Outside
the storm raged on. From time to time,
they heard one mysterious item or another bang into the building, clattering as
it was swept away and replaced by another.
Javier and the other men made regular checks of the windows, covering
them with blankets taped to the walls to shield the occupants should one of the
windows shatter or be blown from its frame.
Despite the rumbling and roar, the walls held; and though at times it
sounded like the wind would tear the ancient roof from the train depot, it hung
on with the tenacity of an old soldier not ready to surrender the battle.
Looking
at his watch, Hutch was surprised to see it was only 11:30 p.m. It seemed to him that he and Starsky had
been riding out this merciless hell for days, rather than hours.
Ina touched Hutch’s shoulder lightly, bringing him back to the moment. “Let me see if his bandage needs changing again,” she said softly. “Have you been checking the tourniquet?”
“Yeah...” Hutch rubbed his tired eyes. “Every time I loosen it, the bleeding increases again.” He turned a worried face to Ina. “I’ve got to get him some help. I’m afraid he’s going to lie here and bleed to death. He needs a doctor—and he needs one now.” The anguish in his voice was no more piercing than that she saw in his eyes.
“I know you are frightened for him, my friend, but there is nothing more we can do right now. You cannot go into the stormento´ and expect to live through it. Even if you made it to the next town, you would find no one to help you anymore than we have been able to do. It is best you stay here with him. Your presence seems to comfort him. I see how he calms when you speak. He knows your voice, Señor Hutch, and he finds peace in it.”
Hutch blinked quickly, forestalling the tears that sprung to his eyes.
“Besides,” she said quietly, “should Our Father decide it is time for him to come Home, you should be here to say your good-byes.”
Despite the woman’s best intentions, Hutch felt the anger rise in him like mercury in the hot sun. “He’s NOT going to die! We’ve been through too much, survived too many life and death situations for something like this to take him out. You don’t know my partner, lady. He’s got more will power in his little finger than ten men.”
Unoffended by Hutch’s outburst, Ina smiled and patted his shoulder. “I’m sure you are right. Still, you must content yourself for now, with being here. Perhaps by daybreak the eye of the storm will have passed and we can take him to a hospital in Carlos’s truck. Okay?”
Embarrassed at having flared-up at the goodhearted woman, Hutch apologized, shamefacedly, “Look…I’m sorry. I guess I’m tired, and so damn frustrated that we’re stuck here, unable to do anything to help him. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. You and your friends have been great.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she agreed. “Now, you go have something to eat while I change this dressing, si? Elena prepared black beans and rice on the hot plate. It is very good and will give you strength. Run along, now.”
Hutch reached down and touched Starsky’s forehead again, grateful to discover his skin was cooler. “Right...I’ll, uh, I’ll do that. Thanks, Ina.” Hutch stood, stretching his long legs, then turned and gently squeezed her arm. “Thanks,” he repeated, before shuffling toward the little corner table the evacuees had set up as their makeshift kitchen.
As Hutch approached, Elena turned shy brown eyes up at him; then, without being asked, she ladled the steaming, hot, black beans over a small aluminum pan filled with rice. Hutch smiled at her as he took the plate. "Thanks. That smells great."
Not having understood any word except thanks, Elena dropped her eyes demurely, busying her hands with pouring Hutch a cup of coffee to chase down the pungent bean mixture. Finding herself attracted to the tall, older, good-looking man, she weighed her curiosity against her courage, and found she came up sadly lacking in the latter. Before Hutch could try again to draw her into conversation, she scurried back to the cot where one of the children lay sleeping and made a job of tucking the cover around him snugly.
Hutch looked around the room at the tired faces—some dozing, others with their eyes glued to the partially boarded, cloaked windows. As the lights began to flicker again, and eventually die, a timorous murmur rose in the room, a subtle expression of fear and uncertainty. But before Carlos and Javier could light the candles, the electricity flared back to life and the room quieted again.
“Señor´ Hutch—” Ina’s voice rang out across the room. Hutch’s head jerked around and he saw Starsky stirring on the cot, Ina holding him back against the pillow, gently restraining his arms. Hutch crossed the room in a half dozen long strides.
“Hold on, buddy. Everything’s fine.” Hutch leaned over Starsky, quickly reaching down to take his hand.
