. In all that time, you didn't notice anything off. The dashcam card's gone, but you have no clue where it went. It's like…" He paused, his voice flat. "It's like the only thing you know for sure is that you're alive. You draw a blank about everything else."

I stared back, scared and lost, my voice shaking when I finally spoke, "I was out cold from altitude sickness. I can't even drive. I swear I don't know where the dashcam stuff is."

Alex didn't push any further then. The bodies were taken away. There was too much work waiting.

They brought me back to the little station they'd set up in town.

The stove in the corner glowed hot, wood popping and crackling, but no matter how close I sat, the heat never seemed to reach me.

Hours later, Alex walked in again. He set a camera down on the table in front of me—Ken's DSLR. It was his baby. But now it was smeared with dirt and scratches.

"Listen to this."

He pressed play. His eyes stayed locked on me, watching for the tiniest flinch.

The audio was rough, full of static and wind, but the voices cut through.

At first, it was just gasps and choking, somebody gagging. Then Damon's voice, broken and raw, rang out.

"Argh! I can't breathe! Open the window! Open the stupid window!"

A series of dull thuds followed, like someone pounding the door controls.

Then I heard Charlie, his voice shaking, almost cracking. "It's not working! It's locked! The controls aren't responding! Damon… Damon, what's happening to you?!"

Russ's scream split the chaos. "It's his heart! He's seizing! Damon's seizing! Ken—use your phone! No signal?! Somebody, help!"

The noise swelled, but I could make out Ken's heavy breathing and the click and shuffle of him fumbling with his camera—maybe trying to use the light, or… desperate to record what was happening.

In the background, Mike's voice was barely there, a weak whisper. "So… so cold…"

And then, in the last 15 seconds—over the panic and fading breaths—Ken's voice tore through, ragged and wild, as if he'd used up every last ounce of strength just to scream.

"Hannah! Wake up! Wake up now! Look what you did!"

-

The recording cut with a buzzing sound.

Silence crashed over the room again, broken only by the steady crackle of the fire.

My mind went blank. Ken's final scream echoed in my head on repeat, as if it was carved into my bones.

"I didn't know," I whispered, shaking. "I was asleep the whole time. I didn't hear any of that."

Alex leaned in, his voice even heavier than before. "Ken's camera was on, sitting in his lap. That recording started at 1:33 AM and ended at 1:46 AM. In their final minutes, they were all calling your name."

The weight of his words pressed down on me until I couldn't breathe.

"Especially Ken," Alex said. "He seemed to believe you knew exactly what was happening, that you caused it. What do you have to say to that?"

"I don't know!" The words shot out of me, sharper than I realized, almost cutting my own throat.

"I was asleep! When I woke up, they were already gone! I don't know why he'd say that. I didn't do anything! He was yelling at me to wake up, too, wasn't he?!"