Am i going Insane?

We looked at her in disbelief. The mutual feeling of sympathy and that 'I could've searched better' people tend to have.

She started tearing up again, "We panicked. W-we drove away, but none of us can operate a vehicle designed for snow and ice. We crashed into a massive pot hole about a mile south of here. We left the car and walked back. The find is still there and Jack is somewhere in that deserted wasteland."

After this she broke down in sobs and left to the dorm. Jack hadn't answered a single radio call or even made an attempt at reaching us. The dig site was an hours drive from our base, and we were thousands of miles from any other researchers. We were essentially powerless to do anything.

"First things first," said the one of the other repairman, "we need to get our ride back."

He suited up, then he, and the other maintenance worker left on a snow mobile designed for short distance. Now, I don't know how they did it, but they managed to bring the SUV back safely in less than an hour. By now it was getting dark, and the search for Jack would be too dangerous to continue tonight.

We didn't sleep that night. The odd man didn't even come to bed. He just wandered the halls drinking. I lay there, listening to music to drown out the sounds of silent sobs coming from down the hall. This concrete slab. This tomb in the middle of a frozen dead-zone. We were completely an utterly alone. The doctor remarked before bed, "if Jack is still alive, he may be better off out there."

The next morning we set out. All of us, except the two therapists and the odd man, who I assumed was sleeping off a hangover. We dragged the locked box out of the vehicle and laid it in the rec room. We loaded up and decided to deal with opening it later.

We searched the dig site and surrounding area until evening and turned up nothing. The message in the snow was nowhere to be found, and there had been no snowfall that night. We found no tracks, no signs, no body… no anything. We returned depressed and feeling responsible for our missing companion. When we returned however, we were greeted by an odd sight.

A Jet.

On the snow was a ski-fitted jet, and not like the crappy junk plane that dropped us off, this was an expensive private jet. We entered the facility to the sounds of loud, booming laughter. A short, bald man with a white goatee sat in the rec room with the shrinks. He was smoking a cigar and wore a very nice suit. Two very large men in sunglasses stood on either side of the door. We were slightly stunned.

"Well!" the man said in a hard southern drawl, turning to us, "if it ain't the rest of the party!"

"Who-" I was cut short.

"Allow me to introduce myself!" He stood, extending his ringed hand, "Earl [redacted]! Pleased to meet you all, finally!"

We took turns, awkwardly introducing ourselves, realizing this must be the guy in charge. He invited us into the cafeteria to have an official meeting.

This was the second weird shift in the trip. He offered condolences in regards to Jack and expressed that it was no one's fault he went missing.

"As for that message in the snow," he said, lowering his voice, "I would say this whole place tells you to run at some point. Don't let it get to you."

He finally revealed his focus of the expedition, that we were to discover any signs of past visits man had ventured. He also expressed that he wanted to colonize the South Pole, but needed to know the psychological effects of people living here. That's why he sent two mental health associates and a minister (he pointed at me saying this, making me feel exposed and awkward). He again thanked us and sent us to bed after the best steak dinner I've ever had prepared. This guy was serious. He flew in his personal chef to thank us for our work.

The next morning, after a bacon and eggs breakfast, he took us into the tall therapist's office, one at a time to "shoot the shit" as he so delicately put it.

When it was my turn he was very respectful, a gesture I appreciate when no one knows I'm a minister, but it feels forced at times when there is pretense.

"How are you reverend?" He asked softly.

"Well," I replied, not sure how to answer that question in light of the past few days.

"Glad to hear it," he smiled at the ground, "Son, I'm going to level with you. You are the most important person here."

"How's that?" I inquire. Wondering if he's flattering me or not.

"Well," he started, looking for the right words, "This is trip is more for psychological research than anything."

"Wha-" He cut me off.

"We wanted a religious figure and at least two therapists to log the mental strain on living out here. We want to build a new civilization, but we have been testing different groups in small segments of time."

"Why me?" it was the foremost of many pressing questions.

"Well," He said smiling, "I'm a Methodist boy myself, but I picked you because of an article you wrote a while back. You said in the final line that you have the same philosophy as me."

"What's that?" I inquired as I had written a few articles in my time and wasn't sure which one he meant.

"To truly understand God, we must also understand His counterpart."

I immediately knew the article to which he referred. It was an article I wrote after Seminary on Demonology in modern society. I shuddered as this was an… unpleasant field of research. Either way, the man had done his work on me, but I still wasn't sure what a short article on Demons qualified me for a mission in the Antarctic.

I left the room with Earl and we proceeded to rejoin the others. We predominantly listened to him rant on, rather than talk amongst ourselves. We just didn't feel right. We were here, in the warmth while this man was bellowing on, and our friend was out there cold and alone.