Starsky hurriedly dug through the debris, careful not to hurt his partner in the process. Hutch was lying on his back, one leg twisted beneath him at an odd angle. The left side of his face was splattered with blood and dirt. He was so still, Starsky stopped, almost afraid to know the truth.

"Oh, God—Hutch? You okay? Talk to me, partner. It's Starsk—talk to me." No response. Starsky threw caution to the wind and moved the rest of the debris as fast as he could; not a minute to waste.

He dropped to his knees and lowered his head to Hutch's chest, listening for a heartbeat...breathing…any sign of life. The rain kept falling. Starsky kept listening—and praying.

It was faint, but he could hear it. Starsky placed two fingers against the artery in Hutch's throat, and gratefully found the weak pulse he was searching for he tried to organize his thoughts. He knew keeping a cool head would be necessary for their survival. Methodically, he began checking Hutch for injuries.

The leg was definitely broken. Anyone with eyes could see that. Starsky was relieved it wasn't an open fracture. At least there was no open wound to cause infection. It also looked as though the left wrist may be broken. Having no medical training, Starsky was less certain about the head injury. If the amount of blood was any indication, it was bad.

The front of Hutch's shirt was torn partially away and blood was seeping from numerous minor cuts and scrapes. Superficial wounds, he hoped. Oblivious that he had at least as many of these himself, Starsky hadn't noticed that the pouring rain mingling with the blood had washed his shirt to a pale pink.

Hutch moaned when Starsky gently touched his head, trying to locate the source of the blood.

"Hutch, buddy…I don't wanna hurt you, but I got’a see where the blood's comin' from, okay?"

Starsky was encouraged to hear a soft whimper in response. It was the first sound Hutch had made, and Starsk took it as a good sign. But with a head injury, there was always the possibility of concussion. If that was the case, it would be important that Hutch regain consciousness as soon as possible.

With dusk rapidly approaching, Starsky realized he had to find shelter—and soon. The wreckage offered no refuge, but maybe he could salvage something useful there. Carl had been trying to tell them about emergency provisions just before the aircraft made it's final descent, but Starsky couldn't hear the man clearly enough to know what he could expect to find.

"Hutch—Hutch, wake up. Come on—you got’a wake up." Starsky lightly patted Hutch's face, trying to bring him to as gently as possible.

"Got’a wake up, buddy. We got’a find shelter." Hutch's eye lids fluttered, but did not fully open.

Starsky was completely out of his element here. Hutch was the nature boy; he was the city kid. Hutch, what am I gonna do? Wake up man, you got’a tell me what to do.

But Starsky knew, like it or not, it was up to him to get them out of this jam.

He ran a hand through his hair. Frustrated, he looked around to see what he had to work with. Realizing he was getting no where with his attempts to rouse his partner, Starsky gently lifted the Hutch's head and slid a scrap of seat cushion beneath it.

"Wait here, Hutch. Don't move. I'll be right back"

He hurried to the wreckage and began searching for any and all things that could be useful to their survival. By the time Starsky had scoured the area, he had scraped together the camping lantern, which was miraculously still intact; two canteens; the other sleeping bag; and the emergency kit Carl had tried to tell them about.

The case holding the kit had flown open on impact. The contents were strewn around it, but Starsk was able to recover most of the items, including: a flashlight, a small first aid kit, a Swiss army knife and a variety of other little items he didn't take time to inventory. Starsky put the recovered supplies in one of the new fishing baskets and went back to where his partner still lay unconscious.

"Okay, it's a start," he said. "Now, I'm gonna find us some cover. Got’a get you outta this rain." Still no response from Hutch.

Darkness was descending, and with it, rapidly dropping temperatures. Starsky turned 360 degrees, searching through the dusk for anything that could serve as a temporary shelter. About 100 yards to the east, past a stand of pines, he spotted an outcropping of rocks.

Starsky grabbed the two sleeping bags and sprinted to the rock formation. It wasn't much of a cave, but it did offer a small nook that they could squeeze into; maybe they could even have a modest fire to stave off the night chill.

Starsky quickly spread one of the waterproof sleeping bags as close to the back wall of the cave as possible. He then ran back to the crash site and grabbed their meager equipment and provisions, and took them to the shelter. As he was heading back the third time, he heard Hutch call out for him.

He ran to where his partner lay, "I'm right here, Hutch. It's okay…you're okay, buddy." he reassured Hutch. "We're gonna be alright."

Hutch was trying to sit up, his eyes wild with fear and bewilderment. He clearly didn't know where he was or what had happened. Starsky kneeled down next to Hutch and took his face in his hands, trying to keep his friend from panicking further and trying to move.

