Hutch’s eyes opened slowly to the drumming, cold rain upon his face. It took a moment to regain his bearings and realize what had happened. The tree that had crashed through the roof of the jeep now lay wedged in the seat between him and Starsky. He could barely make out Starsky's form slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious, his face hidden behind a screen of spiny pine needles and splintered wood. A quick glance at the back seat confirmed what he suspected—Copeland was gone. At the moment, that seemed of little importance. Nothing mattered right now but getting to Starsky.
“Starsky! Starsk!” Hutch eased his long legs up onto the car seat, maneuvering into position to break and tear away the curtain of pine boughs, trying to clear a visual path to Starsky. By the time he could see and touch his partner, Hutch’s hands were scored and bleeding from the rough bark and spiky pine needles. Gently, he lifted Starsky’s head and turned his ashen face toward him. In the dark, it was difficult to make out the injured man's features, but Hutch could see his eyes were closed and his breathing shallow. “Hey—talk to me, buddy.” He lightly tapped Starsky's cheek to try and rouse him. “Starsk? Come on, open your eyes.”
The chill rain sluicing over his face and the sound of Hutch’s frantic voice finally registered and Starsky's eyes fluttered open a narrow crack. “Hutch?”
Some of the fear drained from Hutch's rigid features. “Right here. How're you doing, partner?”
“What happened?”
“A tree blew over on the jeep. Are you hurt?”
Starsky moved his head from side to side with no apparent
discomfort, then slowly tested his arms and legs, manipulating them one at a
time until a piercing pain shot up his right thigh. Drawing in a sharp breath, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and
bit back a yelp. “My right leg. Can ya,
can ya see it?”
“Hang on.” Cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner, Hutch snatched open the glove box and retrieved the flashlight he’d used earlier on the map. Twisting away the remaining pine needles and twigs, leaving only the trunk of the tree between them, he was able to get a closer look at Starsky’s leg. What he saw made his heart hammer in his chest. Across the right thigh was a deep gash, at least three inches in length. Blood flowed freely from the wound, the cleansing rain washing it away as quickly as it appeared. Hutch couldn’t judge how fast it was coming, but the size of the laceration alone was enough to concern him.
“I’m afraid you’ve got a pretty nasty looking cut here," he said, careful to keep the alarm from his voice. "I’m just gonna put a tourniquet around it, so hold on and try to stay awake, okay?”
“Yeah...sure...do whatever you need to do.” Starsky added good-naturedly, “It ain’t like I’m goin’ anywhere without ya.”
To Hutch, Starsky’s voice seemed weaker than just moments earlier—an indicator that he was losing blood fast. Stripping off his belt, Hutch reached around the tree trunk, then gently lifted the injured leg and wound the leather around Starsky’s thigh just above the gash. Although the dark-haired man winced when Hutch tightened it, he didn’t complain. Once that was accomplished, Starsky relaxed, leaned his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes against the steadily falling rain that continued to trickle in through the gaping hole in the roof.
“We’ve got to get out of here and find some shelter, Starsk. This storm seems to be getting worse, and the jeep isn’t going to offer us any protection.” As if to emphasize Hutch’s point, the car creaked under the weight of tree.
The breath caught in Starsky’s throat momentarily before he asked, “What about Copeland? Is he hurt?”
“He’s gone. I don’t know how he got away, but when I woke, he was already out of here. What’s worse, I don’t know how long I was out, so we have no way of knowing how far he’s gotten.”
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s the least of our problems right now, huh?” Starsky gave him a weak, lop-sided smile.
As an afterthought, Hutch’s hand quickly flew to his shoulder holster. Finding the Magnum missing, he searched the seat and floorboard with the flashlight, but came up empty-handed. “Damn! He took my gun!”
“Terrific,” Starsky mumbled, without opening his eyes. Reaching inside his own leather jacket, he fumbled with his holster until he felt the familiar bulk of the Smith and Wesson. “Well, at least he didn’t get mine.”
