Desperate Measures

165

What began as a fun-filled fishing trip, suddenly turns to a deadly struggle for survival when the small plane carrying Starsky & Hutch crashes in the Northern California wilderness.

 

3rd Place 2002 Torino Award Winner for “Outstanding Action/ Adventure Story”

Author’s Note: In memory of my mother who always believed in me. A special thanks to my beta reader, JackieHSH.
August, 1999

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Chapter One

It was Monday morning and Starsky had made a point of showing up for work early. He had thought about it all weekend—now he was anxious to spring the plan on Hutch. Starsky just hoped he could get his stubborn partner to go along. Lately, Hutch hadn’t gone along with much of anything that he’d suggested. But desperate situations called for desperate measures, so Starsk was going for broke.

When Hutch walked through the door, Starsky noted the tell-tale dark circles under his eyes, a sure sign his friend had had another sleepless night. But this time Hutch hadn’t called during the early morning hours like he usually did when he had nightmares about the murder scene in Gillian’s. Starsky had passed many nights lately on the telephone, talking his buddy through the insomnia. It worried Starsky that lately the internal turmoil and grief was even apparent in Hutch’s physical appearance.

“Mornin’, partner,” Starsky said. He closed the file he had been working on and tossed it back on the desk. Hutch nodded slightly, walked directly to the coffeepot, and poured himself a mug of the disgustingly strong brew. Starsk picked up his own cup and joined him.

“Another bad night?” Starsky asked, his face mirroring concern for Hutch. He knew there were more bad nights than good.

Hutch looked over at his friend, smiling faintly. “No worse than usual.”

Starsky knew his partner had a tendency to downplay his emotions. Hutch looked like hell this morning, and any doubts Starsky had about his plan vanished. He had to take some action to get Hutch back on his feet.

“Listen, partner,” he began, “you know, it’s been three months and…well…I’m startin’ to get a little worried about you.” Hutch opened his mouth to speak, but Starsky put his hand up, delaying him. “Just let me finish, hmmm? I’ve been where you are now, Hutch, and I know you’re hurtin’. Hell, I’m hurtin’ just watchin’ you. But you’ve got’a get focused here.”

He looked Hutch in the eyes as he spoke.  “It doesn’t mean you didn’t love Gillian, it’s just that…well, you know…you’ve got’a stop blamin’ yourself. There’s nothin’ you can do to change things…it’s time to move on.”

Hutch looked away, gazing on some non-existent target in the distance. He really didn’t want to have this conversation.

“I know this is the same speech you gave me when Helen died,” Starsky went on. “At the time, I thought it was just words. But I finally realized you were right, buddy,” Starsky laid his hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “Now, you need to listen to me. Trust me, partner…it’s gonna get easier as time goes by.”

“Look, Starsk,” Hutch interrupted, “you and Nancy have been great, dragging me around like a third wheel; and I appreciate your attempts to fix me up with someone, but it’s just too soon.”

“I’m not talkin’ about match-makin’, Hutch—just gettin’ on with your life,” he answered with empathy. Then Starsky flashed one of his killer smiles, eager to lighten the mood. “Listen, I got’a plan I think you’re gonna like,” he hurried on before Hutch could interrupt again. “It’s gonna be terrific.”

Hutch took a deep breath and stirred an extra packet of sugar into his coffee. Oh, boy, here we go. What kind of wild scheme have you hatched up in that head of yours now, buddy? He walked over to his desk and sat down, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Okay, Starsk, lay it out. What’s the plan?”

Starsky’s eyes brightened with excitement now, as he came around the desk and perched on the edge. “Here ya go,” he said, plopping open a brochure filled with brightly colored photos of young, healthy, men and women backpacking and fly-fishing in the great, clean outdoors of northern California. Right up Hutch’s alley. He won’t be able to resist this!

Starsky waited a beat for his partner’s reaction, all the while nodding his own approval, anxious for a response. “What do ya say…huh?”

Hutch looked at the brochure, then looked up from under hooded lids at his friend’s enthusiastic face.

“Starsk—buddy—you don’t even like the woods. What are you suggesting here? And you know we can’t get any time off right now. Our caseload is way too heavy. Besides, trips like this are expensive.”

“Not a problem—the vacation time nor the money. Piece of cake.” Starsky beamed. “Done worked it out with Dobey, AND I have a friend at a travel agency who’s gonna get us the deal of the century.” He smiled like the cat who ate the canary, confident that he had the answers to everything. “Pretty terrific, huh?”

“Oh, yeah? How did you convince Dobey to let us take off?” Hutch truly was curious, all too aware of how much time he’d lost when Gillian died.

“Told him I won a sweepstakes and got this great vacation for two—free.” Still grinning like a silly little boy, Starsky continued, “Told him we had to take it now or forfeit my prize. Couldn’t argue with that.”

Hutch’s eyes rolled back in his head as he envisioned the performance Starsky must have given to get Captain Dobey to buy that story!

“I reminded him of all the overtime we put in on the Amboy case and told him we deserved a little comp time. Couldn’t argue with that either.” Starsky’s blue eyes sparkled as he warmed up to his subject.

“Money.” Hutch pointed out. “Trips take money. I don’t know how much of a deal your friend is going to give, but unless it’s less than $200, it’s out of my class.”

“Already taken care of,” the grinning Starsky answered. “Just say you’ll come. I’ve got everything under control.”

Hutch stood up and walked back over to warm his now room-temperature coffee. “I don’t know Starsk. I’m not really good company right now. And like I said, you wouldn’t enjoy a trip like this.” He turned and looked at Starsky, unable to hide the sorrow in his eyes. “You don’t have to baby sit me, you know.”

“That’s not it,” Starsky said. “I just think you need a change of scenery, Blondie. And if I can get us a vacation out of it, why can’t you just humor me—huh?”

Starsky lowered his voice and said more seriously, “Look, Hutch…I mean it. I really am worried about you. I mean, you’re my partner—the best friend I have in this world; and I see you fallin’ apart right in front of my eyes.” He laid his hand firmly on Hutch’s shoulder to emphasize his point. “I think a change of pace, you know, doing somethin’ you really enjoy, will be good for you.”

Hutch shook his head and smiled at his partner. “Let me think about it, okay?” he said. Starsky agreed, then dropped the subject to begin the day’s work.

* * * 

“This is IT? We’re supposed to fly to Klamath in this? Starsk, I don’t know.” Hutch stared at the small airplane in disbelief. It hardly looked sturdy enough to keep from collapsing on the runway, much less become airborne.

“Aw, come on, Hutch.” Starsky walked toward the twin prop plane, an obvious old junker that had been somewhat restored. When Artie said the flight would be cheap, and no frills, Starsky hadn’t expected he’d have to bring his own rubber bands to hold it together. He put on a confident face, though, afraid Hutch would back out at the last minute.

Hutch walked to the back of the craft, looking as though he knew what he was doing. Starsky followed, “It’ll be fine,” he was saying, as much to convince himself, as to convince Hutch.

Crouched at the rear of the plane was a scruffy man with a shock of flaming red hair, tied back in a ponytail. The part of his face not covered by a red, bushy beard was sprinkled liberally with ruddy freckles, making him to look like he had a permanent sunburn.

“Hey, dudes—looking for somebody?” He stood up, wiping his grease-covered hands on the front of his khaki green coveralls. The man was least two inches taller than Hutch, so Starsky had to look up at him as he spoke.

“Yeah, right,” Starsky answered. “I’m Starsky, he’s Hutchinson. We booked a charter with Classic Flights to go up to the Klamath National Forest to do some fishin’. This the plane?”

“Yeah, man, ain’t she a beaut? I’m Carl Parks; she belongs to me. I’m the pilot-mechanic-owner and flight attendant. You must be the dudes Johnny Whitecloud is expecting. We’ll be ready to take off in about thirty minutes. I’m about to wind up here. You can go ahead and put your gear on board.”