"Listen to me, now. The plane went down, but we're okay. We're gonna be okay." Starsky spoke slowly, looking into Hutch's eyes to see if he was comprehending. "Do you hear me, Hutch, huh? Do you understand?"

Hutch slowly nodded and repeated, "Plane went down…okay. Hurts, Starsk…why does it hurt?"

"Because you got pretty banged up, partner. But you're alive; and you know who I am, so you're half way there already." Starsky allowed himself a brief moment of relief and smiled encouragingly at his partner. Hutch tried to return the smile, but couldn't quite pull it off.

"Okay, Starsk…hurts…okay."

"Stay with me Hutch. Stay with me," he said, still holding Hutch's face to keep his attention. "Now, I got’a move you. Okay? And it's probably gonna hurt like hell. You up to it? Huh?"

Hutch's lids were beginning to droop. "Stay with me, Hutch. You with me, huh? Huh? I can't do this alone…."

Hutch forced his eyes to open again. "Sure, Starsk…okay…tough…"

Starsky glanced around for something to immobilize the broken leg. He dreaded causing Hutch more pain, but it couldn't be helped. They had to get out of the cold rain. In his weakened condition, Hutch was a prime candidate for pneumonia. If Carl was right, and their may-day wasn't picked up by someone who could initiate a search, it could be days before anyone even knew they were missing.

Starsky fashioned makeshift splints from remnants of the crash and some gauze and tape he found in the first aid kit. Using the knife, he slit the leg of Hutch's jeans and cut it away so he could get to the injured bone more easily. He then secured Hutch's leg to keep the bones from gouging through the skin while being moved to the shelter. Even though Starsky had no medical training, he had had more than one broken bone as a kid, so he knew a little about how a splint worked. Luckily, the wrist wasn't broken after all; just a bad sprain.

Hutch proved to have a high tolerance to pain. He worked hard at staying silent when his partner set the bones and applied the splint. Starsky apologized at least two hundred times; mindful of every wince and grunt Hutch let slip. He knew Hutch was doing his best to hide the pain, and hated like hell that he couldn't do anything to make it easier for his friend. By the time they were done, Hutch was pale as a ghost, and Starsky was shaking from the strain.

"Okay, buddy, we're ready to move," Starsky told him. "I know you're hurtin' pretty bad right now, so we may as well go on and get you settled in the shelter. Then I'm gonna hunt through that first aid kit and find somethin' to help the pain, okay?"

Hutch couldn't speak; he was biting hard on his bottom lip to keep from crying. He just nodded and braced himself for a bumpy ride on the crude sled Starsky had modeled from a fiberglass panel of the downed aircraft. Starsky laid his hand on Hutch's shoulder for a minute and squeezed. No words were spoken, but Hutch knew it was Starsky's way of trying to reassure him that they'd be okay.

Darkness had fallen and Starsky, more than a little nervous about the local wildlife, was anxious to get them to the cave. In less desperate circumstances, Hutch would have enjoyed teasing Starsk. But right now, he couldn't find anything humorous about their situation. Starsky gently lifted his partner and laid him on the sled, discretely pretending not to notice the tears rolling down Hutch's cheeks.

The rain slowed to a fine drizzle as Starsky trudged through the woods, pulling the sled behind him. In the distance, he heard a coyote howl, prompting him to pick up the pace a little. Hutch smiled in the darkness, knowing his partner would never admit it, but the sound of that one lone animal was more frightening to him than three armed robbers.

Bracken was wet and miserable, not to mention hungry. The rain had stopped, but it was dark now and he had better sense than to start his search for the downed aircraft before daylight.

Damned stupid bank guard! What'd he care about the money. Why couldn't he just do as he was told? Well, it doesn't matter now. I'm gonna head for Canada and hide out there till things cool down. Then go south to Mexico. Finally, I'll get the respect I deserve Money. That's the key. Everyone's gonna respect Joe Bracken now…

The ex-con had had plenty of time to think since shooting the guard two days ago. Once he was paroled, he hadn't wasted any time getting on with his life of crime. Joe Bracken had done eighteen months hard time for dealing drugs. He had learned one important lesson while in prison; and that was, he'd never go back. He couldn't stand the confinement—and he wouldn't tolerate taking orders. So, if that meant knocking off some dumb-jerk guard, well…that was okay.

Bracken had been on the road to self-destruction since the age of twelve, when he stole a transistor radio from the five and dime store. It had been too easy! He was tired of always wanting things he couldn't have. All he could think was, 'why hadn't he tried this before?'

