The drive to the ranger station was tense, a continuation of the bad dream that seemed to have started days ago. Starsky was slumped in the passenger seat, breathing shallowly. After finishing his bottle, Richie spent the next twenty minutes crying heavily, wanting to be held and needing his mother, until he finally fell into a fitful sleep, overwhelmed. Hutch felt horrible for him, but knew there was no way he could hold him and drive through the continuing storm, and Starsky was in no shape to try. The cut to his abdomen refused to stop bleeding, and Hutch’s flannel shirt was already soaked through with blood. All the blond could do was drive as quickly as he dared in the onslaught of rain and get the three of them to shelter and safety. He tried very hard not to think of the corpse left behind.
Within thirty minutes, Hutch spotted the flashing lights of the ranger’s jeep. Quickly pulling the Torino next to it, he rolled down the window and called out through the rain to the ranger who did the same. “I’m Hutchinson.”
The ranger nodded. “McGruder. How they doing?”
“Not good. How far are we?”
The ranger began rolling up his window. “Five miles back. There’s a spot in the road where there’s water running over it. I’ll flash my lights when we get to it. Take it slow and you should be okay.”
Hutch nodded as he rolled up the window. Watching the jeep turn around, Hutch placed his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Hang in there, buddy. We’re almost there.”
Not expecting a reply and not receiving one, Hutch threw the car in gear and followed the ranger through the rain.
˜ ™
The station was small and crude, but to Hutch it was heaven. McGruder hurried to the Torino and Hutch carefully pulled Richie and his carrier out of the back seat and loaded him into the ranger’s arms. Starsky was another story, having passed out en route and couldn’t be roused. Hutch opened the passenger door and carefully pulled his partner close, then gathered him into his arms. Another moment of déjŕ vu struck him as he carried Starsky away from the Torino, just as an unnerving bolt of lightning ripped through the sky.
Another night of terror, another storm.
Rain lashed against Hutch’s face as he struggled with his precious burden toward the porch, unnerved by the warmth of Starsky’s blood seeping through his damp t-shirt. Even after he laid his partner out on the ranger’s cot, Hutch couldn’t shake the vision of Starsky’s blood pooled beneath him on the Torino’s seat, a darker black against the ebony leather.
He was unsure if he would ever sit in that seat again without the memory coming to mind. A cold fist of fear gripped him: If I ever get the chance again.
˜ ™
Starsky woke up to the toddler’s crying and gentle hands untying the blood-drenched shirt from around his side. He felt warm water slop over his stomach and side, trying to loosen up the small amount of congealed blood so as not pull on the wound further. A quick glance around the room identified the rather Spartan office of the ranger station.
“Hutch?”
“Easy there, Starsk.” Hutch grasped Starsky’s hands from where they were ineffectively trying to push the ranger away from his ministrations.
Starsky nodded, accepting Hutch’s admonishment and trusting him. He was having a hard time focusing at the moment. “Water?”
“You just spent the last how many days out in the rain and now you want water?” Hutch chuckled quietly as he retrieved a glass from the station’s tap. With gentleness few would have thought possible of him, Hutch cradled one large hand under his partner’s head and raised it slightly, then tipped the glass to Starsky’s lips. “Just a bit now.”
Hutch lowered his partner back onto the cot and sat in the chair at Starsky’s side. McGruder had finally managed to peel away the gory shirt to expose the wound. When the air hit the gaping cut, Starsky drew in a hissing breath and reached to cover it back up with his hands. Hutch intercepted his partner’s questing grasp. “Hold on, buddy. Bob’s got to clean that out, okay?”
Starsky’s head had lolled to one side, but he was able focus on Hutch’s face. “’Kay.” The brunet blinked. “Who’s Bob?”
McGruder eased the shirt out from under Starsky and tossed it off to one side. With a quick smile, he continued washing blood away from the wound.
“Hi, Bob.” The cough that followed elicited a hissing breath from the pain it caused. “Forgive me if I don’t stand.”
“No problem.” McGruder gave Hutch a quick look. “We need to get him out of his wet clothes.”
Hutch nodded at the ranger and focused on his partner. “You heard the man. No time for modesty.”
