"Aɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ɢᴏ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ, ᴡɪʟʟ ɢᴏ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ".
Aɴᴅ ɪᴛ's ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴏɴ Dᴇᴄᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 15ᴛʜ, 2013.
Aɴᴅ ɪᴛ's ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴏɴ Dᴇᴄᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 15ᴛʜ, 2013.
Friday Harbor High School, situated in Friday Harbor, Washington, is host to over a thousand kids all pulled from surrounding towns. It has an average football team, hyped up by the community to make it seem like they are all NFL players. The theatre program is mediocre except for once every decade or so when a crowd of "prodigies" make their way through the school. It's a large school, yet it has that well-worn, always dirty look to it. In this school there are a host of opportunities for advanced studies, but the most popular of all is the AP Biology course.
Several well known scientists and biologists have come from Friday Harbor's AP Biology program, and because of that they receive a lot of funding. It has been a tradition since 2002 to send the AP Biology class of every even school year to a different location to study things they normally couldn't in the classroom. This year it is Mount Murphy, a mountain in a remote part of Wyoming. The trip costs a mere $400, far less than it has in the past. This is because they are only paying for their lodging--run-down huts of "cabins" in the mountain with thin wooden walls and nothing for insulation--and their coach bus that will take them the twenty hours to the mountain. Their teacher claims there is something very peculiar about this mountain, but has kept it a secret to the class. They claim he's saying that just to make them excited. He insists he's not bluffing, though. He says he will tell them when they get there.
If they ever do.
It is the last thirty minutes of the long trip. The bus is on its merry way up the mountain, precariously bouncing along on the thin dirt path. It is snowing heavily outside, the untouched land around them appearing gorgeous. The students pay little attention, mostly listening to music and ignoring their seat partners due to the fact they are seated alphabetically.
Then the bus begins to bounce a little too violently for it to be safe. The students, worried, stand up from their seat and peer ahead. They are on a particularly rough patch of road.
All at once, there is a loud bang and the students recoil into their seats. Chaos ensues. The tires begin to spin, losing traction on unseen black ice, and the bus slips sideways, backwards, hitting the flimsy guardrail. Naturally, the bitty piece of metal bows with the weight of the bus on it and the students on the left side look out to see a steep, snowy drop, the mountainside covered in large, tough-looking trees. The students scramble to hold onto something, someone, anything--
Suddenly, the brakes fail and the bus slips.
The trip down is cacophonous, the screams only muted by the loud slams against the rocky mountainside. A student slips from his seat, slamming against the window and breaking through the weak glass. All of the remaining students are violently tossed around like ragdolls, unable to control anything happening around them.
Then, all at once, the bus slams onto the ground and an eerie silence permeates the frigid air.
Several well known scientists and biologists have come from Friday Harbor's AP Biology program, and because of that they receive a lot of funding. It has been a tradition since 2002 to send the AP Biology class of every even school year to a different location to study things they normally couldn't in the classroom. This year it is Mount Murphy, a mountain in a remote part of Wyoming. The trip costs a mere $400, far less than it has in the past. This is because they are only paying for their lodging--run-down huts of "cabins" in the mountain with thin wooden walls and nothing for insulation--and their coach bus that will take them the twenty hours to the mountain. Their teacher claims there is something very peculiar about this mountain, but has kept it a secret to the class. They claim he's saying that just to make them excited. He insists he's not bluffing, though. He says he will tell them when they get there.
If they ever do.
It is the last thirty minutes of the long trip. The bus is on its merry way up the mountain, precariously bouncing along on the thin dirt path. It is snowing heavily outside, the untouched land around them appearing gorgeous. The students pay little attention, mostly listening to music and ignoring their seat partners due to the fact they are seated alphabetically.
Then the bus begins to bounce a little too violently for it to be safe. The students, worried, stand up from their seat and peer ahead. They are on a particularly rough patch of road.
All at once, there is a loud bang and the students recoil into their seats. Chaos ensues. The tires begin to spin, losing traction on unseen black ice, and the bus slips sideways, backwards, hitting the flimsy guardrail. Naturally, the bitty piece of metal bows with the weight of the bus on it and the students on the left side look out to see a steep, snowy drop, the mountainside covered in large, tough-looking trees. The students scramble to hold onto something, someone, anything--
Suddenly, the brakes fail and the bus slips.
The trip down is cacophonous, the screams only muted by the loud slams against the rocky mountainside. A student slips from his seat, slamming against the window and breaking through the weak glass. All of the remaining students are violently tossed around like ragdolls, unable to control anything happening around them.
Then, all at once, the bus slams onto the ground and an eerie silence permeates the frigid air.
ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ?
ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴏᴀʀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜs.
ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴏᴀʀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜs.
