Where the Wild Things Are
Two: The Rescue
Ryan's speech started slurring and his eyelids grew heavy. As much as he tried to bring his hands back up to the wall of snow, his arms felt like lead. Tony noticed first.
"Ryan, you doing okay?" Tony called out from the other side, his breath coming out in short wheezes.
"Fine," Ryan lied, his words sloshing together. "Just tired."
"Ryan?" Chloe's voice cut through the semi darkness, sounding alarmed. "Ryan!" Michelle called out next but it was already too late. He heard the echoing calls, watched the shadows dance on the cave walls, and then everything was consumed by darkness, a silent oblivion.
"Chappelle!" Tony's cry echoed in the cave but Ryan had already succumbed to the hold of unconsciousness.
Abruptly, Tony stopped in his tracks. "Chloe ! Michelle!" He roared, "Get over here…! Chappelle's passed out!" Instantly, the women rushed to help.
Huddled around Ryan in the dimly lit cave, the three of them seemed to forget about the snow blocking their way out. Ryan lay crumpled on the ground, looking as pale as the snow surrounding them. Hypothermia was a silent, lethal enemy and they were sitting ducks, trapped in its icy grasp.
"Tony, do something," Michelle sounded panicked, her usual calm slipping away.
"Chloe, go get the blankets!" Tony ordered, already starting to gingerly lift Ryan's torso onto his lap.
As Chloe scrambled away, Tony began to gently pat Ryan's face, trying to rouse him. "Ryan, wake up," he shouted urgently, hoping the sound of his voice would be enough to pull him back to consciousness. Chloe returned with the blankets, hurriedly draping them over Ryan's still form.
"Michelle, take his hands," Tony commanded, his voice harsh with fear. "We need to warm them up. Rub them. It'll promote circulation."
As Michelle complied, Chloe shoved her hat into Tony's hands. "Put this on him," Chloe ordered, "We need to prevent more heat loss."
Tony nodded, following her instructions. As Chloe uncovered a bottle of lukewarm water from her bag, instructing them to keep him hydrated, Tony couldn't help but feel an icicle of fear intruding his thoughts. Hypothermia was an unseen enemy and without proper help or shelter, it was known to claim lives swiftly. He looked down at Ryan, catching his eye.
Fear reflected in both their eyes. "Could be any of us next," his voice echoed ominously in the cave.
The chilling realization hung heavily in the air. They were trapped in an icy prison, each of them battling their own battle to survive in the debilitating cold. No one was immune to the cold's deadly grasp. As such, they needed to act fast, before hypothermia took hold of another one of them. Survival wasn't just a goal now; it was a necessity.
As they struggled to keep Ryan warm, the penetrating cold continued to nip at their own extremities.
First, it was Chloe. She had been silent, focused on her task of keeping Ryan from slipping further into a hypothermic state. When her words began to slur and her staying awake turned into a struggle, Tony noticed. "Chloe," he called out. She mumbled something incoherent and slumped onto the icy ground, the blanket she held loosely dropping onto her ajar fingers.
"Michelle," Tony in a soft, urgent whisper, "Chloe is down."
Michelle ceased rubbing Ryan's hands to tend to Chloe, but her movements were slower, clumsier. She was clearly affected too. Though she tried to form coherent words, they came out as an incomprehensible babble. Swaying unsteadily, the cold harshness of the cave floor was the last thing she felt as she too fell into an unconscious state, blanketed by the icy grip of hypothermia.
Tony was the last man standing. The cold started to seep into his bones like an unwelcome guest as fatigue threatened to pull him into a calming sleep. He resisted, knowing that succumbing to the sweet allure of sleep meant submitting to the silent killer of the cold. He stood up on wobbly feet, pushing back the disorienting fuzz seeping into the edges of his consciousness. Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself and his fallen friends. They had to stay warm, they had to fight this. They had to survive.
Enjoying a day outside the office, Special Agent James Bristow and Department of Clandestine Services Director Russell McLaughlin stood on the frozen expanse of a lake, their lines bobbing in its icy depths. The cold didn't seem to bite at them as they engaged in playful banter, their voices carrying in the crisp air.
"Last time you caught a fish, you had it filleted and cooked by a personal chef in Hollywood," Russ chuckled, holding up a slimy trout.
Bristow laughed, "I've been undercover in LA too long, haven't I?"
Before the banter could progress further, a playful bark echoed through the air, drawing their attention. Dublin, Russ's black and white malamute, pranced at the edge of their vision. With a wag of his bushy tail, he had his jaws around the slimy trout Russ had just caught, the fish's surprised face peeping out from between Dublin's white teeth.