Clearly, Hutch wasn’t reassured. He walked around the plane twice more, checking it from every angle. Starsky knew for a fact that Hutch didn’t know anything about airplanes, so he saw this as an exercise in futility.

Finally, Hutch headed back toward the parking lot, motioning with his head for Starsky to follow. When they were out of range for Carl to overhear, Hutch turned to his partner and said, “I don’t know, Starsk, I just don’t feel good about this.”

“Don’t be a baby, Hutch,” Starsky teased. “I’m sure this guy probably flew hundreds of missions in Nam and’s a crack pilot. They wouldn’t give ‘em a license to fly now, would they, if he didn’t know what he was doin’, huh?”

“It’s not the pilot I’m worried about, it’s this World War I relic he’s flying. I think we should call it off, Starsk, and get your money back.”

Starsky fidgeted, looking down at his sneakers as he mumbled, “Can’t do that. No refunds. That’s how I got such a great deal on the tickets.”

“What? You accepted those terms without seeing the airplane? Starsky, how lame-brained could you be?” Hutch was clearly irritated and wasn’t trying to cover it. “Where’d you get the money for this trip anyway? You’ve been secretive about that from the beginning. Now level with me.”

“You don’t need to know where it came from, only that I got it. It wasn’t illegal or nothin’ like that. Let’s just say I had raised some cash for an investment that never happened. I had the cash on hand.”

It hit Hutch like a ton of bricks. This was the money Starsky had scraped up to give Gillian when he tried to convince her to leave LA and open a boutique in Chicago. When Starsky found out Gillian was a high-priced hooker, he’d offered her a bribe to leave town before Hutch discovered the truth. Rather than accept the money, Gillian had convinced Starsky she was in love with Hutch and was going to sever her ties with Al Grossman once and for all. This had led to her murder.

Hutch knew Starsky was carrying around a whole load of guilt, blaming himself for not being there to protect her. But Hutch also knew Gillian’s fate had been sealed long before he met her—when she hired on as one of Grossman’s girls. So, this was Starsky’s way of trying to ease Hutch’s pain, as well as his own. Hutch knew this trip was more than a vacation to Starsky; it was a peace offering…an apology…a penance….Still, Hutch was astounded at what Starsky had done.

“You’re talking about the eighteen hundred dollars you had saved? My God, Starsk, I can’t believe you paid eighteen hundred dollars for us to fly on this hunk of junk!”

“Well, not all of it went for the charter, Hutch. There were other expenses. You’ll see; it was money well-spent. Now, stop yellin’ at me and help me get our gear outta the car.”

Starsky popped the trunk lid on the red Torino where a treasure-trove of spanking new fishing gear was stored: fly-rods, wading boots, nets for scooping up their catch and camouflage vests sporting a variety of hooks, tackles and shiny lures and spinners that glittered when the sun touched them. There were even two small wicker fish baskets for carrying their catch.

Starsky reached into the trunk and plucked out a fishing cap with, “You Should See the One that Got Away!” printed across the front in bold red letters, and plopped it onto Hutch’s head, crushing his blond hair down over his forehead. Then he stepped back and gave a thumbs up sign to show his approval.

Wearing the goofy hat, Hutch stood there as Starsky dug further back into the trunk and retrieved two brightly colored sleeping bags, a lantern, two back-packs, and two canteens. Hutch had thought their two duffel bags, hastily tossed in the back seat were their only luggage.

Hutch was speechless. He turned to look at his partner and found Starsky grinning from ear to ear, apparently waiting for Hutch to show a little enthusiasm. Hutch knew his friend had no clue what he was doing when he bought all this gear, and obviously had given no thought as to how they were going to carry it as they hiked the forest and streams in search of the “big catch.” The humor of the situation suddenly struck him. He couldn’t help himself—it first began as a chuckle, then grew louder and louder until he was hooting with laughter.

“What? What? Come on, Hutch, what’s so funny?”

* * * 

From the outset, it seemed impossible that all the junk Starsky had bought could be crowded into the cabin of the small Cessna; but somehow, it was. The take-off went smoothly enough, though Hutch had his doubts as he listened to the overworked engine sputtering during the lift off. Starsky seemed to be having a ball, not in the least bit concerned about such things.

“Say, where you dudes from?” Carl asked over his shoulder. A small 8-track tape player was in the front of the cockpit next to the pilot. Starsky leaned forward a little to speak above Gracie Slick and the Jefferson Airplane who were belting out “White Rabbit,” a vintage hit from Carl’s hippie days.

“LA,” Starsky shouted back.

“Oh, yeah? Whatdaya do there?”

Hutch looked over at his partner, gesturing with his eyes (here we go again).

The corner of Starsky’s lip quirked into a wicked little smile. “Cops—we’re two bad-ass cops in LA.” Here comes the reaction, Hutch.

“Whoa…faaar out, dudes.”

No smart-aleck comeback? This had to be a first. Starsky & Hutch exchanged a look of surprise.

“Cops that fish…imagine that, man…imagine that,” was the pilot’s only reply.

 

Chapter Two

Bracken slammed the hood shut on the broken-down Chevy, cursing it for dying on him, cursing himself for not having a back-up plan, and cursing God and Life because nothing ever seemed to go his way. What kind of rotten luck could hit him next? He’d made a clean get away with a cool half million in unmarked bills, and now he was stuck in the middle of the damn woods and no damn way out!

He knew, by now they were looking for him. Shooting that guard at the bank had dashed any hopes he may have had of getting off with a short jail sentence if he was caught. No, he was on the run, and there was no turning back. He knew one thing for certain—he wouldn’t go back to prison. Never. He’d find a way out of here, or die trying. Most likely the cops had an APB out on him. He didn’t know if they got the tag number, but he was fairly certain they had a good description of the silver ‘67 Malibu, and at least a general description of him.

Bracken decided to roll the car down the embankment and camouflage it with pine boughs. He’d travel parallel to the road, but stay under the cover of the trees’ canopy. Maybe then, they wouldn’t spot him by helicopter. Not a great plan, but the only one he had at the moment.

Pushing the dead car from the road to the edge of the ravine proved to be more difficult than he’d expected. But once it started rolling and gained momentum, he just stepped back and let gravity finish the job. Sweaty and hotter than hell itself, Bracken dropped down against the cool trunk of a tree to catch his breath before trying to hide the getaway car.

All he had retrieved from the car before it plunged into the ravine was the backpack stuffed full of stolen cash, his jacket, a flashlight, and of course, the gun. He couldn’t forget the gun, along with several rounds of ammo. No water, no food—not even a candy bar. So much for a well-thought-out heist.

* * *  

Starsky and Hutch were worried. The thunderstorm had come out of nowhere. At first, Carl had told them, ‘no big deal.’ But in a short while, the flight went from bumpy, to a wild roller coaster ride, with lightning popping like the Fourth of July in every direction. Hutch looked over at his partner and noticed Starsk was a little green around the mouth.

“Ummm, Carl, you wanna give us a progress report back here?” Starsky asked, “I mean, I think my partner here is…ummm…a little nervous…” Hutch rolled his eyes. Just like Starsk to pretend HE was the nervous one.

“Chill out dude, everything’s under control—I jus—” The rest of Carl’s words were lost in the loud explosion as a bolt of lightning struck the right propeller, causing fire to shoot out from it in all directions.

“Oh, shit, man, this ain’t good!” he shouted above the noise of the sputtering prop as it burst into a full-fledged fire.

Starsky and Hutch looked at one another, seeking some reassurance from each other. “Talk to us, Carl,” Hutch shouted. “Are we going down?”

“May-day, may-day, this is flight K343 out of LA, do you copy? I repeat may- day, may-day, this is Carl Parks out of LA. We’ve been struck by lightning and are losing altitude fast, man. We’re somewhere over the Klamath National Forest, but my instruments are fried. Cannot, I repeat, cannot give coordinates…may-day, may-day…”

“Hutch,” Starsky’s hand clamped around Hutch’s forearm like a vice. “I’m sorry, partner. This whole trip was my idea. Now we’re probably gonna die in this piece of junk.” In spite of the seriousness of their situation, Starsky was amused that Hutch still had the awful fishing cap pulled down over his head.

