Chap­ter VIII unfolds in April 1848, as Com­man­der Gore, believed to be dead for the past eight months, is over­whelmed by a vivid imag­in­ing of the tragedy that has unfold­ed in his absence. He pores over the grim accounts of Franklin’s ill-fat­ed expe­di­tion, which was strand­ed in the unfor­giv­ing Arc­tic aboard the ships Ere­bus and Ter­ror. The expe­di­tion’s skilled sports­man has per­ished, and a sin­gle vio­lent storm wipes out anoth­er hunt­ing par­ty of offi­cers and men. As tem­per­a­tures plum­met, iso­la­tion takes its toll on the crew, dri­ving some to mad­ness while oth­ers suc­cumb to star­va­tion, scurvy, and an unre­lent­ing yearn­ing for warmth and food. The air sur­round­ing the ships reeks of decay, mir­ror­ing the despair and hope­less­ness that have gripped the expe­di­tion, as they are trapped in a seem­ing­ly end­less night.

As spring breaks, the casu­al­ties mount, with nine offi­cers and fif­teen men dead, mark­ing the high­est mor­tal­i­ty rate of any polar expe­di­tion in record­ed his­to­ry. In the face of this over­whelm­ing calami­ty, Crozi­er, despite his dete­ri­o­rat­ing health, res­olute­ly orders the aban­don­ment of the Ere­bus and Ter­ror. Franklin’s expe­di­tion, still referred to only as “Franklin’s expe­di­tion” and not yet the “lost expe­di­tion,” pre­pares to embark on a per­ilous 800-mile trek toward what they hope is safe­ty. How­ev­er, the expe­di­tion is woe­ful­ly ill-equipped for such a jour­ney, car­ry­ing sup­plies that are bare­ly suf­fi­cient for half the dis­tance. The men load whale­boats with essen­tial items, includ­ing tents, seal­skin sleep­ing bags, canned food, spare cloth­ing, and hunt­ing rifles, yet the boats are over­loaded and the men suf­fer from the weight as they drag them across the ice. What had begun as a jour­ney of hope quick­ly dete­ri­o­rates into a des­per­ate strug­gle for sur­vival, with frost­bite, dysen­tery, and death dog­ging their every step.

As the jour­ney pro­gress­es, sur­vival becomes increas­ing­ly dif­fi­cult. With their strength wan­ing and morale at an all-time low, marines are tasked with guard­ing med­ical sup­plies against the increas­ing­ly des­per­ate sailors, while also over­see­ing the rationing of their dwin­dling pro­vi­sions. Good­sir, one of the sur­viv­ing sur­geons, ulti­mate­ly suc­cumbs to a tooth infec­tion, fur­ther dec­i­mat­ing the already reduced crew. As they con­tin­ue their trek, the men are forced to adopt makeshift bur­ial prac­tices, but soon, the dead are left where they fall, mark­ing a haunt­ing reminder of the tragedy that has befall­en them. They aban­don much of their gear in a futile attempt to light­en the load, leav­ing behind bizarre scenes of aban­doned equip­ment scat­tered in the frozen wilder­ness, like rem­nants of a lost civ­i­liza­tion. Hope con­tin­ues to fade with each pass­ing day, as exhaus­tion and despair set­tle in, and the men begin to feel more and more dis­con­nect­ed from their sur­round­ings, wan­der­ing fur­ther into the bleak, unfor­giv­ing land­scape.

Gore, hav­ing learned that around thir­ty sur­vivors even­tu­al­ly make it to a camp dubbed “Star­va­tion Cove,” far from any civ­i­liza­tion, is haunt­ed by dis­turb­ing mem­o­ries of the expedition’s doomed fate. In vivid, sur­re­al dreams, he con­fronts the faces of his lost com­pan­ions, includ­ing a hor­rif­ic vision of Le Vescon­te, dis­mem­bered and muti­lat­ed. These dreams blur the lines between life and death, serv­ing as a grim reflec­tion of the lengths to which humans will go to sur­vive when pushed to the edge. The sight of his fall­en com­rades, con­sumed by des­per­a­tion and can­ni­bal­is­tic instincts, fills him with hor­ror and guilt. Mean­while, sur­viv­ing Inu­it offer assis­tance, yet the expedition’s poor prepa­ra­tion leaves them exposed and vul­ner­a­ble in the harsh, unfor­giv­ing land­scape. Gore is bur­dened by the weight of mem­o­ry and guilt, grap­pling with the respon­si­bil­i­ty for the loss of his com­rades as he clings to the hope of reach­ing safe­ty before the dark, cold void of the Arc­tic con­sumes him com­plete­ly. He is haunt­ed by the faces of those who per­ished, their deaths a con­stant reminder of the trag­ic fail­ure of the expe­di­tion. Deter­mined to sur­vive, he push­es onward, but the weight of his respon­si­bil­i­ty and the con­stant reminders of his fall­en com­rades seem to close in on him, mak­ing each step for­ward feel like a strug­gle against inevitable dark­ness.