Running awkwardly in the snow, Brit hurried ahead. Reaching the porch, she dropped the bags and frantically pounded on the cabin door. Hearing no one inside, she anxiously turned toward Hutch. “There’s no one home and it’s locked.”
Hutch approached the porch steps, his body awkwardly straining against the accumulated snow and the weight of his partner, his mind fighting the hopelessness that threatened to engulf him. Unwilling to let despair take over, he said for Brit, as much as for himself, “At least we’ll be dry and out of the cold.”
Exhausted, Hutch almost dropped Starsky as he bent down to lean him against the porch railing. As he slowly straightened up, his muscles swearing at him, Hutch gasped as pain shot through his back. Arching his back to stretch the muscles, Hutch surveyed the front of the cabin. There were three windows—one on his left and two to the right. The space between the two on the right was filled with stones forming a fireplace. Eyeing the window on the left for size, he turned to search the porch and the nearby area. Seeing a woodpile stacked for cool nights, Hutch hurried to pull a log off the top.
“Brit, cover Starsky and keep your face hidden. I’m going to break the window and climb in.” Taking aim, he turned his head away as he smashed the log into the window and then, running it around the edges of the frame, he broke away any remaining shards and pieces before carefully climbing through.
Moments later, he was unlocking the front door.
“Couldn’t find a light switch, but it’s warm and dry.” Hutch directed Brit inside the door and bent down to once again pick up Starsky.
“I can walk, Hutch,” Starsky protested weakly, trying to rise.
Too tired to argue and happy to hear Starsky’s voice, Hutch helped Starsky to his feet. Placing an arm around Starsky’s waist for support, they walked the last few steps together.
Adrenaline racing through his body made it easier for Hutch to ignore his own exhaustion and pain and concentrate on taking care of Starsky and the situation they found themselves in. They now had shelter and he would find help. He no longer felt powerless and at the mercy of the cold and the night. They’d be safe from the elements, safe from the animals, and, hopefully, safe from whomever had sent them over the edge.
š ›
Hutch
stirred the coals and shifted the logs, sending the heat of the fire into the
small room. He stood, returning the
poker to its rack and turned toward Starsky, sleeping fitfully on the couch.
After entering the cabin, Hutch had laid Starsky on the couch and he and Brit then searched the small cabin. The cabin was basically one room with a bathroom and one tiny bedroom. The front half of the main room contained the fireplace, a dark green couch, an old wooden rocker, a small table for four, and a worn, brown leather chair. At the back ran a small counter with a sink, three cupboards made of pine, and a small stove. A refrigerator stood at the far left side of the small room. Just past the refrigerator were the tiny bathroom and the bedroom through which Hutch had entered. The cabin wasn’t very large but for the moment it felt like a castle.
Hutch’s first thought had been to get Starsky warm and dry. He’d helped Starsky change out of his wet clothes with only minor protest and then settled him on the couch with some aspirin he’d found in the tiny medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Its expiration date was past, but it was better than nothing. Then, he’d made a fire, warming the small cabin before sealing off the bedroom window with some planks of wood and an old blanket. It was temporary, but it kept the wind and cold at bay.
The
heat from the fireplace filled the room, and Starsky was now warm and dry,
bundled under a worn, calico quilt.
Seeing his partner shift and push the quilt away, Hutch hurried to his
side, tucking in the quilt. “Lie still,”
he mother-henned. He smiled softly as
deep, blue eyes groggily looked back at him and then closed again, too tired to
remain open. Watching the firelight
flicker across Starsky’s face, Hutch studied the pale face relaxing back into
sleep. The bandaged cut above Starsky’s
right eye stood in contrast to the dark circles below his eyes.
“Hutch, I’ve been going through the cupboards and I don’t find much. Just a few cans of soup and some canned fruit,” Brit said. Turning away from the cupboards, she studied Hutch’s ragamuffin appearance. “Don’t you think it’s time for you to put on some dry clothes, too, and bandage that leg?”
Scanning the room, Hutch silently acknowledged the need to take care of himself. They were safe for now, but who knew what the rest of the night could bring. Immediately after settling Starsky on the couch, Hutch had rushed to the phone, only to be disappointed when he found it dead. They were stuck in the tiny cabin, unable to reach anyone, and vulnerable if they were being tracked.