Hutch was scared too, but tried to reassure Starsky. “Come on, Starsk, you know we’ve been in worse predicaments. And don’t try to take all the blame. You know, I could always have said no to this trip. You were just trying to help me.”

“You dudes better make sure your seatbelts are buckled. I’m trying to keep her in the air till I can find a clearing; but visibility is zero, man. If we go down in these trees, we’re in big trouble.” The pilot was struggling with the rudder, trying to level out the plane’s descent.

Starsky reached to the front of the cockpit and grabbed the radio mic, intending to send out the may-day again. Carl stopped him short. “No use, dude. Radio’s not working. I don’t believe anyone heard me the first time.”

The fire from the propeller was quickly climbing up the wing toward the cabin. Only the rain, coming down in torrential sheets, was slowing its approach. But considering how small the craft was it didn’t have far to travel anyway.

“Listen dudes, I’ve turned on the transponder, the homing beacon; so when we crash, even if we’re unconscious, somebody may be able to locate us from that.” Carl’s voice was almost drowned out by the high-pitch whine from the fast descent of the aircraft now.

“……emerg…. provis….under….first aid…blanke….” They were only catching a syllable here and there above the deafening whine.

“Hutch,” Starsky reached out and gripped his partner’s hand tightly. “You’ve been the best friend a guy could ever ask for.” His voice was thick with emotion.

“Same here, buddy. And you’ve been the brother I never had.” He squeezed his partner’s hand as if to shake it for one last time. “We’re gonna make it….”

“Yeah, right…me and thee…” were the last words Starsky spoke before they were enveloped by the thunderous roar and the shrieking of tearing metal.

* * * 

Bracken crouched beneath a stone overhang, trying to get out of the rain that was now coming down in sheets. His main concern was keeping the money dry.

Then he heard it, coming from somewhere overhead. First, just a hum; then a high-pitched whine, growing closer and louder by the second. Looking toward the sky, Bracken couldn’t see anything for the trees, a thick, low-hanging ceiling over the dark forest. Whatever it was, it was big.

When he heard the explosion, he first thought it was thunder. Just as quickly, it dawned on him—an airplane going down. Bracken stood up and tried to get a fix on the direction of the sound. He could tell it was northeast of him, but the distance was impossible to guess. He turned his head to the side, listening. Another loud boom—but not as loud as the first.

Maybe a search plane, or a chopper…looking for me. Maybe not. Maybe just some poor slob caught in the storm. Hey, there may be supplies on board. Even better, maybe if there ain’t too much damage, it could fly me outta this hell-hole!

Bracken chuckled to himself. His experience in the coast guard, both as a mechanic and piloting sea planes may come in handy after all. He’d wait a little while and see if the rain let up. They weren’t going anywhere—and he didn’t want to get his money wet.

* * * 

Icy cold needles, striking his face.  Where am I…why am I so wet and cold? Gradually, Starsky struggled toward consciousness. So cold…Hutch?

Starsky’s eyes slowly opened, still not registering where he was…what was going on. My head, God, my head hurts! Hutch? Where’s Hutch?

Starsky raised his hand to his throbbing head, feeling disoriented and groggy, his mind trying to focus, but unable to make sense of what was happening. As the cold raindrops kept pelting his face, reality began seeping back into his brain. Starsky slowly sat up then waited a moment for the dizziness to subside.

Finally, the realization hit him. The airplane had crashed; they had gone down in the woods. HUTCH! Oh my God, where’s Hutch!

Starsky scrambled to his knees and looked around him in every direction for some sign of his partner. His heart pounding in his chest, Starsky’s eyes fell on the twisted, charred remains of the airplane. Plumes of dark smoke were twirling upward from the debris.

Oh God, no, please—! Starsky crawled toward the wreckage, afraid of what he would find, but knowing if Hutch had survived, he needed help now. No time to fall apart.

When Starsky reached the plane, he saw the front part of the cockpit was missing, and with it—Carl. He scrambled to where the passenger cabin should be, and found the seat Hutch had been sitting in lying on the other side of the wreckage. No Hutch.

His head pounding now, running a close second only to his heartbeat, Starsky wasn’t even aware of the warm, sticky blood running down his face from the head wound, the source of the throbbing pain.

Like a man possessed, Starsky started tearing away the twisted metal and debris around the fuselage of the airplane, searching, frantically, disregarding the heat emanating from many of the pieces.

Please Hutch, please be okay.

As the falling rain cooled the wreckage, steam rose, causing an eerie, fog-like atmosphere.

“Hutch! Are you here? Answer me!”

Starsky saw a hand, barely visible, near the nose of the craft. He grabbed the section of fiberglass concealing the body and threw it to one side.

There, glaring back at him with glassy, expressionless eyes was Carl Parks. Poor Carl…. Even before bending down to check for a pulse, Starsky knew there was nothing he could do. Carl had not survived the impact. This only terrified Starsky more.

Get a grip, Starsky; you can’t help Hutch if you lose it.

Starsky took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself, then began systematically searching through all the debris for Hutch.

Then he spotted it—the bold red letters, ‘the One that Got Away,’ laying about twenty feet from the rear of the aircraft. Beside it was one of the brightly colored sleeping bags, half covered by what appeared to be a fragment of the tail section.

Starsky half-ran, half-stumbled toward the rubble, praying in his mind that he would find Hutch alive, in one piece… “Hutch! Hutch! Answer me!” he shouted as he ran.

 

Chapter Three

Starsky hurriedly dug through the debris, careful not to allow it to slide down and bury his partner, causing further injury. Finally he reached Hutch, who was lying on his back, one leg 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. Starsky kept listening—and praying.

It was faint, but he could hear it. He placed two fingers against the artery in Hutch’s throat, and gratefully found the weak pulse he was searching for. Starsky struggled to organize his thoughts. He instinctively knew that keeping a cool head was necessary for their survival. Methodically, he began checking Hutch for injuries. For the first time he could recall, Starsky was grateful that Captain Dobey had strong-armed his detectives into taking the first aid course offered to all police officers on the force.

The leg was definitely broken. It had already begun to swell and turn a sickly shade of purple. Starsky was relieved it wasn’t an open fracture. At least there was no wound to cause infection. He was less certain about the head injury, but if the amount of blood was any indication, it was bad.

The front of Hutch’s shirt was partially torn away and blood was seeping from numerous minor cuts and scrapes which appeared to Starsky to be only superficial wounds. Oblivious that he had at least as many himself, Starsky hadn’t noticed that the falling 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…I don’t wanna hurt you, but I gotta 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. He knew with a head injury, there was always the possibility of concussion; and 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. Parks 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 gotta wake up.” Starsky lightly patted Hutch’s face, trying to bring him to as gently as possible. “Gotta wake up, buddy. We gotta 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 partner, you gotta tell me what to do.

But Starsky knew, like it or not, it was going to be up to him to get them out of this jam. He ran a hand nervously 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; both sleeping bags; and the emergency kit the pilot had tried to tell them about.

The case holding the kit had flown open on impact, the contents strewn around it. Fortunately, he 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 into 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. Gotta 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.

Maybe there’s a cave…or at least enough over-hang to protect Hutch.

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 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. Having done that, he ran back to the crash site and grabbed another load of their meager equipment and provisions, and took it to the shelter. As he was heading back the third time, he heard Hutch call his name.

Starsky dropped the supplies and went to him. “Right here, partner. It’s okay…I’m with ya,” he reassured Hutch. “We’re gonna be alright.”

Hutch was trying to sit up, his eyes wild with fear and confusion. He obviously didn’t know where he was or what had happened. Starsky knelt down and gently turned Hutch’s face toward him.