“Yeah, but will you respect me in the morning?” Starsky’s teeth began chattering against the dampness that seemed to permeate him to his core.
“You always were a cheap date.” Hutch quickly unlaced his partner’s Adidas and, for some reason, found himself unnerved by the stained tube sock, dyed a rust color by the blood that had seeped there. Hutch waited patiently for Starsky to undo his jeans, then made quick work of removing the sodden clothes and replacing them with a pair of the ranger’s pajama bottoms. A blanket was quickly draped around him, but left the seeping wound exposed. Hutch moved back up to Starsky’s side and squeezed his shoulder, as McGruder gently blotted the wound. “How’s it look?”
“Well, the good news is, the bleeding’s pretty much cleaned the wound out. I’m still going to douse it with hydrogen peroxide to be sure. When the river runs like that, you never know what you can pick up in it.”
“T’riffic.”
Hutch grinned affectionately down at his partner’s response before returning his attention back to the ranger. “So, what’s the bad news?”
McGruder studied the wound for a moment more. “I’m hoping there is no bad news. Your partner’s lost quite a bit of blood here, Hutchinson. I have no way of knowing what damage that’s caused, but there’s no real indication of shock, so I’m optimistic that it’s not…” He stopped himself from finishing the statement of “life threatening.” “…not a threat. I’m going to contact the Orange County ER and get a hold of somebody there—find out what else we can do until the weather clears some and we can transport him. I’m thinking that as long as we can control the bleeding, keep him clean and dry, and that cold doesn’t turn into…well, anything worse, we may be okay until we get him some real medical attention.”
McGruder finished rinsing out the wound with peroxide, watching as the agent bubbled slightly as it met with some remaining bacteria and dirt. The ranger smiled with some assurance at the worried look Hutch gave him, and placed a clean towel over the cut. Standing, he quickly crossed the single room to the band radio.
Hutch gripped Starsky’s shoulder to distract him as McGruder made contact with the hospital dispatch. “Hey, you hear that, Starsk? Bob thinks you’re going to be okay.”
Starsky licked his lips. “’at’s good.” The azure eyes widened. “What about Richie? Is he okay?”
“He looks like it. We’ll be checking him every hour for a possible concussion. Right now he’s sleeping.”
“Okay.” Starsky’s eyes drifted shut until a wet cough started. Blue eyes widened as his diaphragm expanded and pulled at the torn muscles. Starsky instinctively fought to sit up and hold onto Hutch against the searing pain in his side.
Hutch grabbed him by the shoulders and forced the weakening man back down, his face a mask against the feelings of helplessness churning inside. One strong hand remained cupped against the side of his partner’s face. “Easy, Starsk, easy.” Hutch felt his chest tighten at the sight of Starsky’s blood blossoming on the white towel.
“McGruder!” Hutch applied pressure to the wound, briefly closing his eyes at the dampness being absorbed by the makeshift dressing. How many times will I have to have his blood on my hands?
The ranger quickly finished his conversation with the ER personnel and returned to where Starsky fought to control his congested coughing. “Okay, I’m gonna need your help here. Roll him onto his side.”
Starsky complied as best he could, but felt his strength running from him. Needing the help of a stranger was awkward under the best of circumstances, so he smothered his feelings of vulnerability by keeping his focus on Hutch’s familiar grip. His partner helped steady him in place with his free hand, the other keeping pressure on the wound. McGruder retrieved more materials from his first aid supply and began ripping tape in five-inch strips.
“Okay, guys, since I don’t happen to have my sewing kit handy and don’t know where my stapler is, we’re gonna have to improvise.”
Starsky threw the ranger an alarmed look. Hutch mirrored his partner’s expression.
“I’m kidding! A little joke, that’s all.” McGruder continued ripping the first aid tape.
“T’riffic. Ten thousand comics out of work and you’ve got to be funny?” Starsky rasped out. When another series of coughs came from deep in his lungs, blood continued to pool, running in streaks down Starsky’s stomach and back.
“Take it easy, Starsk. Don’t talk, and maybe you won’t cough as bad.”
