Chapter Text
Jobs came and went so fast anymore that Colter was having trouble keeping them straight. His memory was great, but not that great. The money came and went with each job and with each time he traveled across the country it got harder to keep things linear. Places were easier to remember than dates or orders. Velma called with a job and he got his ass there to help. Simple as that.
This time he was looking for a boy named Caleb Lane, a tourist from Louisiana who went skiing and didn’t return. Straightforward job from Colter’s perspective, just a search and rescue like he had done a million times before.
But it’s never as simple as it seems.
Caleb had gotten himself lost in the mountains near Silverthorne, Colorado, a tourist trap about an hour from Denver. And while Denver was famous for being the “mile-high city,” the elevation didn’t affect Colter’s breathing nearly as bad as Silverthorne did. The city itself was roughly 9000 feet above sea level; not only that, but to get there you had to ascend to around 11000 feet via the interstate. If walking around Silverthorne didn’t have you breathing heavy, traversing the nearby mountains would definitely get you wheezing.
Colter had accounted for this, of course, by equipping himself with an oxygen tank. Sure, carrying it with him added an extra ten pounds to his load, but suffocation was not a fate Colter wanted to meet if it were avoidable. At the time, he worried that Caleb had already met that fate, but even still he took himself to the ski resort to retrace Caleb’s steps. Even a dead body is better than not knowing. Clouds rumbled in the distance as the ski lift took him up the mountain, but Colter wasn’t planning on staying long. Shouldn’t be a problem.
Shouldn’t.
The mountains were absolutely gorgeous, but Colter didn’t care much about sightseeing. The more he thought about Caleb’s disappearance, the more strange it felt to him. The trails were marked conspicuously, color coordinated too. Caleb had to have intentionally strayed from the courses, even if he did suffocate or pass out from elevation sickness. Someone would have found him along the trails if that were the case.
Colter looked along the tree lines for any indication of disturbance. Maybe Caleb saw something and headed into the woods to investigate?
There. A path.
Someone—or multiple someones—had been through the woods enough to wear a visible path through the weeds. Maybe Caleb saw that someone and went after them.
The snow and dead branches crunched under Colter’s heavy boots as he plodded down the path, deep into the section of forest lining the ski resort. Was there someone living out here? A cabin in the woods, maybe? Questions swirled in Colter’s mind, questions he knew he’d have to be patient to answer. The chilling wind was making it hard to think about anything else anyway.
God, those clouds moved in fast.
Colter was no stranger to rapidly-changing conditions, but damn if that storm didn’t sneak up on him. Snowflakes started to drift lazily toward the ground as he reached the end of the path, where the forest opened up into a snow-covered hill. It could have been another ski course if it weren’t for the massive cliff a few hundred feet down. At the bottom of the cliff was more forest, and what sounded like a waterfall from what the howling wind would let Colter hear. A low sigh escaped his tense chest as he tried to figure out what to do. There were no tracks, no signs of anyone coming through here, and no clear direction to search in.
What would Caleb have done in this situation?
Considering that a storm was rolling in, Caleb would have went back. But if he’d done that, someone would have found him. That means his choices are traversing endless snowy plains or scaling down a cliff into the forest.
He’s from Louisiana. He’s never seen snow like this before. He probably headed into the forest if he found a path, hoping the trees meant shelter of some kind. More promising than an endless, desolate white sheet.
Down the cliff it is.
Colter made his way to the edge, trying to find a way down aside from getting out his climbing gear. If the path he found earlier wasn’t a sign of someone living out here, the steps down the cliffside definitely were. Several sets of roughly cut stone stairs were fashioned into the ledges down the cliffside, providing a less than treacherous way up and down it—only some mild climbing required. Colter could manage.
Snow fell faster, clinging to his eyelashes and making his eyes water from the cold sting. Nevertheless, he traversed the staircases and sections of rock, descending the otherwise deadly drop calmly. The climb down wouldn’t be the problem and he knew that. He just hoped he had enough oxygen left in his tank to give him the strength to get back up with Caleb.