“Look at me, Hutch. Listen to me, now, okay? The plane went down, but we’re gonna be fine.” Starsky spoke slowly, searching Hutch’s eyes for a spark of comprehension. “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 recognize this ugly mug, so you can’t be too bad off.” Starsky allowed himself a brief moment of relief and smiled encouragingly. 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 gotta 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 no one who could initiate a search had picked up their may-day, it could be days before anyone even knew they were missing.

Starsky scrounged through the wreckage, gathering supplies to make a splint. He decided remnants of the airplane’s cushioned seats would serve well as padding between the bone and the splint. He rapidly sifted through several sections of shattered fiberglass from the broken wings to find three pieces, lightweight, yet strong and rigid enough to support Hutch’s leg.

Once everything was in place, he used the knife to slit the leg of Hutch’s jeans and fold it back to gain better access to the injured bone. “Not as bad as it could be,” he whispered to himself. Only the tibia appeared to be broken, so the fibula would provide some natural support. The flesh was swollen and dark. Starsky had had more than one broken bone as a kid, so he knew no matter how careful he was, the move would be painful for Hutch.

After padding the leg carefully on three sides, Starsky positioned the three sections of the fiberglass to form a makeshift splint. He slipped off his belt and used it, along with several strips of gauze and tape, to hold everything in place.

Hutch proved to have a high tolerance to pain. He stoically worked at concealing his discomfort while Starsky hurried to apply the splint. Starsky apologized at least two hundred times; mindful of every wince and grunt Hutch let slip; hating 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.

He sat back for a moment after making a final check of the splint. “Okay, buddy, I think that should do it. I’m gonna need to check these straps pretty often to make sure you’re getting circulation in that leg. You’ve got to let me know if it gets numb, or if you think it’s too tight.” Hutch nodded in response.

“Well, I guess 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’ll hunt through that first aid kit and find somethin’ to help the pain, okay?”

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, Hutch was unable to speak. He just nodded, and braced himself for a bumpy ride on the crude sled Starsky had modeled from another of the fiberglass panels salvaged from the downed aircraft. Starsky laid a comforting hand on Hutch’s shoulder before they began; a silent commitment to do his best.

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 loved this opportunity to tease Starsky. But right now, there was nothing humorous about their situation. Starsky gently helped his partner onto the sled, discretely pretending not to notice the unshed tears of pain glistening in Hutch’s eyes.

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 criminals.

* * * 

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. In the quiet darkness, he replayed the earlier scene at the bank in his mind.

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. In spite of everything, 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 his 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 but a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, which Hutch gratefully accepted. “I’m gonna go back to the plane and find us some dry clothes. Will you be okay here without the flashlight?”

“Starsk,” Hutch rose up on one elbow, “I can help you with that lantern, if you’ll pass it over here.”

A smile lit Starsky’s face. He knew Hutch 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. 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 at the edge of 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 offered.

“Yeah, well, done used up all the gauze.” That wasn’t entirely true, but he wanted to save it for repairing Hutch’s splint if needed. “I’m sure you could do a terrific job but it’s not bleedin’ that bad.”

“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. Can’t have you bleeding to death. Who’s going pull me out of here on that contraption if you aren’t around?”

Chuckling to himself, Starsky did as Hutch ordered, glad to see his partner’s sense of humor intact. “Thanks a million. What would I do without ya?” Starsky teased.

That taken care of, he 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—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.

 

Chapter Four

Starsky walked through the woods, listening to the night sounds, sounds he wasn’t at all comfortable with. When he heard the lonesome howl of the coyote again, he picked up the pace. Each snapping twig, each nocturnal bird call, and even the croaking tree frogs reminded him of a scene from some cheesy horror flick.

Brilliant, Starsky. Brilliant plan. If you wanted to help Hutch and take him on a vacation, why not Vegas, or…or…Disney World? Fishin’ and campin’…brilliant.

By the time Starsky reached the wreckage, he was almost at a dead run. Debris was scattered in every direction, some still smoldering, in spite of the earlier rain. Even with the flashlight, he was able to find only one of the duffel bags of clothing—Hutch’s. It was getting late and the temperature was still dropping, so Starsky decided not to spend anymore time searching in the dark. He would just bum a change of clothing from Hutch and come back tomorrow.

Just as he reached down and hoisted up the duffel, Starsky heard a scratching sound to his left. He turned around and was met by a pair of glowing, red eyes and a loud hissing sound. Instinctively, his left hand darted beneath his right arm, reaching for the Smith & Wesson. For the first time, Starsky realized he didn’t have his gun. It was in the missing duffel bag. He had debated even bringing it along; but old habits die hard. So the gun had been packed in the duffel bag, just in case.

He swung the flashlight around, pointing directly at the intruder, half expecting to see the coyote. Instead, it was only a huge raccoon, scrounging for a free meal. But to Starsk, the city kid, he was a wild animal, intimidating, and scary. Deciding the party was over; the frightened raccoon scurried back into the forest.

Starsky decided to check out the area the raccoon had been scavenging. There, he discovered the paper sack he had stuffed full of candy bars, chips, and beef jerky sticks and brought along to snack on during the flight. Fortunately, most of the cellophane packages were still intact. It may have been junk food to Hutch, but to Starsky, it was manna from heaven. And he had the sneaking suspicion that by now, it would look pretty damn good to Hutch too.

Starsky opened the duffel bag and rifled through the contents, searching for Hutch’s Magnum. He located the gun hidden beneath the clothes, but found no ammo, other than that already in the cylinder. Disappointed, but at the same time relieved at finding at least one gun, Starsky deposited the food sack and the gun into the duffel, then made one last pass around the airplane.

It was then he remembered Carl Parks.

Aw man, how could I forget Carl?

He felt a brief moment of guilt. But realistically, it wasn’t exactly as if he hadn’t had a lot on his mind. Starsky knew he couldn’t bury the body right now, but it just didn’t seem decent to leave him lying out in the open with wild animals already scavenging the crash site.

In spite of the fatigue and hunger plaguing him, Starsky knew what he had to do. Armed with the flashlight, he gathered a few of the larger, unbroken panels of the aircraft and covered the corpse as best he could. Then he placed heavier pieces of debris on top to weight them down. It wasn’t exactly a perfect solution, but Starsky hoped it would hold until they could do better by the man.

Now totally exhausted, Starsky picked up the duffel bag and started back to the campsite. He had only taken a few steps when he turned around and came back. He promised to bring Hutch’s fishing cap…and he damned-well wasn’t going back without it.

* * * 

Seth Carter sat at the air-traffic control panel watching anxiously. He could have sworn he heard a may-day. But the transmission was so broken up; he couldn’t make out more than just a few words. Something about Klamath and a lightning strike. God knew, there had been some pretty bad weather in that area today. Anything could happen when the lightning and wind started playing games with small aircraft. Still, he just didn’t have much to go on.

Co-worker, John McGinness stood behind Seth, looking at the screen too. “Maybe we can check some of the flight plan records and see if anyone isn’t where he should be by now,” John suggested. “Did the guy say where he was from, or give his destination?”

“Nah…well, maybe…hell, I don’t know, John. I told you, I only made out a few words. Anyway, there’s over a million acres of forest up there. Unless his emergency transponder is working, we’ll never find him.”

“Still, it may be worth a try. There are a lot of those small puddle jumpers that regularly fly folks out here for fishing and camping trips. Let’s check with San Francisco and LA airports and see what we can find out.”

Seth sighed, and he reached for his coffee mug, inscribed with a bright yellow smiley face and the fad phrase, ‘HAVE A NICE DAY!’. “Sure, why not. Maybe someone has contacted one of the airports by now about a no-show.”

“I’ll make a few calls,” John offered, then left Seth to drink his cold coffee.

 * * * 

When Starsky arrived back at the camp, he found Hutch sitting up, sound asleep. He looked so peaceful; Starsky hated to wake him. He reached out and gently touched the bandage on Hutch’s head to assure himself the bleeding had not started again.