“Actually, the doc said coughing’s gonna be good for him, but that’s our ‘catch twenty-two.’ The exposure he’s had to the cold and damp for the last couple of days, plus his time in the river could cause fluid to form in his lungs, and that’ll open the door to pneumonia. Coughing will help keep his lungs clear. Only problem is, though, it’ll hurt like blazes because the cut muscles are so close to his diaphragm, which’ll expand every time he takes a deep breath. All that action might start the bleeding up more than we can handle.”
Hutch’s glare conveyed his anger and futility. “So what the hell are we supposed to do for him?”
McGruder gave him a frank look and an honest answer. “What we can. I don’t have the gear or know-how to suture him. I’m gonna use these strips of tape to act like giant butterfly bandages, then keep pressure on it. That’ll close the wound and help with clotting. Then, hopefully, the bleeding will stop. In the meantime, we’ll keep an eye on it for infection.” The ranger’s eyes softened as he looked at his pale charge, the detective’s breathing becoming increasingly raspy with an oncoming cold and fatigue. “We’ll treat what’s in his bronchials and lungs the best we can, and keep it from becoming something more dangerous. He’ll have to cough to keep his lungs clear. You can ease some of his pain by holding his sides when he does. The support will keep the muscles quieter and give the cut a chance to clot. We’ll keep him propped up some to ease his breathing. Keep him warm, dry and calm. Watch for shock. That’s what we can do for him.”
Hutch looked down to the half-closed eyes, glazed with pain and the beginnings of a fever. “Okay. What do you need me to do first?”
McGruder smiled at the fierce determination in the detective’s eyes. “Now we’re talking. I’m going to close up the wound with these bandages. Like I said, that’ll give it a chance to clot—control the bleeding. Put your hands on either side of the cut and close the wound for me.”
Hutch swallowed hard, but schooled his features, trying desperately not to betray his own misgivings to Starsky. He knew he was the only one his partner would completely rely on, so there was no way he was going to show anything but calm and optimism. “You want a bullet or something to bite on?”
He was rewarded with a small grin, but not the smart remark he was hoping for. Fear gnawed at him a little bit harder—Starsky was worse off than he’d thought. Hutch placed a hand on either side of the wound, then at McGruder’s directive, pushed the two portions of flesh closer to each other. The ranger quickly laid the tape vertically, effectively holding the cut together. Starsky’s eyes widened, and a thin sheen of sweat beaded on his upper lip, but he remained silent, almost oblivious to their careful ministrations.
The two men sat Starsky’s lax body up, so the ranger could quickly wrap his abdomen in gauze to add pressure to the wound and keep the cut clean. One hand behind his partner’s neck and the other around his back, Hutch gently laid Starsky down on the cot, resting him against the pillows McGruder had retrieved. The blanket followed, and Hutch carefully tucked it around his partner’s unresponsive body. A bolt of lightning flared close by, causing the station lights to flicker. Hutch scanned the small room, holding his breath and hoping that the power remained on. The thunder that followed woke Richie, and the toddler began fussing.
Restless for something to do,
Hutch changed into some of the ranger’s dry clothes, then picked up the sodden
mess of Starsky’s jeans and shirt.
Woodenly, he moved across the room to the attached kitchenette’s sink
and began rinsing out the blood. The
blond felt bile rise up in his throat as he pulled his partner’s badge out of
the jeans’ back pocket. The soaked
leather was darker still with blood, and more had stuck to the gold shield
nestled there. To protect and serve…
The ranger’s hand on his shoulder broke Hutch’s revere. McGruder then hauled two more chairs from the small kitchen table in front of the stone fireplace. “The clothes’ll dry faster over here.”
After wringing out the clothes and draping them over the chairs, Hutch crossed back over to check on Starsky, who had fallen into a restless doze. Satisfied that there was nothing more he could do for him at the moment, Hutch watched as McGruder picked up Richie and nestled him in the crook of one arm. The ranger retrieved a can of formula from the diaper bag and walked back to the kitchenette. “Could you give me a hand, Hutchinson?”
“Hutch,” the blond stated as an affirmation. A quick glance under the blanket showed no significant blood on the gauze and Hutch crossed the room.