He may have come from a poor family, but Bracken didn't intend to do without the finer things in life. Hell no! So, after the petty theft of the radio, he started the rapid slide into a life of crime, which had now culminated in murder. The only honest work he had ever done was his short stint in the Coast Guard. Even there, he had been in trouble, and eventually turned out on a dishonorable discharge. In and out of juvie court and reformatories for delinquent teens, Bracken had learned from the experts. Even so, he hadn't been prepared for prison. By the time he was released on parole, he had joined the ranks of the cold-blooded, egotistical criminal.

The scary thing was, Bracken felt no remorse for killing the middle-aged, middle-class family man. No, the only remorse he felt right now was that he was stranded in this God-forsaken, wet, cold place without a hot meal or a dry change of clothes. Hunger cramped Bracken's empty stomach and reminded him he had not eaten in over 24 hours. Damn, I hope there were supplies on that plane. And I hope there weren't any survivors stupid enough to think I'll share with them.

The man laughed out loud, then wrapped his arms around himself in a hopeless attempt to stay warm. The temperatures were dropping; it would be a long night. Thoughts of how he would spend the satchel full of money would just have to keep him warm until morning.

Starsky fumbled around with the lantern, having absolutely no idea how to light it. Finally, he set it aside and turned on the flashlight again. He was reluctant to run down the battery, but really didn't know what else to do. Hutch huddled against the stone wall, shivering. Starsky could tell he was still in a good deal of pain and was chilled from the cold rain.

"Hold on, pal." Starsky dumped the contents of the first aid kit, searching for painkillers. He found nothing stronger than a bottle of Tylenol, but Hutch gratefully took them. "I'm gonna go back to the plane and find us some dry clothes. Will you be okay here without the flashlight? Huh?"

"Starsk," Hutch rose up on his good wrist, "I can help you with that lantern, if you'll pass it over here."

A smile lit Starsky's face. He knew his partner was doing much better if he was clear-headed enough to recognize that Starsky didn't have a clue how to work the lantern.

"Hey, that's terrific!" Starsky grabbed the lantern and scooted over to Hutch and held the flashlight so he could see. Having only one good hand made it awkward, but with a joint effort, they soon had the lantern glowing warm and bright. This small accomplishment did a lot to raise their spirits.

Once the lantern was blazing, Starsky cleaned the wound on Hutch's head and wrapped some of the gauze around it to staunch the bleeding. Fortunately, it didn't look as serious as he first thought. Probably wouldn't even require any stitches. By now, Hutch was more coherent and had begun to realize the gravity of the situation. Looking up at Starsky, he noticed for the first time that his partner was bleeding pretty badly himself.

"Starsk," he reached up and touched the gash on Starsky's brow, "you're hurt. Don't you know you you're bleeding?"

Starsky touched his forehead and realized that he was bleeding. It was pretty sore, and was probably the cause of the headache still nagging him. "Must not be too serious, Blondie, or I would'na been able to drag your sorry carcass over here." Starsky gave him a lop-sided grin, trying to make light of the injury.

"Better let me bandage it up for you," Hutch said, forgetting his sprained wrist.

"Yeah, well, done used up all the gauze." That wasn't entirely true, but he wanted to save it in case Hutch's splint came loose. "I'm sure you could do a terrific job with just one hand. It's not bleedin' that much anyway."

"In my back pocket, Starsk," Hutch painfully rolled to one side so Starsky could get to the pocket. He pulled out a red bandana, one he'd seen Hutch wear every so often.

"At least tie my bandana around your head, Gordo. Can't have you bleeding to death. Who's gonna pull me out of here on that contraption if you aren't around?"

Starsky did as his partner ordered, chuckling to himself, glad to see Hutch's sense of humor intact. "Thanks a million. What would I do without ya?" Starsky said with mock gratitude.

That taken care of, Starsky unrolled the other sleeping blanket and proceeded wrap it around Hutch like a big quilt. "Don't wanna get the inside of your sleepin' bag wet. So just stay wrapped up in this until I can bring you some dry clothes, okay?"

Shivering with cold, and exhausted from the painful trek to their campsite, Hutch was in no condition to argue. He just nodded his agreement and watched as Starsky made ready to leave.

"I'll be back as quick as I can, Blondie. You just stay here and keep the home fires burnin'." Starsky stood up to leave, taking the flashlight to find his way.

He realized that a fire sounded pretty good about now, but with the woods saturated by the heavy rains, there would be little likelihood of finding any thing dry enough to burn.

"Starsk," Hutch called out. Starsky turned around. "Be careful. And, uh…my cap, Starsk—you know, my fishing cap—will you bring it when you come?"

"Sure thing, Hutch—sure thing." With a smile, Starsky disappeared into the darkness.

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