The waterfall he thought he heard earlier was clear and present now, cascading from a hole in the cliff into a small—mostly frozen over—river. Pretty, but deadly in this cold. Colter immediately moved away from it once he got to the bottom, checking his steps before he took them as he walked toward the forest. He kept his keen eyes peeled for any sign of disturbance, maybe another path. Someone was coming in and out of this valley on the regular, so there had to be something out here.
Suddenly, the wind gave a loud, angry gust that almost knocked Colter off balance. Snow pelted his face and, for a moment, Colter was hit with the realization that he might have gambled a bit too much this time. The storm was closing in fast, the temperature dropping dangerously low with the wind chill. But he couldn’t panic. Not now. Keeping a level head in otherwise terrifying situations was something Colter prided himself on; it’s how he saves people. It’s his job to treat life and death like another day at the office. If he can’t, who can?
Alright, Colter. You got yourself in here, you can get yourself out. With Caleb.
Breathe.
Reminding himself to breathe deeply helped. He decided he’d count the minutes, getting a breath or two from his oxygen tank each time. The snow and wind felt like they were stealing the air out of his lungs, howling in his ears as if to taunt him.
Should have gone back.
This is what happened to Caleb, and now you.
Colter felt a wheeze escape his lungs. Every breath felt like getting stabbed, and yet he couldn’t stop the fast, heavy breathing he was doing to keep walking. Sure, he could stop and rest, but he wouldn’t get back up. He knew that.
He needed a reason to keep walking, and he needed it fast. Some kind of path, a clue, anything to keep his mind from drifting to the deadly idea of rest.
Stop and you’re dead for sure.
But what if I die anyway?
Colter tried to push that thought away. Just another reason to give up, and if he worked out the probability of survival, chances are the number would be much lower than what’s reasonable.
Just gotta keep walking. There’s a cabin out here, something. Someone is out here.
Just keep walking-
Colter’s foot crunched in the snow, then down through a layer of ice.
“Shit-!” Colter yelped. He tripped forward, crashing through more ice and into the freezing water below it. He had lost track of his footing in the snow and was now face-first in the river, flailing to get up. The frigid water rushed under him, making him gasp and jerk involuntarily from the cold. The wind shoved gust after gust of snow in his face as his hands fumbled to find a grip to pull his body out of the water, panic and adrenaline coursing through Colter’s body like lightning. But the more he flailed and kicked and pulled, the more the ice around him broke, lowering his chances of finding a handhold exponentially. He tried to pull his legs under him, to stand, to do anything, but the current was pulling so hard on his already weak limbs he gave up quickly. Too weak. Too slow. Too cold.
The wind whistled louder than Colter could think. Freezing cold water lapped at layer after layer of his clothing, seeping through the fabric like poison as he hung onto whatever his hands could find for dear life. Every muscle in his body was aching, shivering from the eye-watering cold as the snow beat down on him, trying to bury him in the mountains he knew better than to search in. Uneven wheezes escaped him as he tried to find a solid hold, his gloved hands fisting in the snowy bank to his left. He tried to pull, really he did, but it was agony to breathe and his muscles just refused to obey him. The cold water sapped all his strength and left him helpless, a victim to the freezing current trying to drag him away by his numb legs. His vision blurred at the edges; not that it mattered. He was half blind from snow in his eyes anyway.
He felt himself slipping, his strength leaving his arms as he wheezed for air. In a desperate attempt for survival, Colter reached weakly for his oxygen tank. His almost numb hand found metal, but he wasn’t quick enough. His other hand slipped from the bank and the current started to drag him away into deeper water, where Colter knew he’d die.
If his brain wasn’t slowly shutting down from lack of oxygen, he might have cried. But the strangely warm haze of unconsciousness crawled up his legs and into his lungs, and suddenly breathing wasn’t an issue anymore. The weight of his gear had vanished, replaced with the weightlessness you can only feel when you stop moving underwater.
Not a bad way to go.
Stupid, but… not bad.
Colter’s eyes fluttered shut as the tension left his muscles, the cold river current dragging his drifting body downstream. Everything faded away, even the taunting howls of the wind.
Sorry, Caleb.