“Where are we?” His mind a jumble, Starsky’s eyes flitted about the room, taking in his surroundings, struggling to get his bearings. “Hutch?”
“It’s okay.” Hutch squeezed his hand again and sat down on the stool just vacated by Ina. “We’re in the shelter. You remember the shelter? The tree fell and we were trying to get to the shelter?”
Slowly Starsky lifted his head from the pillow and tried to look down at his feet. “I...I think I remember the tree.... But my leg—it hurts like hell. What happened to my leg?”
“It looks like you were either gouged by a jagged limb of the tree, or cut by some of the glass from the windshield.”
Ina’s round face appeared above Hutch’s shoulder. “I think it was a branch,” she interjected. “The wound was very ragged and very dirty. But I have cleaned it now, and you will be fine until the doctor can take a look.” She smiled at the dark-haired man kindly. “It is good to see you awake, Señor Starsky.”
Starsky’s head sank back into the pillow as he digested her words. “And it sounds like I’m lucky to be awake,” he answered. “I appreciate all you’ve done. Thanks for takin’ us in.” Hutch noticed the short speech seemed to drain the energy from Starsky’s weak body.
“You just rest and put your faith in God, and you will feel better soon,” she reassured him, then rejoined Elena in cleaning up from dinner.
“As soon as this storm lets up, I’ll get you to a doctor,” Hutch said.
A ghost of a smile flickered to Starsky’s lips. “Doesn’t sound like that’s gonna be anytime soon. Then, lowering his voice he asked, “What about Copeland? Any sign of him?”
Hutch glanced over his shoulder, making certain no one was listening. “Nothing. I haven’t said anything to these people. Figured they had enough to worry about. At first, I thought he might show up, but he probably suspects we’re here and decided to look for somewhere else to hold up.”
“He has a gun,” Starsky reminded him. “I’d think that’d make him pretty bold.”
“Yeah...” Hutch pondered. “I don’t know, Starsk. Right now, I’m more concerned about this place blowing away and about getting you to a hospital to have that leg looked after.”
“Hey...”
Starsky reached out and laid his hand on Hutch’s forearm. “I’m gonna be fine. Like you said, I’ve been through a helluva
lot worse. You think a little cut on my
leg’s gonna keep me down?” Starsky
asked with a crooked grin, “We both
know I’m not only the good lookin’ one, I’m also the tough one.”
Not fooled by Starsky’s false bravado, Hutch smiled back and shook his head. “You’re definitely not the modest one.” His expression more somber, he added, “You just rest and let me worry about Copeland and the hurricane. We’ll get out of here soon. I promise.”
But Starsky’s eyes had already begun to close, his strength ebbing. Hutch gently pulled the blanket up and tucked it around Starsky’s neck, then went back to refill his coffee cup.
cc dd
Lying on one of the canvas cots only a few feet from Starsky, Hutch drifted in and out of a troubled sleep while the hurricane raged outside. The hours had crawled by slowly, and with the dark clouds swirling around them, there was no visual sign that dawn had arrived. To the trapped refugees huddling in their shelter, praying that the tiny depot would remain steadfast against the torrential rain and wind, time seemed non-existent.
Hutch woke with a start, unsure what had stirred him from his uneasy sleep. He sat up, cocking his head to one side, listening. There it was! Silence.... The howling wind and pounding rain had stopped. The hurricane had passed. Relieved, Hutch sprang from the cot and headed for the door, only to be intercepted by Carlos.
“No, no, Señor´ Hutch. You cannot go outside yet.”
“But it’s stopped, the hurricane’s passed.”
“No,” the older man shook his salt-and-pepper head. “We are only in the eye now. She will cross soon and it will begin again. Many times, the backside is more ferocious than the front. We must stay put.”
Disappointed, but trusting the man knew what he was talking about, Hutch didn’t try to push past Carlos. In fact, he seemed to recall somewhere deep in his memory, having read about the phenomena the Cuban was describing.
“If you wish, you can open the door and look,” Carlos added.
Curious, Hutch decided to do just
that. With Carlos close behind, he
crossed over to the door and unlocked the dead bolt, swinging it open
slowly. Standing there, in the calm of
the hurricane’s eye, he came face to face with Copeland. The man grinned as he pointed the Magnum
straight at Hutch’s forehead. “Well,
what do you know? I never expected a
pig as my welcoming committee.”