Hutch stirred, then his eyes flew open in surprise. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s only me,” Starsky reassured him. “Sorry I woke you, but I got’cha some dry clothes here. I’ll give you a hand.”

“I was starting to worry. What took you so long?”

“Took awhile to find your bag. Never did come across mine. You’ll have to share some of your clothes with me until I can do a better search in the daylight. And, I guess I should go ahead and tell you—Carl didn’t make it, Hutch.”

“Aw God, Starsk, I didn’t even think about Carl.” Starsky could hear the remorse in Hutch’s voice.

“Yeah, well, he bought it on impact, I think. Anyway, there weren’t any signs of him havin’ ever regained consciousness. I found his body when I was lookin’ for you this afternoon.”

Hutch reached up with his good hand and gripped Starsky’s shoulder. He could see his friend was on the brink of exhaustion and that he was affected by Carl’s death.

“I, uh…well, I couldn’t bury him, Hutch; so I had to cover up the body to keep the wild animals from gettin’ to him.”

Hutch looked up at his partner; concern etched his face. He knew Starsky had never spent time in the woods, so naturally, he would be a little uneasy around any wild animal. Hutch hoped there hadn’t been any scary encounters at the crash scene.

“Did you see anything?…bear?…mountain lion?” Hutch knew these animals were common place in the forests of northern California. A predator nearby could mean trouble for them. The surprised look on Starsky’s face told him his partner hadn’t considered these possibilities.

“Just a dumb raccoon,” Starsky answered. “I don’t know who was more scared, him or me. I did hear a wolf or somethin’ howlin’. It seemed a little too close for comfort, if you ask me.”

Hutch smiled, but decided not to tease Starsky. He thought, for a city boy, Starsk had done a hell of a good job keeping them alive so far. He watched as his partner started pulling clothes out of the duffel bag.

“Listen, Blondie, I ain’t tryin’ to get fresh with you, or nothin’; but you’re gonna need help gettin’ out of those wet clothes.” Starsky waggled his eyebrows, bringing a soft chuckle from Hutch. He knew Starsky was trying to lighten the mood.

As it turned out, the only way to get the wet jeans off without hurting Hutch’s leg further was to cut them off. Once they were both in dry clothes, Starsky opened the paper bag of snacks and dumped them on the sleeping bag.

“Chow time,” he said proudly, looking at Hutch for a reaction.

“Starsky, I never thought I’d live to say this, but I’m sure as hell glad you have a penchant for junk food.”

Starsky smiled at Hutch and spread the assorted snacks out for him to choose from. “I ain’t gonna forget you said that, Pal. Next time I want a quarter for the candy machine, just remember, you owe me.”

They each chose one package, agreeing to conserve food until they had a better idea of what they were up against. They ate in companionable silence—and no filet mignon ever tasted better.

Afterwards, Starsky helped Hutch to get situated in one of the sleeping bags, and zipped it up to his chin. The temperature had already dropped low enough that they could see their breath when they talked. Starsky hoped the downy bedrolls would be enough to keep them warm. He snuggled into his own sleeping bag and started to lie down.

Hutch looked over at him and asked, “Aren’t you going to turn off the lantern, Starsk?”

“Uh…I don’t think we should do that, Hutch. I mean, you know…what about the bears and stuff?” Starsky was clearly more than a little nervous.

“Starsk, we’ll use up all the fuel, then we’ll be in the dark tomorrow night.”

Starsky grumbled, but knew Hutch was right. He turned over and shut off the lantern. Hutch had to stifle a laugh when he heard Starsk scoot his sleeping bag a little closer. With only the light from the moon, the forest sounds seemed closer, the croaking of the frogs a backdrop for the serenade.

“Hutch, you asleep?” Starsky whispered.

“No. My leg hurts too much.”

“You know, we’re lucky to be alive.”

“Yeah…. Listen, Starsk…I, well…you know I’m not really very good at saying thanks, but…thanks for looking after me today.”

“Hey, what are partners for? You’d do the same for me.” Hutch heard Starsky turn toward him. “We’re gonna be okay. Tomorrow, I’ll go for help.”

“Starsky, you don’t know how to find your way through the woods. You could get lost and never be seen again. I say we stick together. Let’s stay here, near the crash site. Surely, someone will come looking for us.” Hutch—always the voice of reason.

“Maybe. But I don’t think anybody’s lookin’ for us. Carl said he didn’t think his may-day was picked up.” Starsky flipped onto his back. “You warm enough, Hutch?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Now, go to sleep, mother hen.”

Eventually, Starsky was overcome by exhaustion; Hutch heard his partner’s heavy, even breathing, and knew he had finally fallen asleep.

* * *  

 Hutch woke suddenly. His thinking muddled, he tried to move, but was constricted by the sleeping bag. Then he heard it again—a large animal trudging through the trees toward them.

“Starsky. Starsky!” he whispered loudly. The zipped sleeping bag kept him from reaching out and shaking Starsky awake.

“Hmmm…what? —What?”

“Wake up, Starsky! There’s something out there.”

That short sentence brought Starsky wide awake. “What? Where?” he sat up quickly, “Where, Hutch?”

“In the woods. For God sake, be quiet. Could be anything.”

Starsky quickly unzipped his bag and scrambled backward, colliding with the still-confined Hutch. “What should we do?”

“Well, for starters, Gordo, you could let me out of this sleeping bag.” Hutch was still whispering, hoping not give away their presence.

Starsky hastened to unzip Hutch’s bag, then scrambled around, searching for the duffel. He frantically pulled the clothes out, digging for the Magnum.

“What are you doing?”

“Lookin’ for your gun—what do you think?”

“Starsky, if it’s a bear, that gun won’t kill it; just piss it off royally. Even if it’s a mountain lion, unless you make a clean kill with the first shot, you’ll make things worse. Light the lantern. Maybe the light will scare him off. Or at least blind him a little.”

“Yeah, or make it easier for him to find us.” Starsky’s eyes were wide as he finally pulled the gun out of the duffel. Hutch had seen his partner face cold-blooded killers and not blink an eye, but just the prospect of a bear or a mountain lion had him scared witless.

“You sure about this, Hutch? I mean, what if it doesn’t work? Huh?”

With a deadpan expression, Hutch answered, “Then we make a lot of noise and you do a couple of your disco moves and scare him to death.”

Starsky turned and glared at Hutch with a look of sheer horror.

“Look, Starsk—light the lantern. If he comes any closer, fire the gun in the air and try to scare him off. But don’t shoot him. I know what I’m talking about.” Hutch tipped his head to one side, signaling Starsky to do as he said.

While Starsky was deciding whether or not to follow Hutch’s plan, a hulking, golden form emerged from the trees. Walking on all fours, the stealthy mountain lion glistened in the moonlight, lifting his head and sniffing the air, as if trying to pick up a scent—their scent.

Deciding there was nothing else to do, Starsk quietly pulled the lantern toward them and lifted the globe to light it. As the mountain lion turned his head in their direction, Starsky froze, waiting for the big cat to realize where they were. “Light it, Starsk. Now!”

As the lantern flame flared to life, the lion jerked backward and let out an unnerving scream that sounded like a woman in agony. Starsky and Hutch both backed closer to the wall of the cave, waiting to see what the cat would do next. Finally, he moved forward, zigzagging as he advanced.

“Oh, terrific. Anymore brilliant ideas?” Starsky flicked the cylinder open on the Magnum, checked the ammunition, then snapped it back in place.

“Now…I, uh…think now would be a good time to shoot the gun, Starsk.”

“Don’t you wanna invite him in for a nice little midnight snack or somethin’, huh?” The mountain lion inched closer.

Starsky moved forward with the light, hoping his movement would spook the big cat and encourage him to retreat. Aware that each shot he fired diminished their precious supply of ammo, Starsky decided to try Hutch’s facetious suggestion of making noise to scare off the cat.

