All usual disclaimers apply, I don't own the rights, I don't get money and this is for entertainment only. Please excuse any errors; they are entirely mine.

Hi All,

First off, I would like to thank all of you for your interest in having this story continued; this is the sequel to "White Death". I would like to thank (in no particular order) Teacher Tam, Kreek, Cheride, Jack Sparrow's Girl, Wuemsel and others for your encouragement.

White Nightmare
By Starsky's Strut

He couldn't breathe. He tried.

And tried

When he sucked in the precious oxygen, he could hear it whistle through his narrowed air passages. He was cold. It was dark. He couldn't breathe. And, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't move. It was cold.

Cold, so cold

Alone, very alone

Dead

Wrapped in a shroud.

Ready for burial.

No, not dead, he couldn't be dead.

I'm not dead I am not dead I'm alive! Don't bury me!

Then hands grabbed him.

Cold hands

Lifeless hands

Clutching at him

Pulling him

Dragging him down

Weight rolled on him and increased. More weight; more bodies, cold and stiff, were packed on him and around him. Dead eyes stared sightlessly at him. Cold, dead bodies pressed themselves to him, trying to warm themselves back to life. Taking his warmth. Taking his life.

Stay with us The dead beckoned, their voices sibilant.

"Stay with me" A lone voice broke through the chorus "Don't go"

I'm not DEAD! Panic gripped him in an Anaconda's embrace.

He struggled with the corpses. His life depended on it. He battled with the arms. He pushed against the oppressive weight. He would not go without a fight. They would have to drag him, kicking and screaming to his grave. Fighting every step of the way.

Don't cut me! Don't bury me! I'm not dead!

"Come back to me. Please don't leave me!" Whispered a lone voice.

I'm not dead!

"No, you're not dead"

Don't bury me!

"No one is going to bury you"

Don't cut me!

"No one is going to cut you"

Promise me!

"I promise, but you must promise me something in return"

Anything!

"Promise me you'll wake up"

Wake up? Is that all? It sounded simple.

"That's all"

It was harder then it seemed. He tried and tried. I can't!

"Yes you can!" Forceful, stern

HOW?

"Follow me"

He struggled against the oppressive weight of the dead I'm trying! I can't move!

"Yes you can" Quiet, firm

HOW DAMMIT?

"Follow me. Follow my voice" The voice encouraged.

It was a nice voice. Deep. Friendly. Familiar. ''Kay, I'll try' He found it suddenly quite simple, easy to follow that voice. It was the easiest thing in the world to do. Just follow that voice. He was then able to breathe and he sucked in great droughts of air. The warm, friendly voice was a beacon, a gentle candle glowing brightly, guiding him.

He followed a long for what seemed like miles and he grew weary 'I'm tired' his body felt limp and loose around him, like a too large coat.

"Okay, sleep then, I'll stay here by your side and wait for you," The kind voice replied.

He trusted that voice and thus assured, he drifted off to sleep.

XXXX

Hutch eased his arms from around his friend and wiped a hand down his face as he watched Starsky calm down and slip into a peaceful sleep. Starsky wasn't quite in a coma and he wasn't quite able to wake up. He was trapped in a nebulous limbo induced by the hypothermia.

Starsky talked to Hutch and responded to his voice and touch, but it was more like sleep talking then real conversation. It was always the same. The same fears, the same responses over and over. The fear and panic of his brush with death was deeply imbedded in his friend's psyche. How horrifying it must have been, to hear and know that everyone, including your best friend thought you were dead? Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb.

Hutch thought back to what Doctor Chad Montgomery had said, after hearing of the mistake that the coroner had made, told Hutch "A person ain't dead, until their warm and dead"

Hutch nearly fainted when he heard that.

Doctor Montgomery had grabbed the tall blond's elbow to steady him and then told him "There have been many cases, just like your friend, that have made a full recovery. Don't lose heart."

"Why is it taking so long to warm him up?" Hutch had peered deeply into the short, round doctor's pale green eyes, gauging him, sizing him up, and judging the doctor.

"The rule of thumb is 'cold quick, warm quick' and 'slow cold, slow warm' Your friend must now tip-toe down a hazardous road to recovery, we must use caution, there are many mine fields along the way" The doctor then went on to explain that a body temperature of below 98.6 degrees can cause the body's chemical reactions to slow down and that various complications could take place and each could lead to death.

Hypothermia can take a while to reverse and Starsky's core temperature had gotten down to 86 degrees and he had been in a "metabolic icebox" for a while. He had looked dead, but was still alive.

The doctor said that Starsky should not have been able to talk, but he some how had. But now that the adrenalin, the probable reason for his seemingly miraculous feat, had worn off, Starsky's body was now in a sort of 'hibernation' state and would most likely stay that way until his core temperature got above 90 degrees.