“Richie or formula?” McGruder asked with raised eyebrows, offering both.
“Either.”
McGruder handed Hutch the child. “How did you know his name? Starsky and I didn’t mention it.”
“I know him and his mom. Knew his mom. Met the father last summer when they all came up together.” McGruder paused from opening the can, sorrow crossing his features. “Janie and her family had been coming out to these woods longer than I’ve been up here. A damn shame. Soon as I get you all settled I’ll go get her…her body. Bring it on up to the shed at least, out of the weather. Doubt anything would disturb it, but it just don’t feel right leavin’ her out there, you know?”
Hutch shook his head, filled with remorse that they hadn’t had a chance to save the young mother, and sympathy for the child he cradled in his arms, imaging the void he’d face as he grew up. He turned his attention to the ranger, watching as he mixed half the formula with water and set it on the stove to warm.
“It’ll go longer this way,” McGruder answered Hutch’s unasked question. The ranger turned and leaned against the short cupboard. “I’ve got some hot dogs we can chop up for him, too. I’m thinking that while you’re feeding Richie and your partner’s sleeping, I’ll go back down and get…get Janie. Take a look at the bridge, too, before it gets much darker, though I could shine my beams on it if I have to. You’d think it was midnight, as dark as the storm’s makin’ it. If the bridge is half as bad as you say it is, it limits our options.”
“We’ve got to get him to a hospital.”
McGruder nodded slowly, watching Starsky sleep. “Only place for Aero-med to land is about a mile from here. Even so, a ’copter can’t land in this kind of wind. If the Logan’s Road bridge is out, and the south fork bridge is under water…”
“What about a boat? Have the ambulance waiting on the other side?”
The ranger swung his focus back to Hutch and nodded. Retrieving the now warmed bottle, he tested it by taking a swig of it himself and grimaced, then passed it to the blond. “That’s what I was thinking. Wouldn’t dare try taking the boat out at dark. Even now at dusk, you couldn’t see a blasted thing coming after ya from upstream in this mess. Best shot’s in the morning. If I put her in up a bit, we can go with the river and cross kinda at an angle. There’s no way we’d make a straight cut when it’s running this high. I don’t like the odds, but I don’t think we’ve got much choice.”
The silence that followed left each man with his own thoughts and fears. The quiet was only broken by Starsky’s occasional cough, the pelting rain, and the raging thunder tearing through the mountains.
˜ ™
The sound of Starsky’s coughing and congested breathing startled Hutch out of his own fitful doze. He’d only been asleep a few hours at best, having stood watch while McGruder had gone back to retrieve Janie Thompson’s body. His being woken was actually a welcomed reprieve from the dreams of torrential rivers and sinking cars.
Hutch could feel the heat radiating off his partner even before he lifted the blanket from the fever-glistened body. The gauze was stained with a small patch of fresh blood, probably caused from the recent bout of coughing.
Quickly pulling his chair closer to the cot, Hutch placed the back of his hand against his partner’s forehead, not surprised to feel the heat there.
“How’s he doing?” McGruder whispered. He had been sleeping in the rocking chair near the fireplace, and now the ranger held the toddler over his shoulder as he approached Hutch. Fortunately, Richie still slept.
“He’s hot. Do you have anything else we can give him for the fever? Aspirin?”
McGruder shook his head and began swaying gently when Richie stirred under their hushed conversation. “Aspirin’s good for fevers, but it thins the blood. I don’t think we can afford to risk it. Doc said to keep giving him the meds I had—the cold and flu stuff. Said that would keep the congestion broken up some.”
The ranger glanced down at his watch, tilting it toward the firelight to read the dial. “We ought to let him sleep a bit more, then wake him up and try to get him to cough again.”
Hutch grimaced. At the Orange County on-call doctor’s prompting, just before midnight they had gotten Starsky to sit up on the edge of the bed. Hutch had held onto Starsky’s waist, inches below the wound, and encouraged him to cough, breaking up the congestion in his lungs before it settled there. It hadn’t taken much effort to begin coughing, but once he started, the pain of his diaphragm expanding against the sliced muscles ended with Starsky slumped against his partner, the bleeding of his wound starting up again and leaving the flesh around the cut hot and inflamed. As much as he knew how critical it was to keep Starsky’s lungs clear of fluid, Hutch was hesitant to put him through it again so soon.