"Dublin, no!" Russ blurted out, trying to be stern but his smile betrayed his amusement. The Malamute had a mind of his own, and obedient he was not. Off Dublin went, with the fish still in his jaws, bounding towards a snow-covered hill. Russ shook his head, his smile far from fading. "The crazy pup. But I'd better go get him 'fore he buries my supper."
A hoarse laugh escaped Bristow as he watched the spectacle. His eyes followed Russ who trudged through the thick layer of snow to retrieve the runaway pet. Just as the larger man was close to catching Dublin, the Malamute dashing in circles now, Russ's laughter died. His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed as his gaze solidified on what appeared to be a structure veiled beneath the snowbank.
"Bristow," Russ's voiced strained over the walkie clipped to Bristow's belt. The jovial Irish accent was replaced with an edgy, almost alarmed tone. "We might have a problem here. You better come take a look at this. Bring the shovel."
"What's up?" Bristow had already started moving towards his friend, his frown lines deepening.
"Over there," Russ pointed, "There's a chance someone's trapped under all that."
The harmless banter from a moment ago seemed lost in another era as both men glanced at the irregular heap buried under the snow.
Following Russ's gaze, he saw what looked like a structure buried beneath the snow. There were signs of a struggle, like someone had tried to dig their way out. Bristow's heart skipped a beat as he realized the severity of what they might've stumbled upon.
"Russ..." Bristow began, his voice growing serious. "I think there might be someone in there."
Dublin circled the mound, his tail low and his ears pinned back. As they gradually approached the cave's opening, a shiver of apprehension rippled through Bristow. He discarded the shovel to the side and hurriedly reached for the flashlight clipped onto his belt, its illuminating beam slicing through the darkness as it painted haunting shadows on the icy walls.
In the white glow, familiar faces emerged. Ryan, Tony, Michelle, and Chloe all lay in a heap, their bodies covered in ice and snow. They were huddled close, their pale faces tinged blue. The sight sent a jolt through Bristow's heart. The grim reality sank in. Hypothermia. Ryan looked the worst for wear, he was older, not as tolerant to the cold, and less prepared than the other three. He looked just like he did the day Jack shot him in the train yard. Still and silent.
"Damn it," he muttered to himself, the graveness of the situation making his breath hitch.
"There!" Russ's growl cut through the chilling silence of their grim observation. He motioned towards an unconscious Tony, a shivering Michelle, visibly weakened Chloe, and a lifeless-looking Ryan. Shock and bewilderment bloomed within Bristow. These faces were from a different life, his Jack Bauer days, and their intersection with his current world was unsettling. A torrent of memories flashed before his eyes.
"Russ, these are… I know them. They're my old colleagues from the CTU…" Bristow's voice trailed off, his mind going a mile a minute. What on earth were there doing buried in the snow in the middle of nowhere?
James and Russell took a moment, leaning on their shovels as they observed the unconscious group. Their breaths came out in misty puffs, mingling with the frosty air.
"We need to get them out of here," Bristow finally broke the silence, concern etched all over his face. He looked at Russell, his usual jovial nature gone, replaced by acute seriousness.
Russ nodded, worry creasing his brow. He'd seen hypothermia take strong men down before, sapped them of their strength until there was nothing left but an empty shell. It was a dangerous foe, silent and deadly.
"The cabin isn't far," Russ suggested, pointing off in the distance. "We get them there, get them warmed up properly."
He glanced over at the satellite phone in his bag, the glow of the screen illuminating the worry lines on his face. "We could use the phone to get help up here. But we can't wait for that. We need to get them warm, fast."
"What if we can't move them?" Bristow pondered aloud, his gaze falling on Ryan Chappelle. The once robust man was deathly still, his skin pale and sickly. He was the one who needed urgent attention.
Interpreting his concern, Russ glanced over at Dublin, his loyal Malamute. He knew the dog could sense their urgency, could understand their need without being told. With a sharp whistle, he called Dublin over.
"Dublin, to me," He commanded. Immediately, Dublin trotted over to Russ's side. Crouching down to be on a level with the dog, he spoke softly, his warm breath fogging up in the blistering cold. "We need you to help, boy."
As if understanding the gravity of the situation, Dublin huffed his agreement, padding over to the unconscious Ryan before curling his body against him, as close as possible, their body heat intermingling.
Looking up at Bristow, Russ gave a determined nod. "Let's get them to the cabin. One by one. We can make it if we hurry."
With steely resolve burning in their eyes, they began their challenging mission, refusing to give hypothermia another feed.
