Leon Crane leans forward into the wind, straining to drag his 120 pounds sledge along the frozen river.

His legs burn, and with every step the harness cuts deeper into his shoulders. He can't catch his breath either. The morning air

here in Central Alaska is so cold it seers his lungs.

Worst of all, the ice beneath his feet keeps creaking and groaning.

He remembers the panic that overtook him when his boot broke through a few days ago.

He can't afford to make that mistake again.

He'd be moving faster, if not for his jury rig sledge.

Its runners keep getting jammed in the snow.

Even on the flat river, the snow drifts reach up to his waist sometimes,

and the heavy sledge keeps sinking into them. But there's nothing he can do except put his head down, ignore his burning legs and lungs, and march on.

The sledge has all his food and other supplies.

There's no way he can survive without it.

According to his mental calendar,

it's now February 16th,

57 days since the crash.

Tracking the date keeps him connected to the greater world,

even if his own world has been reduced

to a white void of wilderness.

After another quarter mile, he hears more cracking, only much louder this time.

Suddenly, the ice gives way beneath his feet, and he plummets straight down. The cold water slaps him with an icy blast.

He wonders briefly how long it will take to die. But before he goes under, something strange happens. He snaps to a stop when he's only

chest deep in the river and just hangs there by his harness. He looks behind him and sees that the sledge is stuck in a snow bank.

...