He picked up the lantern and advanced toward the lion, shouting, “Get outta here! Get! Get!” while flailing the lantern ahead of him. Instead of retreating, the mountain lion gave another blood-curdling scream.

“That’s it! You’re pissin’ me off, Tony!” Starsky raised the Magnum above his head and fired. The mountain lion jumped straight into the air, then turned tail, and scurried back into the forest.

Starsky held his breath—waiting—expecting to see the cat reappear from the woods. After several tense seconds, Hutch spoke. “Starsk—buddy, he’s gone. You can relax now.”

Starsky released his breath, not even realizing that he had been holding it. Once he was certain the lion was really gone, Starsky retreated to the cave entrance. He dropped to the ground, then scooted backward into the cave until he bumped into Hutch. The contact startled him so badly he jumped.

Catching Starsky with his good arm, Hutch pulled him back against his chest, and steadied him there for a moment until he was calm. “He’s gone, Starsk. You did good.” He could feel his friend’s heart hammering beneath his hand.

“Yeah, well I just hope he doesn’t come back. I’d hate to have to hurt ‘em.” Hutch chuckled and squeezed Starsky’s shoulder. “Me too, partner…me too.”

    

Chapter Five

Bracken’s eyes flew open when the sound of the 357 Magnum split the silent night. He woke abruptly, confused by the unexpected noise, unable at first to identify it’s source. Then he realized it came from the crash site. It was from the same general direction.

Damn! There are survivors and at least one is armed.

This complicated everything. No easy way now of taking supplies or commandeering the aircraft, if there was an armed survivor on board. It could even be a cop or a FBI agent, hot on his trail. Bracken laid back down. There was nothing he could do about it now, except come up with a plan before daylight, before he started his search for the crash site.

At least the gunshot had confirmed his suspicion that they were close by; and he still had the element of surprise to his advantage.

* * * 

Sunlight filtered through the trees, and early morning dew glistened on the grass and leaves. Had this not become `the vacation from hell,’ Hutch would have enjoyed watching the sunrise. As it was, though, all he could think about was the throbbing pain in his leg, and how badly he needed to relieve himself. Any hopes Hutch had of turning this into a pleasant, relaxing trip to commune with nature and convert his partner into an avid outdoorsman, had gone down in flames just as surely as the Cessna had.

Starsky, now resting peacefully, had slept little after the mountain lion made his exit. Hutch knew his partner was exhausted from the events of the day before.

Was it really only yesterday?

In spite of his limited experience in wilderness survival, Starsky had rallied to the occasion and not only rescued Hutch and treated his injuries, but had found them shelter and food, then protected them from a dangerous predator.

Hutch looked over at Starsky as he slept, and knew he was fortunate to have such a man as his friend. He also knew that Starsky would take whatever desperate measures necessary to keep them alive. Hutch decided he could wait a little longer before trying to get out of the sleeping bag; let Starsky catch a few more minutes of shut-eye. Most likely, they would be stranded here until a search party could locate them. And right now, he wasn’t even sure anyone knew they were missing.

Hutch lay quietly, waiting for Starsky to wake up. Gazing at the stand of pines nearest their campsite; he noticed a slight movement and flashes of white and tan moving among the trees. He eased himself up, then reached over, and gently prodded Starsky’s shoulder. “Starsk!” Wake up!”

“Mmmm…. Yeah…what?” Starsky bolted upright. “What is it?” Hutch tried not to laugh, but Starsky was a comical sight with his hair standing out in every direction and his eyes blurry with sleep.

“Looks like we have more visitors.” Hutch nodded toward the tree line.

Starsky scrambled out of his bedroll and grabbed the gun with his left hand while rubbing his eyes with the right. Prepared for the worst, he held his breath until the intruders came into sight. A graceful doe and her two small fawns foraged the undergrowth and bushes for fresh berries, oblivious of the two men watching them from a distance. Starsky slowly lowered the weapon.

“Now honestly, Starsky, don’t they make you appreciate the beauty of nature?”

“Yeah. Sure do. And the most beautiful thing about ’em is, they don’t have claws or fangs.” Hutch rolled his eyes, but silently conceded Starsky had a point.

The two of them sat quietly, watching the agile female and her little ones until the doe sensed their presence and signaled the others to follow. They quickly retreated into the dense forest. By then, Starsky and Hutch were both wide-awake and ready to begin the day.

Hutch stumbled backwards as he tried to get to his feet.

“Whoa, hold on a minute. Let me give you a hand.” Starsky hurried to prevent him from falling. Once they were upright, he draped Hutch’s arm across his shoulders, and slowly helped him walk a short distance to a more private area. With only the crude, homemade splint, and no crutches to support him, it was soon apparent Hutch would not be able to walk even short distances without assistance.

“Just call when you’re ready to come back,” Starsky told him, then returned to the cave entrance, and waited. Within a few minutes, Hutch called out for his help.

“Well, that pretty much rules out our trying to hike out of here,” Hutch said, once he was seated on top of the sleeping bag again.

Starsky went about the task of loosening and readjusting the bindings on Hutch’s splint. He noticed the swelling had gone down a little, but the flesh was still dark with bruises, and looked extremely painful. “I told you, I can go for help.”

“No offense, but you know you don’t have greatest sense of direction. Remember, you drive—I navigate. And you haven’t spent much time in the woods. You’re out of your element here, buddy.” Hutch winced as Starsky manipulated the splint to offer more support to the broken bone.

Even though Starsky knew all that was true, he still felt a little defensive. He hated it when Hutch criticized him. “Oh yeah, well, I thought I was doin’ pretty good out here. Granted I’m no Daniel Boone, like you, but so far we’re still alive.”

“Now don’t get your nose out of joint. All I’m saying is, I don’t want us to split up. Starsky, you may not realize it, but this forest covers over one and a half million acres. There are bears, mountain lions, coyotes, poisonous snakes, even herds of wild horses living here. I know, because I checked into this place pretty thoroughly when you suggested we take this trip.”

Hutch paused, waiting for Starsky’s reaction. When there was none, he continued. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m not thrilled at the prospect of having a run-in with any of the above by myself. One of the basics of survival is ‘safety in numbers.’ Besides, we only have one gun for protection. Which one of us keeps it? Have you thought about that?”

Hutch took Starsky’s silence as a sign he was getting through to him. “Furthermore,” he continued, “I hate it like hell, but I’d be literally helpless here without you. So why don’t we sit down and try to figure out a plan?”

The possibility that Hutch may be feeling a little insecure and afraid hadn’t occurred to Starsky. He was so hell-bent and determined to get them out of this mess, he hadn’t considered Hutch’s perspective on the situation at all.

“Okay, pal—when you’re right, you’re right. But right after breakfast, I’m gonna go back down to the crash site and find my gun. What do you think our next step should be?”

“To begin with, throw my duffel bag over here. I picked up a map of the Klamack National Forrest at the airport. Maybe we can get an idea of where we are. There are bound to be a number of ranger stations throughout the park. We need to determine if we’re anywhere near one.”

Starsky’s face lit up with a typical Starsky grin. He felt more optimistic now than he had since the airplane went down. He knew together, he and Hutch would find a way out of here alive. Starsky tossed the bag to his partner then decided to gather some firewood. Even though the sun was shining brightly, there was still a chill in the morning air. He was hopeful the wood had dried out a little since the rain stopped last night.

He began picking up twigs and branches that lay in abundance around the campsite.

Once Starsky had a small fire going, he went back to where Hutch sat on the sleeping bag with map spread out before him, trying to determine their location.

“How about some breakfast?”

“Sure. Sounds good.” Hutch looked up from the map. “I don’t suppose you have any granola bars in that sack of poison, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, Blondie, I threw a couple of ’em in just for you. I don’t know how you can eat somethin’ that tastes like it’s made outta cardboard and tree bark, but here you go.” With a smug expression, Starsky tossed two granola bars to Hutch.