Recognizing the severity of Ryan's condition, Russ and Bristow knew they needed to act fast. Ryan was the oldest and appeared to be in the weakest state. His usually animated face lay lifeless, his skin too pale against the stained fabric of his winter suit, making his condition all the more alarming.
"Let's get Ryan out first," Russ suggested, anxiety threading through his voice. "If we carry him between us, we should be able to handle his weight on the snowmobile."
The men held their breaths as they slowly moved Ryan. They were fully aware that any small mishap could make his condition worse. He was heavier than he seemed, but they managed to support his weight and get him carefully settled on the snowmobile. Dublin, understanding of the gravity of the situation, trotted next to them. This was their pack, and they would do anything to protect them.
Russ took the lead of the snowmobile, while Bristow held onto Ryan from the back, making sure he didn't shift in transport. Dublin chased alongside the vehicle as they rapidly made their way to the cabin - a beacon of hope in the middle of this icy wilderness.
Arriving at the cabin, they moved quickly under the effect of adrenaline. Russ held Ryan in an upright position while Bristow grabbed the spare blankets and sleeping bags from one of the cupboards. They nestled Ryan into an impromptu bed close to the heart of the already lit fireplace. Even in his unconscious state, the transition seemed to bring a little life back on his face.
Dublin, influenced by their stress, whimpered, but he obeyed Russ's silent command and curled himself against Ryan, providing him with his natural warmth.
"Good boy, Dublin." Russ croaked, patting the dog between his ears.
Both of them worked in tandem to prepare the cabin for the incoming struggle. There was no room for hesitation, not anymore. One by one, they would work to rescue the group of friends.
Tony was still marginally conscious when Russ and Bristow returned for him, but teetering on the brink of oblivion. Blankets piled around his failing form, the cold had gripped his bones with an iron fist.
"We have to be quick, but gentle," Bristow instructed, his voice reflecting the urgency of the situation. They couldn't afford the slightest delay, but any rough movement might just send Tony over the edge they were desperately trying to pull them all back from.
Russ nodded, the ice crystals from his beard glinting as they caught the light from the single flare still burning outside the cave's entrance. Together, they hefted Tony, his body limp but for an occasional shiver, between them.
The trip back to the cabin was tense, the surrounding wilderness eerily silent except for the snowmobile's engine and the crunch of snow beneath its tracks. Dublin, perhaps sensing the dire need, was remarkably subdued, trailing along with a less playful countenance than before.
At the cabin, the sight of Ryan, still and pale, but now wrapped up and with Dublin's warm form pressed against him, was both a welcome relief and a stark reminder of their grim task. They couldn't relax just yet; there were still lives hanging in the balance.
Tony's arrival at the cabin was relief tinged with fresh worry. His body, still struggling against the cold, was quickly shrouded in spare blankets and placed near the raging fire Russ had managed to stoke higher.
Despite their predicament, Dublin seemed to understand, once again taking up a vigilant post beside the newcomer without even a command, laying his body in a way that would afford the most warmth to the hypothermic man.
"We'll have to keep checking their vitals," Bristow said, his training kicking in full-force now. "Make sure they stay on this side of consciousness. If they wake, we need to get them hydrated, slowly."
Russ, whose eyes had been on Tony's face, watching for any sign of improved coloring, looked up and met Bristow's gaze. "We'll get them all back." His voice was rough with determination. "Then we'll figure out why they're out here."
The sky was darkening fast, the cold seeping into every crack and crevice. Snow flurries started to dance in the air, the wind becoming stronger with every passing moment. A storm was indeed picking up, and they were running out of time.
Looking at one another, a silent agreement passed between the two men. They needed to expedite the rescue if they were to get everyone out before conditions worsened.
"Guess we're taking Michelle and Chloe at the same time," Bristow said, leaning into the biting wind as they made their way back towards the cave.
Russel nodded, the harsh wind robbing them of any further conversation.
Inside the cave, Michelle and Chloe lay huddled together. Michelle's usually vibrant eyes were closed tight, a stark contrast to Chloe's, which were half-open, staring blankly at the cave ceiling.
Working quickly, Russ maneuvered himself beneath Michelle's limp arms while Bristow took a position by Chloe. It was a struggle, but between the both of them, they managed to balance the women on their shoulders and carefully make their way out of the cave.
The storm was more brutal outside. The initial beauty of the snowfall was now a hindrance. Their faces were stinging from tiny ice flurries biting into them as they struggled to reach the snowmobile, but they persevered, their determination fuelled by adrenaline.
