For the second time in two days, Starsky woke dazed and confused. He heard water rushing all around him and the fingers on his right hand were cold as ice from dangling over the rocks into the frigid water. Blinking several times to try and clear his vision, Starsky stared at the azure blue sky above, waiting for the world to come into focus.

Where am I?

He tried to sit up, but the pain in his head was excruciating. Slowly, his memory began to clear. He could feel rocks beneath him. Now I remember…the rocks above the waterfall. His head was pounding. Not again. How many times can this hard head of mine get bonked before it finally cracks open?

He tried it again, this time more slowly. He felt dizzy, but moving at a snail's pace, he finally sat upright. By now, the back of his clothing was wet and soggy from lying on the damp rocks, with the frothy water churning around him. He reached up and touched the back of his head and found it was bleeding, but not as badly as he expected. He realized that the knot where Hutch's bandana was tied at the back of his head must have cushioned the blow.

Starsky sat there for several minutes, allowing the dizziness and nausea to subside. The last time he felt like this, he had gotten a concussion in football practice. Terrific. Now both sides of my head are bashed in. At this rate, 'bout the only way I'm goin' home is in a body bag.

He blinked several times and finally focused well enough to see his watch.

Starsky couldn't believe it; he'd been unconscious for over two hours. He knew that Hutch must be pretty worried by now. According to their plan, he shouldn't have been gone more than two hours, total.

Starsky cupped his hands together and splashed cold water on his face to help clear his head, then he drank until his thirst from being deprived of water for the past forty-eight hours was quenched. Unsteadily, he squatted down and filled both canteens and started carefully trekking his way back across the slippery rocks. Watching the water crash over the top of the falls reminded him that he could have easily been swept away and ended up at the bottom, either dead, or too badly mangled to climb out of the water.

Upon reaching dry ground, Starsky's weak legs gave way and he sank down on the grass and tried to regain his composure. He wondered to himself if this hell would never end. Why on earth had he ever suggested this stupid vacation? He and Hutch were safer being shot at by the bad guys than they had been on this fishing trip.

Looking up at the sky, Starsky noticed the sun had moved to the west while he was unconscious, and figured he'd better start back to camp as fast as he could. He was worried about Hutch being left alone for so long. Starsk dragged himself up and headed back through the woods in the direction from which he had come.

It seemed to Hutch that Bracken had been gone a long time. It was a mystery why the man was so interested in the crash site, and even more mysterious why he was posing as a hiker, when he obviously wasn't one. The street shoes, the absence of basic camping supplies, and the evasive answers to Hutch's questions all added up to one conclusion: he had something to hide. If he was running from someone, it was most likely the authorities. Hutch had a bad feeling about this whole turn of events. He was seriously considering retrieving the gun, but before he could act, he saw the stranger approaching from the woods again.

"Find anything useful?" Hutch asked, trying to sound casual and not let on he was suspicious of Bracken.

"Nah. You're right, the radio is a total loss and just about everything else was burned."

Hutch noticed that Bracken again scanned the area, as if he was looking for something—or someone. "Tell me again how you managed to get so far from the airplane with a broken leg, 'Detective' Hutchinson" he said, watching closely for Hutch's reaction.

If he hoped to see shock or fear in Hutch's face, he was disappointed. There was something in the tone of his voice when he said 'detective' that made Hutch's blood run cold. He sensed that this man would kill him in the blink of an eye; Starsky too, for that matter.

Don't tell him about Starsky. This psycho may ambush and kill him before you can even warn Starsk he's here, Hutch's inner voice was telling him. He didn't know what Bracken was involved in, but he was certain it couldn't be anything good.

"I made this splint out of scraps I found at the crash site. Once my leg was secure, I dragged myself over here to the shelter of these rocks."

"Uh-huh. You dragged yourself several hundred yards over trees, stumps, briars, and all the other garbage? Built that fire too, I guess—all with a sprained wrist." Bracken stood there absently stroking the three-day stubble on his unshaven chin. Hutch didn't answer. The man already knew he was lying; what was the point? Hutch was disgusted with himself for getting caught with his guard down.

"You must think I'm a real dumb-ass," Bracken drawled, a sarcastic smile curling his lips slightly. "Now, why the hell are you really out here—detective?" He pronounced the word with such vehement distaste, it sounded profane. "You may as well tell me. Were you looking for me?"

Hutch's instincts had been right on the money. This creep was a criminal on the run. "I don't know what you're talking about. I am a detective, with the LAPD, but I don't have the slightest idea who you are and there wasn't anyone else with me except the pilot." Hutch looked him square on, eyes never wavering. "I was on vacation, just like I said. Fishing." He thought for a split second that Bracken believed him.