Hutch ran his large hands over his face. “This stinks.”
McGruder nodded solemnly. “Yeah.” The ranger shifted the small child from his arms and laid him in Hutch’s. Surprised, Hutch quickly gathered the child to him and gave McGruder a questioning look.
“Go sit in the rocker for a while. I’ll watch after your partner.” McGruder nodded his head toward the inviting space near the fire. “Go sit. You’d be surprised how rocking a child is good for what ails you.”
Hutch gave the ranger a curious look and crossed the room as directed. Settling into the large oak rocker, he shifted Richie into a more comfortable position high on his shoulder and watched the firelight play across the toddler’s blond hair. Without realizing it, Hutch began rocking, the warmth of the small blaze lulling him. Even with the sound of rain pelting against the small windows, Hutch felt the muscles he hadn’t even realized were bound relax marginally.
He was asleep in minutes.
˜ ™
If it doesn’t stop soon… Hutch shrugged off the web of apprehension that gripped him. It had been a long night and a longer morning, though you wouldn’t have known the sun had risen by the darkened sky. Waking Starsky twice more to get him to cough was disheartening—each time his partner seemed weaker and more disoriented than the time before. By 6:00 a.m., it was all they could do to rouse him long enough to relieve himself in the bathroom and drink some of McGruder’s canned juice. Starsky’s breathing was becoming more and more labored, and the wound continued to weep lightly, staining the bandages.
A new volley of thunder and lightning shook the small cabin. McGruder swore as static broke up the reception on his two-way radio. “I said I can’t wait much longer to transport Sergeant Starsky from the station. I need an ambulance to meet me at the south fork landing as soon as it can haul its tail up here. Over.”
More static rumbled across the small speaker as the transmission continued. “Copy…’at, Bob…problem’s…’ty General...car pile-up on…freeway…’bulance tied up with…best can do…afternoon, over?”
McGruder could easily see the play of muscles over Hutch’s jaw as he clenched his teeth in aggravation. Hutch looked down at the still sleeping form of his partner and shook his head. With a frustrated exhalation he threw his hands in the air. “Do we have any options?”
McGruder gestured helplessly. When the blond lowered himself into the chair next to his partner, the ranger continued trying to set up a rendezvous with the hospital.
“Aw, Starsk. What the hell have I gotten us into this time?” When he glanced back down, Hutch was surprised to see fever-glazed blue eyes staring back at him.
“Blond idiot…”
Hutch raised his eyebrows at the whispered words.
“’S not your fault.” Starsky struggled to clear his throat and continue. “Skylab could’a fallen out of the sky and bonked me on the head, and you’d have found a way to blame yourself.”
Hutch grinned marginally. “Well, maybe not Skylab. Odds are too great. Now, a meteor—I’m sure that’d be my fault.”
Starsky tried to chuckle, but the effort set him to coughing, his face mirroring the pain it caused.
“Easy, buddy.” Hutch gently pulled Starsky into a seated position, then slipped to one knee next to his partner, positioning Starsky’s arms over his shoulders, supporting him. Gentle arms wrapped carefully around his torso, Starsky felt immediate relief in his side as he continued to cough.
“That’s it,” Hutch murmured. “Take little breaths.”
Starsky’s voice rumbled against his partner’s shoulder. “’Suck it in and take little steps’…”
While he couldn’t hear the quiet exchange, the bark of laughter from Hutch caused McGruder to turn and watch the two detectives curiously. He finished making arrangements with the hospital, then walked over to check on Richie. That completed, he simply sat on the edge of the couch, discretely studying the men from across the room.
There was such open and honest trust between the two detectives, it left no room for anything else. Their friendship seemed as natural as breathing—and as critical. Amidst the nightmare that had begun with the unexpected spring storm and its heart-rending aftermath, watching the exchange, the ranger was somehow heartened.
˜ ™
Chapter Three