Always looking after me, aren’t you, partner? Hutch thought to himself.

“We gotta find some water,” Starsky said, tearing open a bag of Fritos. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dyin’ of thirst here.”

“I don’t wonder at it. Good grief, Starsk—Fritos for breakfast?”

“Someone else hogged all the granola bars,” Starsky teased.

Hutch munched on the breakfast bar as he flipped open a brochure he’d taken from the duffel bag. “Says here there are ‘152 miles of rivers, creeks and mountain lakes contained within the borders of the national forest.’ Surely you can find us some drinking water not far from here.”

“Mmm…I thought you said we shouldn’t split up,” Starsky said between bites. “Aren’t you still worried I’ll wander off and disappear from the face of the earth?”

Hutch reached into the emergency kit and pulled out a compass. “Not with this. You’ll just need to make sure you don’t go too far from camp and don’t lose track of time. That’s the best way to measure your distance.”

Hutch passed the brochure to Starsky; “According to this, the park is divided into six major ranger stations. Even so, with over a million acres to cover, they’d have to be really spread out. Who knows, maybe we’ve lucked out and we’re near one already.”

“Nah, not likely. Think about it. If we were near a ranger station, someone would have seen us go down yesterday and checked it out by now.” Hutch knew Starsky was right. They should assume the worst and stick with their plan.

* * * 

Seth Carter had just arrived at work and set his thermos bottle on the console when John McGinnis came up and clapped him on the back. “Good news, Seth.”

“Good morning, John. What kind of news?”

“Well, actually it’s good and bad. You know that distress call you thought you heard yesterday? You were right, a small plane is missing. Flew out of LA yesterday morning and never arrived at the ranger’s station located on the Klamath River. No one has heard from them at any of the six ranger stations up there.”

“And this is the good news?” Seth ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he had when he was worried or upset.

“Well, yeah—compared to what else I have to tell you. I don’t know how familiar you are with that area, but it’s pretty hard to find someone up there because of the size of that forest. Furthermore, the route they were flying takes them straight across two major wilderness areas, Trinity Alps, and Marble Mountain. The only inhabitants there are the wildlife.”

“Where were they scheduled to fly into?”

“Flight plan said Yreka. They were to hook up there with a fishing party, lead by one of the local Indian guides. The fellow I spoke with at the airport said the guide waited an extra two hours on them, but they never flew in and there was no message to the control tower about the flight being cancelled.”

“Oh, man… So we’ve probably got some fly-boy and a group—how many?”

“Two. Two fellas out of LA.”

“So we’ve got a pilot and probably two middle-aged, tie-wearing businessmen, who most likely have never been any closer to a forest than Griffith Park, down somewhere in a wilderness area. I’m waiting, John—what’s the good news?”

“Well, I was thinking—if we verify their departure time; map the flight route, then check the records for the exact time you heard the may-day, we may be able to calculate about a 200 mile radius for search and rescue.”

Seth exhaled a deep breath. “Talk about long shots….” The two men stood in silence for a few seconds, thinking about the odds of their being able to help the three unfortunates. “Why haven’t we picked up anything from their transponder?”

“Maybe damaged when they crashed—maybe too much interference from the trees and mountains. I don’t know. Once we narrow it down, the search and rescue team can focus on one area; maybe they can use some sort of equipment to amplify any weak signals transmitting in that area.”

Seth ran his fingers through his hair again, as he weighed their options. “Well, it’s all we’ve got. Maybe it’s enough to get NTSB’s attention.”

* * * 

“Sure you’re gonna be okay here by yourself?” Concern etched Starsky’s face as he prepared to leave. What if something happened to Hutch while he was gone? What if he had complications from that lick on the head?

“Starsk, I’ve already told you three times, I’m fine. But I still think you should take the gun with you. You’re more likely to need it than I am.” Starsky’s second search of the crash site had uncovered what was left of his missing duffel. The bag had burned in the crash; the heat warping the barrel of the Smith & Wesson so badly it would be of no use to anyone.

“Oh, terrific. You had to remind me again that I could be eaten alive by a bear or carted off by Bigfoot or somethin’, didn’t you?”

Hutch couldn’t help but laugh. Starsky was making jokes, but Hutch knew him well enough to recognize there was a touch of real apprehension in his voice. “You’ll be fine. The gun is just a precaution.”

“And you think I’m gonna leave you here as bear bait? Get real. You can’t even run for your life if somethin’ decides to have you for a snack. The gun stays with you.”

“Starsky, be logical. You’re far more likely to come up on something without warning, than I am to be attacked in broad daylight here in our camp site. Take the damn gun—don’t argue.”

Although he wasn’t happy about leaving Hutch without protection, Starsky couldn’t deny the validity of the argument. He slipped the holster over his shoulder and placed the gun snuggly into place.

“Sure you don’t need me to help you over to the bushes again? I mean, I may be gone quite awhile.”

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine. Now, do you have the canteens?”

“Check.”

“Let’s set our watches. I’ve got 11:36 a.m. Now, you’re going to turn around and come back in an hour, agreed?”

“Check.”

Starsky picked up the fishing cap and plopped it on Hutch’s head. “Listen, Blondie, I really don’t like leavin’ you here alone when you can’t even walk to the john. I wish there was another way.”

“I know. Me too.” Hutch pressed the compass in Starsky’s hand then closed it into a firm handshake. “Be careful, partner.” A moment of silent understanding passed between them.

Starsky turned to leave, calling back over his shoulder. “If any beautiful ladies show up, keep ’em entertained till I get back.”

“Watch out for snakes!” was Hutch’s parting shot.

 

Chapter Six

Starsky made his way through the dense forest, taking to heart Hutch’s warning to watch for snakes. His eyes swept from side to side, wary of any predator who might be prowling the woods. He had been walking almost forty-five minutes, and not a sign of water anywhere. Starsky wondered how there could be 151 miles worth of water in this forest and not a drop of it within an hour’s walk from where they were camped.

How the hell are we gonna get out of this one? In the middle of nowhere, nothin’ decent to eat, no water, no radio, no medical attention for Hutch…

Starsky absently reached up to scratch his head and discovered Hutch’s bandana still secured over the gash in his forehead. He hadn’t even thought about the injury since Hutch insisted he bind it with the bandana. Even though the folded bandana had proven to be a good, thick bandage, the blood had seeped through the fabric and crusted over, adhering it to his skin. Well, that should feel terrific coming off.

Lost in thought, Starsky didn’t hear the rushing water right away. Slowly but surely, he became aware of it in the distance. He stopped and listened for a moment to get his bearings, then turned to his right and started running through the trees toward the sound. Oh, and what a beautiful sound it was, too!

The closer he got, the louder the roar. This was no babbling brook. This was major water. As Starsky broke through the trees into a clearing, he saw that he was standing at the top of a waterfall. Plenty of cold, crystal clear water, cascading several hundred feet to the rocks below; but getting access to it would be tricky.

Starsky’s heart fell as he realized he’d have to maneuver his way across numerous wet, slippery rocks and boulders to reach a pool where he could fill the canteens. Even if he’d been a good swimmer, there still would have cause for concern. The treachery wasn’t in the water, but on the rocks. He stood there, trying to figure a safe way to approach this; but there was none. And the longer he thought about it, the more nervous he became.

Damn! We can’t survive without water. Finally, he reached the inevitable decision to meet the problem head-on.

If he hadn’t been exhausted from the lack of sleep, and rundown from the lack of food and water, he may have thought of taking off his sneakers and avoiding the contact of wet rubber on slippery rocks. But he didn’t; he just heedlessly started his trek across the slick trail.

He wasn’t in deep water when it happened. Two of the stepping stones were further apart than an easy width of his stride. So Starsky decided to jump across. The minute his front foot came down on the rock, it flew outward, causing him to tumble backward, falling on his back; and with a resounding slap, his head hitting a moss- covered rock.