When he’d searched the cabin further, he’d also found that the electricity and water had been turned off. But Hutch had found a large aluminum pot in the cupboard and he’d filled it with snow to melt down in the fireplace. At least they would have cold water to drink and hot water to clean their wounds and, hopefully, ward off any infection.
Hutch walked over to Brit, who was holding up a pair of jeans she’d removed from his bag, and taking them from her, he grinned weakly. Heading over to the kitchen sink to clean up his leg, he called over his shoulder, “Look after Starsky. He’s pretty restless.”
Slipping out of his wet jeans, Hutch set his leg on one of the dinette chairs to inspect it. There was a six-inch gash running down the inside of his lower leg. Blood had run into his shoe and long ago dried. The wound was clotted shut and he knew wetting it with warm water would probably start it bleeding again, but he had no choice. The area around the gash was red and warm to the touch.
“Sit, Hutch,” Brit ordered, coming up behind him. Taking the warm, wet rag from his hand, she steered him to the chair. “I’ll clean it up. You look like you’re going to drop any minute.”
Hutch gratefully sank into the chair and extended his leg as Brit knelt next to him. Wincing as she applied some pressure, Hutch turned and stared at the fireplace, held captive by the flickering of the blue and yellow flames. “Starsky needs a doctor,” he said wearily, as she wrapped his leg in some gauze.
“I know,” Brit said, reassuringly placing her had on his thigh. “We’ll get some help.”
Leaning forward, Hutch rested his head in his hands and rubbed his forehead. Looking up, he said determinedly, “I’m going for help. You stay here and take care of Starsky.”
“Wait a minute, Hutch,” Brit protested, as he stood up. “You need to rest that leg. You’re bleeding and your ankle’s swollen. You can’t go traipsing off in the woods in the dark. Let’s at least wait until morning…”
“No!” Hutch grabbed at the jeans he’d laid on the small kitchen table and started sliding his leg inside. “I don’t know that we have until morning.”
Confused, Brit asked, “What do you mean? Starsky’s sick, but —”
“Look, Brit, I keep running what happened over and over in my head. I don’t think us going over the side was an accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“That pickup rammed us. It didn’t just slide into us. It hit us at least three times. Whoever was driving wanted to see us go over, and they could be looking for us to be sure they don’t have to finish the job.”
“But who…why…?”
“I don’t know, but as cops we work dangerous cases and a lot of guys would love to get even. Maybe we were being followed.” Hutch paused a moment and then continued, almost to himself, “Though I don’t know how I could have missed a red pickup truck tailing us.”
“Red?” Brit repeated, biting at her lower lip.
“Yeah, red.”
As Starsky suddenly started coughing, Hutch hurried to his side. Kneeling down, Hutch helped Starsky sit up as he strained against the painful cough. Watching Starsky struggle to let air in, Hutch said soothingly, “Take it easy. Just relax, Starsk.” Rubbing Starsky’s back, Hutch pulled him close, feeling him relax. Brushing the sweaty curls off Starsky’s forehead, Hutch looked up at Brit. “Is there any of that water left?”
Brit nodded and returned with a cup, handing it to Hutch. Raising Starsky’s head slightly, Hutch awkwardly held the cup in his left hand so that Starsky could take a sip, and he then gently laid Starsky back against the pillows. Pulling the quilt up around him, Hutch watched as Starsky closed his eyes. A moment later, Hutch stood, wincing at the sudden pressure on his leg.
Brit reached out a hand, but Hutch shook his head. “Look, Hutch, I’ve been thinking. You need to stay here with Starsky. I’ll go for help.”
“Brit—”
“Just hear me out. It makes more sense. I’m dressed for the weather and I know my way around the area. And with your injured leg, you really don’t need to be walking all over the woods. It might be getting infected. Besides your ankle’s swollen and you need to stay off of it.”
“I need to get help.”
“You need to be here. I’ll get help.”
Hutch listened, weighing what Brit had said. His body rebelled at the thought of going out in the cold and snow, but Starsky needed help. He watched as Brit walked to the door and began putting on her boots, coat, and gloves. He knew he should object, but hearing Starsky fitfully call out his name in his feverish sleep, Hutch went to his side instead. Picking up the washcloth, he began cooling Starsky’s forehead trying to make him comfortable.
Neither one heard the sound of the closing door.