As they made their way back to the cabin, the world around them seemed to disappear into a vortex of blinding snow. But the light from the cabin crashed through the white barrier like a beacon guiding them home.
Reaching the shelter, they lay Michelle and Chloe near the fire, surrounding them with sleeping bags and blankets. As Dublin lay curled up between the four figures, Bristow heaved a sigh of relief.
They all made it back, somehow. Now they could only pray for the night to be merciful, hoping for the storm to pass and their friends to pull through. And with the rising temperate in the cabin. for the first time in a while, it felt like hope was not lost after all.
"Who's the ERP on call tonight? Carter?"
Bristow nodded as Russ grabbed the satellite phone out of the kitchen drawer. He dialled the number and spoke quickly.
Russ could hear the sharp intake of breath from the other end of the call. "Russ, you've got to keep them warm. That's the priority. Hypothermia's a tricky bastard."
"I know that, Nate," Russ snapped back, his patience on edge. He glanced across the room towards the fire where Bristow was tending his comrades.
"Okay," Nate's voice came through more softly. "Are you in the cabin? Fire's lit, right?"
"Fire's lit. They're all wrapped in sleeping bags, close to it," Russ confirmed, watching as Dublin moved in closer to the huddled figures.
"That's good. Now listen, Russ," Nate continued, "what you need to keep an eye on is their level of consciousness and any excessive shivering. If they're unconscious, try to rouse them, keep them talking if you can — definitely don't let them fall asleep. If they're shivering excessively, they're still in the early stages and you might be able to reverse the hypothermia more easily. But if they're not shivering at all, that means it's bad. Their bodies have used up all their energy stores."
Russ nodded, making mental notes of Nate's advice. "What about food and drinks?"
"Get some warm, sweet liquids into them if possible, it can help raise their body temperature," Nate advised. "But no alcohol. As for food, only if they're fully conscious and can swallow properly. You do not want them choking."
Russ relayed the information to Bristow, who listened with grim determination as he moved to softly shake Tony, Michelle, Chloe, and Ryan to check their levels of consciousness.
"Alright, Nate," Russ responded, sighing deeply. "We'll do our best till help arrives."
"Help's on its way, Russ," Nate reassured him. "Just hang in there."
While Russ was busy on the phone, Bristow made his way towards Tony who was stirring uneasily. Awake – but only just.
"Jack?" Tony's voice came out raspy, his eyes squinting against the light of the fire as he made out Bristow's features. A mixture of disbelief and relief flashed across his features. "I thought... we thought you were..."
"Dead?" Bristow filled in the blanks with a soft chuckle, a weak attempt at diffusing the intensity of the situation. He gently moved Tony, propping him higher against a pack of blankets. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
He gripped Tony's shoulder in an attempt to convey reassurance. "I'm here, Tony. I've got you."
Bristow looked over to the stove where a pot of hot chocolate was simmering – something comforting for the chilled souls. Pouring some into a mug, he meticulously walked back to Tony, the rising steam from it veiling his concerned features.
"Here," Bristow said gently, offering Tony the mug. "Drink this. It's hot chocolate."
Tony's eyes flickered between the mug and Bristow, a series of unspoken questions filling his gaze. He accepted the drink tentatively, savoring the rich taste and warmth, a small smile beginning to form.
Bristow felt something ease inside him, seeing his friend responsive. "Chloe, Michelle, and Ryan are here too," he added, not wanting Tony to panic when he noticed the still figures nearby. "We're safe for now."
As Tony nodded, his eyes shutting halfway out of fatigue, Bristow glanced at the others.
Wrapped in a cocoon of relative safety, the cabin offered a hushed peace as the storm howled on. Around them, their weary bodies seemed to ease with every passing minute. Dublin moved tirelessly between the group, his body warmth offering a semblance of comfort to his human counterparts. The fire's heat wavering across their faces, their bodies fighting the numbing tendrils of cold burying into their bones.
The next few hours were a blur, Bristow and Russ took turns monitoring the survivors, doing their best to keep them conscious and warm. Tony gradually grew more alert, his clouded eyes clearing as he sipped on more of the sweet liquid, his questions about Jack Bauer left for a time when his mind could fully comprehend the answers.
Around midnight, Chloe was the next to open her eyes. The initial disorientation quickly gave way to fear, her eyes darting around in confusion. Bristow was there, a steadying hand on her shoulder, filling her in quietly about the events.
"You're safe, Chloe." His gentle words seemed to ground her, the reality settling in. Moved closer to the fire, she was provided with a drink similar to Tony's, the hot, sweet substance aided in bringing color back to her ashen face.