"Bullshit!" the man bellowed. His calm façade had disappeared without warning. "I want the truth, and I want it now!" Where's the other one? Did he go for help, or is he lurking around here somewhere?"

"Like I said, I'm alone—I don't know who you are—and I don't know why you're here." Hutch's voice got louder and less controlled, "I just want to get the hell out of this God-forsaken wilderness, see a doctor, and have a decent hot meal."

The stranger reached over his shoulder and pulled off the backpack. He set it on the ground and nonchalantly opened it up as he talked. "Well, if you don't want to cooperate, you narrow my options, don't you, Detective Hutchinson?" Reaching into the backpack, he pulled out a Smith & Wesson, much like Starsky's gun that was destroyed in the crash.

Hutch fought hard to keep a passive expression on his face, in spite of the apprehension that coursed through him when the gun was leveled at his head. "Look, what do you want from me? I'm stranded here; it's not like I can chase after you through the forest. Hell, I don't even know how I'm going to get out of this place, much less be a threat to you. Just clear out now."

"Brave words, Detective Hutchinson. Now where's the other one? I know there's at least one other cop here." Bracken tossed the wadded-up flight requisition at Hutch.
"I even know his name is Starsky. There's only one dead body back there, so where is Starsky?"

Bracken pulled the hammer back on the gun. "Are you going to answer my questions? If you're smart—you will. You were tracking me, weren't you?"

"No, Bracken—or whatever your real name is—we weren't here looking for you. I don't even know what you've done! Why don't you just put the gun down and walk out of here? Whatever you've done, you don't know what trouble is until you kill a cop."

"Maybe you're right. There are other ways to get answers. I don't have to kill you."

Without warning, Bracken drew back his foot and viciously kicked Hutch's broken leg. There was no time to react. By the time Hutch knew what was happening, he was consumed by pain so intense, he nearly passed out.

"Ready to talk now, Hutchinson?" A sadistic grin contorted Bracken's face. He hoped the cop didn't talk too soon; he was enjoying this. Before Hutch even had time to take a deep breath, Bracken cruelly stomped down on the injured limb. This time, Hutch was unable to prevent the scream that tore from his throat as he felt the already mangled bone pierce his flesh.

"So, where is he, pig? Wanna talk now?"

Hutch doubled over in pain, unable to speak; unable even to scream out again as the agony ripped through his body.

Bracken laughed cruelly, reveling in the power he felt over his victim. "This is much better than blowing you away. I'm sure I can keep it up longer than you can." He drew back his foot again to continue the assault, when suddenly he heard a noise behind him, coming with such speed and voracity, he didn't even have time to turn around. Bracken hit the ground so hard he was knocked breathless.

Starsky didn't stop to ask questions, but struggled to wrest the gun from the other man. As the they rolled on the ground with the gun between them, Bracken saw the face of his attacker. The rage and hatred he saw in Starsky's midnight blue eyes were frightening to behold.

"You son-of-a-bitch, I'm gonna kill you," Starsky ground out through clenched teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hutch doubled onto his side in agony, one spasm of pain after another bombarding him. At that moment, Starsky knew that he wanted to kill this man more than anything he had ever wanted in his life.

He rolled over, pinning Bracken between his knees, pushing the hand that held the gun above their heads. Bracken used his free hand to pound Starsky's head, hammering his fist into the gash on Starsky's forehead, opening the wound again. Starsky could feel the blood beginning to trickle from beneath the bandana. His head was throbbing, and the force of the impact caused his vision to blur and, for a split second loosen his grip on Bracken.

They rolled across the ground again, each trying to gain the advantage, each trying to take control of the gun. Starsky struggled to hold the gun arm above Bracken's head while using his left hand to strike a blow he hoped would knock the man unconscious. But Starsky was already injured, and weak from the loss of blood. Bracken anticipated the move and jerked the gun hand free. He gave a tremendous push and broke away from Starsky, leveled the gun at the detective, and fired.

Starsky, being smaller and more agile, rolled to the left, almost avoiding the bullet; but he wasn't quite fast enough. A searing pain exploded through his right shoulder, stopping him cold. Bracken scrambled to his feet and stood above Starsky, weaving back and forth from exhaustion. He looked down at the wounded cop, a hideous grin twisting his face. He raised the gun and pointed it directly between Starsky's eyes.

