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Siberia, August 1993.

The river is freezing cold.

Snow melts from the Camar-D-Bahn mountain range, which looms overhead. Your kayak cuts through the water. You take in the fresh mountain air and the rugged landscape.

It's a long overdue escape from the city.

Out here, the only signs of civilization are power lines running over the mountains,

which you're easy enough to ignore.

But out of nowhere, something catches your eye and the peaceful atmosphere dissolves.

There's someone standing on the far shore of the river.

Frames starclaim against the trees.

It's a teenage girl.

She's waving her arms frantically, screaming for you to stop.

From this distance, you can't quite make it out, but it looks almost like her jacket is stained with blood.

You don't hesitate.

You dive into the frigid water and swim to shore. And when you reach the girl, she collapses into your arms.

She's delirious, inconsolable. You can barely make out half of what she's saying through her sobs.

She says she's scared, that she's all alone.

You wonder why this girl's out in the wild by herself.

But what she says next answers your question and makes your blood run as cold as the river.

Everyone else is dead. A week earlier, August 2nd, 1993.

Two hiking groups from Kazakhstan climb up a steep trail, away from the nearest town.

...