The Pipeline – Session 2
In the Fall of 1986, contact was lost with Exxon
Pumping Station #31 near Telegraph Creek, BC
Canada.
The second night
In te vullen door Sjoerd
When i looked around the front and end part of the plane was missing. Everyone was hurrying to get out of the plane. Because it was starting to slide down a hill. Quickly i gather all my stuff and was able to find water and medical kits.
The storm hasn’t let up since we crawled out of the wreck. The wind cuts like a knife, carrying snow that stings the eyes and fills every footprint before you take the next. What’s left of the plane lies scattered across the slope — jagged metal, torn seats, luggage ripped open and half-buried. It’s a miracle anyone walked away from this.
We did a quick sweep of the wreckage. At first, there wasn’t much to see — just the same twisted mess we’ve been crawling through. But then I noticed something off about the starboard engine. There’s a clean, circular hole punched straight through the casing, maybe two feet wide. It doesn’t look like fire or impact damage. Something hit it. Hard.
We managed to recover a few useful things and the others keep asking what happened, but right now that doesn’t matter.
What matters is that we keep moving, stay warm, and don’t lose our nerve. If the cold doesn’t kill us, whatever brought down that plane might.
We heard it before we saw it — a low, guttural sound cutting through the wind. At first, I thought it was the storm echoing off the cliffs, but then the shape came out of the snow.
A grizzly. Massive. Ten feet tall at least. It rose onto its hind legs and let out a roar that tore straight through me, louder than the wind, louder than anything I’ve ever heard. Its eyes were wrong — pitch black, not the kind of black you get from shadow or dirt, but something deeper. Meaner.
Its fur was thick with ice and filth, matted into clumps. A deep gash split its side open, and I could see bone beneath — frozen blood clinging to the wound like tar. Whatever had hurt it should’ve killed it, but it kept moving, shaking its head like it wanted to tear the world apart.
Amanda shouted something — I didn’t catch what. My rifle was already up. That comes naturally with me. This fight could have gone either way. But just the sound of the shot, the kick against my shoulder, and the echo rolling through the valley.
The beast staggered once, twice, then fell forward into the snow. Even then, it didn’t look dead. It looked angry.
I’ve hunted before, but this wasn’t that. This thing wasn’t just an animal. It was… wrong. Like the cold had climbed inside it and refused to let go.
Once the sun went down, the cold changed. It wasn’t just cold anymore — it was alive. The wind tore across the ice like it wanted to erase everything that ever dared to stand here. My thermometer stopped at -51°C before it froze over. It’s hard to tell if it got colder after that. It probably did.
Even a few seconds of bare skin feels like pressing your hand against dry ice. The pain is sharp at first, then it fades — that’s when you know you’re in trouble. I’ve seen frostbite before. I know what it looks like. I won’t let it happen to me.
We need a fire. Without it, this night will break us. There’s enough wood out here — splintered crates, drifted branches near the line — but everything’s half-buried, and the wind keeps stealing the matches. I can still see light on the horizon, so I’ll try again before darkness sets in for good. Once it’s gone, even striking a flame will take steady hands and a small miracle.
If we fail, we’ll have to rely on our bodies to survive the night — one hour at a time, fighting to stay awake, to stay warm. I’ve been hired for this. I’m supposed to know how to live through it. But as the wind screams outside, I can’t shake the thought that knowing might not be enough.
Info
Location: British Columbia
Date: 28-10-1986
Investigators
Amanda Drake (Team Leader)
Benjamin Shepard (Security)
Harold Cain (Engineer)
Arwin Holt (Arctic survival expert)
Day 3
The rescue team awaken to the sound of howling wind and creaking metal. The world hangs inverted before their eyes — twisted shapes of torn fuselage, shattered seats, and shards of ice glinting in the dim winter light. Each of them dangles upside down, still strapped into their harnesses, blood rushing to their heads. The cold bites deep, seeping through clothes and skin alike.
Somewhere beyond the wreckage, a voice is screaming — distant, panicked, swallowed by the storm. The air reeks of fuel and smoke. Their heads throb with the dull ache of concussion, and fragments of memory flicker back: the roar of engines, the steady hum of conversation, the calm before everything went black.
The last thing any of them remember is boarding the plane in Vancouver.
When i looked around the front and end part of the plane was missing. Everyone was hurrying to get out of the plane. Because it was starting to slide down a hill. Quickly i gather all my stuff and was able to find water and medical kits.
The storm hasn’t let up since we crawled out of the wreck. The wind cuts like a knife, carrying snow that stings the eyes and fills every footprint before you take the next. What’s left of the plane lies scattered across the slope — jagged metal, torn seats, luggage ripped open and half-buried. It’s a miracle anyone walked away from this.
We did a quick sweep of the wreckage. At first, there wasn’t much to see — just the same twisted mess we’ve been crawling through. But then I noticed something off about the starboard engine. There’s a clean, circular hole punched straight through the casing, maybe two feet wide. It doesn’t look like fire or impact damage. Something hit it. Hard.
We managed to recover a few useful things and the others keep asking what happened, but right now that doesn’t matter.
What matters is that we keep moving, stay warm, and don’t lose our nerve. If the cold doesn’t kill us, whatever brought down that plane might.
We heard it before we saw it — a low, guttural sound cutting through the wind. At first, I thought it was the storm echoing off the cliffs, but then the shape came out of the snow.
A grizzly. Massive. Ten feet tall at least. It rose onto its hind legs and let out a roar that tore straight through me, louder than the wind, louder than anything I’ve ever heard. Its eyes were wrong — pitch black, not the kind of black you get from shadow or dirt, but something deeper. Meaner.
Its fur was thick with ice and filth, matted into clumps. A deep gash split its side open, and I could see bone beneath — frozen blood clinging to the wound like tar. Whatever had hurt it should’ve killed it, but it kept moving, shaking its head like it wanted to tear the world apart.
Amanda shouted something — I didn’t catch what. My rifle was already up. That comes naturally with me. This fight could have gone either way. But just the sound of the shot, the kick against my shoulder, and the echo rolling through the valley.
The beast staggered once, twice, then fell forward into the snow. Even then, it didn’t look dead. It looked angry.
I’ve hunted before, but this wasn’t that. This thing wasn’t just an animal. It was… wrong. Like the cold had climbed inside it and refused to let go.
Once the sun went down, the cold changed. It wasn’t just cold anymore — it was alive. The wind tore across the ice like it wanted to erase everything that ever dared to stand here. My thermometer stopped at -51°C before it froze over. It’s hard to tell if it got colder after that. It probably did.
Even a few seconds of bare skin feels like pressing your hand against dry ice. The pain is sharp at first, then it fades — that’s when you know you’re in trouble. I’ve seen frostbite before. I know what it looks like. I won’t let it happen to me.
We need a fire. Without it, this night will break us. There’s enough wood out here — splintered crates, drifted branches near the line — but everything’s half-buried, and the wind keeps stealing the matches. I can still see light on the horizon, so I’ll try again before darkness sets in for good. Once it’s gone, even striking a flame will take steady hands and a small miracle.
If we fail, we’ll have to rely on our bodies to survive the night — one hour at a time, fighting to stay awake, to stay warm. I’ve been hired for this. I’m supposed to know how to live through it. But as the wind screams outside, I can’t shake the thought that knowing might not be enough.