The re-warming process had begun and special care had to be taken to keep him calm, as any shock or rough handling could send him into ventricular fibrillation, which meant that the heart was quivering. A quivering heart cannot pump blood through the arteries and veins. Cardiac arrhythmias would be a threat for sometime yet.

Hutch rubbed the exposed portion of Starsky's forearm, more to calm himself then the sleeping Starsky. He couldn't hold his friend's hand or any part of him that had been frostbitten. The doctor had told him that rubbing the frostbite area actually did more damage to the skin and that was due to the fact that ice crystals had formed in the tissue. Rubbing the affected area caused the ice crystals to break down the skin tissue.

Hutch gulped at that thought. He had rubbed the damaged hands a lot in an effort to warm them while waiting for the helicopter to arrive to airlift Starsky to St. Bernard Memorial Hospital. The thought that he had likely contributed to the damage that Starsky had already suffered made him want to vomit.

He swallowed hard and looked at the sheets that tangled around the brunet's left leg. The right leg was elevated and in traction and would be for a little bit longer. That was if it didn't have to be amputated. It had been deprived of proper blood flow due to the breaks in the bones and on top of that, the hypothermia had further restricted the circulation to the area.

That's what the hypothermia had done; it had sent the precious blood to the core of Starsky's body to keep him alive. But this was at the possible expense of his limbs, especially his right leg. He could loose his leg from the knee down. 'This is all my fault, I deserve to be tired' Hutch rubbed at his sore eyes.

He no longer had grit in his eyes. No, the grit had long since turned into boulders, great, big, nasty boulders that defied him to remove them. If he had cared to look in a mirror, which he did not, he would have seen how red his eyes were and how haggard his face looked. And his clothes, they were not worth mentioning. He let out an exhausted sigh.

He looked at Starsky once more. He then noticed a wet stain on the sheets where they had tangled around Starsky's hips and left leg. The catheter must have pulled free during struggle from the nightmare that Starsky had just experienced. It pained him to see his stalwart friend so terrified. The sheet was urine soaked and needed changing. Hutch pushed the call button and a nurse poked her head into the room minutes later.

"Hi, what can I do for you?"

"He needs new sheets" He pointed at the soiled ones. The nurse's falsely perky voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard to him. He gritted his teeth and began to remove the sheets, carefully untangling it from Starsky's good leg. You look like a mummy; all wrapped up like this Starsky's face was wrapped as well. His eyelids had blisters on them and they were swollen. It would be days before the swelling would go down enough for him to be able to see out of them. Hutch sighed; the list of damage just kept going on and on.

"Oh no, not again!" More false perkiness and she cleaned the area and inserted a new catheter "I'll send a candy striper in with a change of linens" She exited after giving her patient a quick bath.

Hutch coved Starsky with a blanket. It was imperative to keep him warm. It would be another 20 minutes before the peritoneal dialysis; an important part of Active Core Re-warming, or ACR, would begin again. The doctors had made an incision in Starsky's belly and passed a hose into his abdomen under his skin. Warm water was then irrigated through the hose in cycles of 20 to 30 minutes at a time. What this did was help his liver warm up so that it would be able to deal with the toxins that were flooding his body as a result of his profound hypothermia. Warmed, humidified air rounded out the ACR.

Hutch had learned more about frostbite and hypothermia then he had ever wanted to. He had learned that frostbite was something like a heat burn. It could very in thickness. It could be shallow and affect just the surface of the skin or it could freeze right down through the bone. It would be six to eight weeks before they knew what flesh was viable and what was not. Doctor Montgomery had an adage for that as well "Frostbite in January, amputation in July"

Hutch choked down the bile that rose in his throat. Amputation. He had promised Starsky that he would not be cut. He might have to break his promise.

He ran his hand through Starsky's curls 'why do I keep making promises I can't keep?'

He went over to the sink in the room and washed his face and hands. 'Bet I could use a bath, I worked up quite a sweat digging for you' Hutch moved back to Starsky's side and sat down. He leaned back in the cushioned chair and closed his eyes to rest them, maybe the boulders would shift a little and his eyes wouldn't hurt so much. It was actually a very comfortable chair. He drifted off.

XXXX

Doctor Montgomery peeked into the room, and smiled as he saw the blond detective nod off. He had provided the chair himself, after having seen first hand the benefit of having the blond in the room with his patient. Anything that helped his patient, he would see that the patient got it.

He had noticed immediately the effect that the blond had on the brunet. His patient got worse if the blond were out of the room for too long. However, the blond was going to be a patient of his before long, if he didn't start to take care of himself. An overhead page interrupted his thoughts and he hurried down the hall to assist the ER doctor.