“Probably couldn’t get to it,” Hutch observed. “At least we have one.”
“Let
me see if I got this right," Starsky summarized. "We got no car, we’re stuck in the middle of what may be the
hurricane of the century, and I may be bleedin’ to death. Now we find out our prisoner’s escaped, and
he’s armed?”
Hutch smiled, amused by Starsky knack for getting to the point so succinctly. “Nothing gets past you, does it, partner?" he answered drolly. "Do you think if you lean on me, you can walk at all?”
“Are you kiddin’? You think a little leg wound can keep me down?” Starsky replied, less than convincingly. In reality, he wasn’t sure if he could even stand, but knew full-well there was no way they could stay where they were.
“Okay, then. We’ll follow the road, stay in the open as much as we can. Maybe Jackson will close up shop and head this way. If we get lucky, he’ll see us and stop.”
Starsky looked at him from under hooded lids. “Such optimism doesn’t become you, Blintz.”
“The way I look at it, partner, optimism’s about all we’ve got right now.”
“Guess you’re right. I just hope we don’t cross paths with Copeland.”
“Don’t worry about that. There’s still two of us and one of him. Besides, we’re the good guys...and the good guys always win, right?” Hutch squeezed Starsky's shoulder, a familiar gesture of reassurance.
As Hutch hopped out on his side of the Jeep and came around to help Starsky out, the wind rose even higher, shrieking and wailing like a vengeful spirit. “Are you pinned down by the tree, or do you think can you slide out?” he asked, prying open the driver’s side door.
“I don’t think I’m caught under anything. If you’ll give me a hand, I’ll try to slide out without causing my leg to bleed any worse.”
Hutch slipped his right arm behind Starsky’s back and his left under Starsky’s left leg and began easing him across the vinyl seat of the Cherokee. They seemed to be making good progress, despite the wind and rain pounding them, until Starsky let out a howl, and threw his head back hard against the seat. “Wait! Wait!”
Hutch stopped, stricken by the pain that flashed across Starsky’s face. Even in the near dark cover of night, he could see the agony etched in his partner’s features. “Sorry. Just take it easy, okay? Just rest a minute,” he soothed.
“Hutch,” Starsky whispered, his hand closing around the front of Hutch’s jacket. “Maybe this ain’t such a good idea. Maybe I should stay here and let you go for help.”
“Starsk, I can’t leave you here. This storm's too violent. What if the tree shifts, or something else falls on the car? You could be crushed. Our only hope is to find shelter. Besides, you’ve been through worse than this, so I know you can do it. I’ll help you.”
Starsky squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. Let me try it again.”
Once again, Hutch supported Starsky's weight and slowly slid him across the seat toward him. This time Starsky managed to maneuver his leg free and was gently lowered to the pavement as he exited the car. Hutch sank to the blacktop, next to him, relieved they had gotten through the first arduous step of escape.
“How’re you doing?”
Breathing heavily, Starsky answered, barely above a whisper, “Terrific.”
“Just
sit here a moment and get your breath.”
Hutch reached over and zipped Starsky’s jacket up to his chin. “Let’s try to keep you dry as possible. You don’t need to get chilled.” Knowing that Starsky was still losing blood,
the threats of shock and hypothermia loomed in Hutch's mind; even in this
tropical climate, the hurricane’s rain was cold.
As the color began to return to Starsky’s pale face, Hutch decided they needed to push on. “Come on, Starsk. I’m gonna help you up now. I’ll support you on this side so you don’t have to put any weight on that leg. Ready?”
Starsky took a deep breath, steeling himself, struggled to his feet, and with a grunt, leaned his weight against the blond as he levied to stand upright. After weaving unsteadily for a few seconds, he seemed to regain his equilibrium.
“Ready?”
“Yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be,” Starsky answered with more enthusiasm than he really felt. “Let’s get the show on the road.”