"I'd keep you alive for a little while and have some fun; but your friend Hutchinson, over there, is plenty of entertainment. The two of you together might be harder to handle. So I guess this…." The discharge of the 357 Magnum was the last sound Bracken heard before the slug blew away a large portion of his skull.

Starsky was shocked as the blood and skull fragments sprayed across him. He barely had time to turn his head aside. The lifeless body collapsed in a mass at his feet. Starsky raised his head and looked straight across to see Hutch sitting on the ground, the Magnum clenched tightly in both hands. His eyes were frightening—dilated—empty. He sat there, just holding the gun straight out in front of him. No movement to lower it. No words—not a sound.

Starsky crawled past the corpse to his partner. When close enough, he reached out, carefully placed his hand over Hutch's, and eased the gun down. When Hutch's grip still didn't loosen, Starsky spoke softly, almost a whisper, "Hutch, you okay? Hmmm? Can you look at me, buddy?"

Hutch didn't respond, so Starsky used his other hand to gently turn his partner's face toward him. He was met by the same blank, expressionless eyes.

"Hutch, it's me—Starsk. It's alright, buddy. He's dead; he can't hurt you anymore." Starsky's voice was thick with emotion.

At first, Hutch didn't seem to comprehend, but slowly, Starsky thought he saw a flicker in the dark blue eyes, a tiny sign of recognition. Hutch lifted his hand tentatively and touched Starsky's shoulder, where the bullet wound was bleeding.

"Starsky? You're hurt," Hutch whispered.

Starsky smiled. "It's okay, partner. I'll live."

Hutch released his grip on the Magnum and his whole body seemed to deflate. "I was afraid you were dead," he said, barely above a whisper. His eyes swam with tears, as fatigue, pain, and the stress from all they had endured the past two days, engulfed him.

Seeing Hutch was close to breaking down, Starsky laid a hand on his shoulder, and sat silently, trying to reassure his friend. He was just grateful to have made it back before Bracken had killed Hutch.

After a few minutes, Hutch seemed to regain his composure somewhat. "Look at us," he said, laughing, "We're one hellava sight. Glad Dobey's not here to see us now. Between my busted leg and your shoulder, we can't even help each other."

"Now, there's where you're wrong, Blintz. When have we ever been in such bad shape we couldn't help each other? Huh?" Starsky was laughing too, tears streaming down his cheeks, as the hilarity overcame him. "At least we're alive—and I got us some water!"

Once the dam holding back their pent-up anxiety gave way, they were overcome by giddy laughter, which neither seemed able to control. In reality, they were teetering on the verge of hysteria, but were too exhausted and too weak to realize it.

Hutch was resting now. It had been a horrible ordeal, and Starsky had done the best he could; but he was worried. Hutch had been in a great deal of pain while Starsky cleaned the wound where the bone had gouged through the skin. Starsky bandaged the area carefully with the last of the gauze, then re-positioned the splint, trying not to damage the leg any further. Then he secured it with strips of bandages cut from a clean

T-shirt he found in Hutch's duffel bag.

In spite of being in pain himself, Hutch had fussed until Starsky let him take a look at his shoulder. Luckily, it turned out to be only a graze. Hutch helped him wash the wound, and apply a T-shirt bandage, which Starsky held in place until the bleeding stopped. Only then, did Hutch relent and take the last two remaining Tylenol.

Starsky looked over at his sleeping partner, relieved that Hutch was finally able to rest. He quietly eased away from the campsite and dragged Bracken's body deep into the woods to discourage scavengers from prowling near them after dark. He returned before Hutch woke, and tiredly sank down on his sleeping bag to rest for a little while.

The evening sun dipped low in the sky, casting odd shadows in all directions. Starsky forced himself to his feet, his body just one big ache. He felt like he'd been run over by a truck, but knew he needed to start a fire before dark. He wanted to make certain the mountain lion did not return again. He went about the task of gathering enough wood to last them through the night, and had a friendly fire blazing before the sun set.

Hutch woke slowly, immediately aware of the throb in his leg. He raised himself up on his good arm and saw Starsky sitting a few feet away, his face outlined by the campfire.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?" Hutch said.

"Yeah, sure. How about you? You hungry?"

"Yeah. Even that beef jerky sounds pretty good now. What I really want though, is a drink of water."

Starsky took the canteen and some of the beef jerky to Hutch and plopped down beside him. "Hutch, this vacation really stinks. Next time, we'll go to Vegas, okay?"

Hutch smiled to himself. "Sure, Gordo. Fine with me."

They sat in quiet camaraderie, eating their meager meal.

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