XXXX

"This is WCAL California Action News, where our motto is 'News as it Happens' I'm Berry Brockman. We are here at St. Bernard Memorial Hospital, and 'hot' on the trail of the last known survivor of the Snow Village Ski resort tragedy. We understand that the last person that was pulled from the cold jaws of death was at first… thought to be dead. An autopsy was about to be performed on that poor soul when a friend arrived just in time to stop it" Berry Brockman drew a finger across his neck in a 'cut' gesture. "How was that?"

"Brilliant, Berry, just like all of your intros, loved the dramatic pause, just fabulous" Rob Baker, the WCAL cameraman knew just what to say. He always said the same thing and Bigheaded Berry bought it every time.

"You don't think I need another take, do you? How was my hair?"

"Fake, as always, just like your smile" Rob whispered as he pretended to check his camera.

"Did the wind mess it up?" Berry checked his 'do' in the news van's rearview mirror.

"Now, mention the teeth-" Rob muttered as he polished the spotless lens.

"Were my teeth clean? Nothing stuck in them?" Berry ran his tongue over the pearly whites, checking.

"They're capped" Rob whispered once more, still pretending to work on the lens.

"What was that?" Berry finished checking his teeth in the mirror and looked over his shoulder to the cameraman.

"They're clean" Rob proceeded to check the film. He had plenty. He always had plenty. He had to. 'Bigheaded' Berry was a perfectionist and an egotist and piss-me-off-ist. Rob suppressed his chuckle. And for some reason, some mystery he couldn't fathom, the public loved Berry. If they only knew the real Berry Brockman, Rob sighed.

"Well, what do you say we go in and talk to the frostbitten man of the hour?" Berry lightly punched Rob on the shoulder and chuckled. "Let's give that lucky bastard his 'fifteen minutes of fame' with me at his side. Hey, do I have an eight by ten glossy in that folder? I'm sure he's a fan. I'll give him an autographed copy! That'll make his day, huh?" Berry signed the photo of himself with flourish.

Rob rolled his eyes that were now hidden by the camera that he conveniently moved to his shoulder the right time. "Let's make some news!" He chirped as he settled the heavy camera on his shoulder, making minor adjustments in the apertures and settings for shooting indoors.

"Hey Rob!"

"Yeah, Berry?" He fiddled with the shoulder strap.

"What do you call a frozen police officer?" Berry could barely contain his grin.

"I don't know. What do you call a frozen police officer?" 'God, I hate theses jokes.'

"A Cop-sicle! Get it? Popsicle, cop-sicle. Ha! I ought to be a comedian! I am sooo good!" Berry laughed. He had to get his jokes out now. He had another one of these pain-in-the-ass Human-interest stories to do.

He checked his pockets for his notes and questions. He made sure that he had his breath mints and a couple of extra pens. He knew that there would be adoring fans of his in there. He hated to disappoint his public. "It's show time Rob! Roll'em!"

XXXX

Hutch was awakened by the sound of the door to Starsky's room being opened. He lifted his head and blinked at the bright beam of light from the shoulder camera "W-what's goin' on here?" he used his right hand to block the light from his eyes, totally confused by the interruption of his desperately needed sleep.

"Rob, focus on the one in the bed, he's the guy I want to interview" Berry moved to the injured man's side, opposite the blond man that had been in the room. "This is Berry Brockman, coming to you from the room of the last known survivor of the Snow Village Chalet disaster. I am about to have an exclusive interview with-"

Hutch stood up and rounded the end of Starsky's bed and shoved the cameraman out of his way "You can't be in here, get out!" his hissed at the intruders. He grabbed the man with the microphone and pulled him away from the bed "OUT! Now! He is to have complete silence… any shock could cause-" one of the machines monitoring Starsky went off interrupted the blond's quiet tirade.

He watched as Starsky's body stiffened and then began to convulse. He let go the interloper's arm and hit the call button. With that task accomplished, he once more directed his fury at the intruders, angry beyond words now, and he shoved the pair towards the door. "Get OUT!"

"Hey! Let go! You can't do this to ME! I'm Berry Brockman of-"

"I don't give a flyin' fat rat's hairy ASS who you are or who you think you are… But know this, if my partner-" Hutch didn't finish the sentence as behind him, he heard a rattling noise and turned to see his partner shaking so hard in the bed, it rattled. "Starsk…" he ran back to the brunet's side and the only thoughts in his head were ones about his friend's current condition.

"Starsk, Starsky… listen to me… it's okay, s'okay now. I'm here" he gently grasped the quivering upper arm "Listen to my voice, hear me, oh God, please let him hear me" He focused so hard on his convulsing friend; Hutch forgot everything else.

Including the fact that he wasn't alone.

The reporter and the cameraman were still in the room.

TBC