As both Tony and Chloe gradually came around, their slow and steady recovery provided hope for Russell and Bristow who had been battling their own exhaustion. They shared a silent exchange, their relief mirroring each other's face, before turning their attention to the remaining two.
Michelle stirred conserving energy as much as she could. Her breath, though shallow, was more stable than before. Ryan, on the other hand, remained ominously still, except for his shallow chest movements that indicated he was still just about holding on.
A soft grunt pulled Bristow's attention back to Tony. His eyes fluttered open, the flickering firelight painting dancing shadows across his face.
"Where's Michelle?" His voice was barely a whisper, slurred with drowsiness but alert enough to be laced with concern.
Bristow raised a hand in a calming gesture, pointing subtly towards Michelle who was bundled in blankets near the fireplace.
"She's here, Tony." Bristow's voice was soothing as he navigated through Tony's worry. "She's okay; we're keeping her warm."
Tony's eyes moved to where Bristow was indicating, lingering for long moments. He grunted in response, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. But he fought against it, attempting to sit up.
"Easy, Tony," Bristow coaxed, laying a hand on his shoulder to keep him from moving too abruptly.
Tony gave a weak nod, allowing himself to be guided back down onto the makeshift bed. His gaze remained fixated on Michelle until a wave of exhaustion overcame him and his eyelids dropped closed.
"Rest, Tony. We've got this," Bristow assured, his reassurance blanketing the cabin's charged atmosphere.
They could only hope that his words echoed the reality of their dire situation. For now, Bristow and Russ knew their ordeal was far from over. They needed to keep their friends alive, keep them warm against the relentless chill, until help arrived. All they could do was wait and hope.
While others were now somewhat responsive, Ryan's condition remained a source of deep concern. His unnerving stillness was like a lingering shadow, casting a dampener on the optimism starting to kindle.
Russ exchanged worried glances with Bristow, Dublin panting worriedly nearby, his head low.
"We need to get him warmer somehow," Russ muttered, Dublin's eyes reflecting his sentiment.
Bristow nodded, his hands rubbing vigorously up and down Ryan's arms, trying to generate heat. As he looked down upon Ryan's still face, Bristow was gripped by an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. Chappelle had always been the stickler for rules, endlessly chastising Bristow – or rather 'Agent Bauer' – for his reckless disregard for protocols. Each admonishment, each reprimand, now resurfaced as cherished memories of an era long gone.
He remembered countless times he had vented to Russ about Ryan, about the bureaucratic hurdles the man represented. One incident in particular brought a rueful smile to his face. The time when Chappelle tried to have his chopper shot down, staunch in his belief to stick to the protocol even when lives were at stake.
"Remember when..." Bristow began, his voice wavering a little. "When Chappelle tried to order the fighter jet to shoot me down? That stubborn fool."
Russ chuffed out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Yeah, I remember. You were livid. Called me up, raving about it."
"I was furious," Bristow admitted, watching his hand move rhythmically up and down Ryan's arm. "But that was Ryan. Always a by-the-book kind of guy. Strong convictions."
Russ watched Bristow, a faint smile tracing his lip. "The protocols were his safety net, just like your instinct was yours."
Bristow looked away, the smile slipping off his face. Looking back at Ryan, his voice dropped to a whisper, "Get better, Ryan. We still have plenty of arguments left."
In the fire's warm glow, under Dublin's watchful gaze, they tended to their duty, the memories of their past intertwining with the precarious thread of their current survival. But hope was a relentless force, and it clung to them, making each moment count.
As the chopper touched down near the cabin, Bristow felt his breath hitch. The ominous sound of the whirling blades seemed to cut through the silence of the night like a beacon of hope. With all the strength they had left, he and Russ hurried to carefully transport their friends to the waiting cabin.
They loaded Ryan in first, followed by Michelle, Chloe, and Tony. The medics rushed forward to assess their conditions, their proficiency cutting through the bitter wind. Bristow caught one of their hurried conversations, words like 'severe hypothermia', 'possible frostbite', 'life-threatening' floated back to him, a grim reminder of their harrowing ordeal.
As the helicopter lifted, its powerful lights fading as it disappeared in the sky, Russ and Bristow stood shoulder to shoulder, watching until it was just a small speck in the vast canopy of the sky.
There was a silent understanding that passed between the two. They had survived, and so had their friends.
Elsewhere, safe in the helicopter, Michelle, Ryan, Chloe, and Tony were slipping in and out of consciousness, the soothing hum of the engine and the tired exhaustion forcing their heavy eyelids to close. A sense of security washed over them as skilled hands continued to treat their frostbitten flesh and maintain their body heat.