  * * * 

Hutch was beginning to worry. Starsky was due back thirty minutes ago. He looked at the watch again. Make that 35 minutes…. Damn it, Starsk, where are you?

Hutch had felt uneasy as he watched his partner head off through the trees that morning. But they really didn’t have many options. They couldn’t last another day without water; and who knew how many days they would be stuck here?

The pain in his leg was back. Hutch wanted to take another Tylenol, but decided he should save them for later. So, he decided to try and take a nap, knowing he probably wouldn’t rest until he saw Starsky coming through the woods with the full canteens.

Where are you, Starsk? Please be safe.

* * *    

The three hours that his partner had been gone seemed much longer. Hutch had time to think about all that had happened the past few months. He knew that he couldn’t have survived it without Starsky. The mere fact that Starsky had used his hard-earned savings to finance this trip, knowing full-well that he would hate spending a week in the woods, was proof enough of their friendship. Now, he had to play nursemaid and savior, as well.

Hutch was ashamed, remembering his reaction when he found Starsky in Gillian’s apartment, kneeling beside her body. Starsky had clearly been shaken—his face white, his hands unsteady. Starsky had tried to spare him the pain of learning Gillian was a prostitute. But when his friend had no alternative than to tell him the truth, Hutch lashed out at Starsky—accused him of lying, of not liking Gillian, of jealousy.

Guilt was a painful emotion. Hutch squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to block out the memory of hitting his best friend, punching him so hard he stumbled backwards and fell. And what had Starsky done? Gotten up from the floor and embraced him, offering to take another punch if it would relieve Hutch’s pain. Starsky had held onto him then and they both cried. They cried for Gillian, they cried for what would never be. They cried for the emptiness Hutch would face in the coming days…. It would forever be etched in his memory. He had lost his lover that day, but at the same time, had been reminded of the powerful bond of friendship he and Starsky shared.

Hutch was roused from his thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps.

Thank God. He’s back, Hutch thought, breathing a sigh of relief.

Hutch raised up on his good arm, waiting for Starsky to come into view. But instead, a tall, thin man with straggly, light brown hair entered the clearing. He was dressed in jeans and a black turtleneck pullover. Tied around his waist was a light-weight parka. His only visible possession was the medium sized, green back-pack he wore. Hutch was startled, not expecting to see another human being out here.

“Hello, there,” the stranger called out, as he approached. Although the man was smiling and seemed friendly enough, there was something about him that instinctively disturbed Hutch.

“Hello,” Hutch answered back.

“I…uh…I was hiking and thought I saw smoke coming from this area. Not many hikers out here. Thought I would check it out.” He came closer, stopped by the fire, then noticed the home-made splint on Hutch’s leg. “Looks like you’ve had an accident,” the stranger said, stating the obvious. He looked past Hutch, searching for other survivors. Hutch thought the man’s steel-gray eyes were cold, with an emptiness about them.

“Yeah, our plane went down yesterday morning—just over there,” Hutch nodded in the direction of the crash site.

“Oh, man, that’s too bad. You’re lucky to be alive.” There it was again…that note of insincerity. Hutch’s inner voice told him not to trust this man, not to tell him everything. What was he doing here? The ‘detective instinct’ kicked in.

“So, where is everyone else?” The stranger scanned the area with his eyes, clearly believing Hutch wasn’t there alone.

Not certain why he did it, Hutch answered, “No one else made it. Pilot was killed on impact, and I was his only passenger.”

Surprise flitted across the other man’s face. “Sorry to hear that.” He turned in the direction of the crash and was quiet a moment.

“Radio working?”

“Not that I could tell. Almost everything was destroyed.” Hutch shifted his weight to relieve some of the pressure on his injured leg, and in doing so, positioned his body to conceal the duffel bag.

“I’m sure glad you happened along.” He thought it best to play along, not letting on he was already suspicious of the stranger.

Rather than respond to that, the other man asked, “Have you got any food or water here? I sure could use a cold drink right now.”

That seemed an odd question to Hutch. The man was wearing a back-pack. If he was a hiker, why hadn’t he brought provisions with him? “No, I’m afraid not. This was supposed to be a short flight. Quite frankly, I was just going to ask if you could spare me some water.”

“Sorry,” was the only response.

Hutch continued, “I was expected at the Klamack River Ranger Station yesterday. Where did you hike from? Are we near a ranger’s station?”

The stranger stood there fidgeting for a few seconds, then turned to look over his shoulder toward the charred remains of the airplane. “I, uh, I came in from the south,” he answered vaguely. “Haven’t seen any ranger stations nor any other campers or hikers. You sure you don’t have any food here?”

“Didn’t you bring your own?” Hutch asked, more suspicious by the moment.

“Oh, yeah, sure.  I, uh…just used it all up.  Been out here quite awhile.”  The stranger was evasive, avoiding eye contact with Hutch. It was then Hutch noticed the shoes. He was wearing loafers. Who ever heard of a hiker in loafers?

“What’s your name?” Hutch asked.

“Bracken, Joe Bracken. I’m from Sacramento. In the insurance business. And you?”

Careful, Hutchinson, he’s a phony…

“Ken Hutchinson, LA I’m an investment broker.” The lie rolled off Hutch’s tongue. He had learned long ago that sometimes it was safer not to tell people he was a cop until he knew more about them. And this guy definitely didn’t ring true. “I flew up here to do a little fishing.” At least that much was the truth.

“Uh, listen…Hutchinson, is it? I think I’ll go down to the airplane and see about that radio, if that’s okay with you.” Bracken smiled as he spoke.

“Sure. That would be great. I’m gonna need help getting out of here. If you can’t get the radio to work, you can at least send someone back for me.” Hutch didn’t know what this guy was up to, or why he wanted to search the crash site, but Hutch was in no position to object. He’d just play along for awhile.

Bracken’s gaze moved down to Hutch’s broken leg and the home-made splint. “How did you manage to do that by yourself?” Obviously Bracken hadn’t bought Hutch’s story about being the only survivor.

“Wasn’t easy. But you’d be surprised what you can do when you have to.” Hutch knew it was a lame comeback, but it was the best he could do on the spur of the moment. Bracken stared at him for a few seconds, as if weighing Hutch’s words, deciding if they were the truth. Finally, he nodded, then turned, and walked toward the crash site.

As soon as the man was out of sight, Hutch removed the Magnum from his duffel bag, and dragged himself to the back of the cave, where he placed the gun in a crack between two large rocks. Then he finished concealing it with smaller stones and a couple of the sticks of wood they had not needed for the morning campfire.

Hutch was torn between hiding the weapon or keeping it where he could get to it quickly. But he realized that in his weakened state and his immobility, the stranger could take the gun and turn it on him. So Hutch opted to hide it, but close enough that he could get to it in an emergency. After all, he didn’t know for certain that this man was dangerous; it was just a gut feeling he had.

And where the devil was Starsky? He was now more than two hours late getting back. God, how he hated this waiting. He was worried sick about his partner; weak from hunger; his leg hurt like hell; and now he had to worry about some jerk who obviously wasn’t what he presented himself to be. Hutch only hoped Bracken didn’t guess that he was a police officer until he could figure out what the guy was up to.

* * * 

Bracken made his way to the crash site. His hopes of commandeering the airplane and repairing it were abandoned when he saw how little was left of it. Man! How did this Hutchinson guy survive? And that ridiculous story about setting his own broken leg—what does he take me for, an idiot? No, there’s someone else with him. But where? Why is he lying to me about being here alone? And who has the gun? There were too many unanswered questions.

Walking through the debris, Bracken occasionally stopped and examined personal items and damaged airplane pieces, hoping to find something useful. The radio was trashed. He found pieces of it scattered over the crash site, large and small chunks that could serve no purpose. There wasn’t enough of it left for a radio technician to assemble, much less someone with limited knowledge like his. Frustrated and disappointed at what he had found, Bracken hauled off and kicked a scrap of the radio several feet, venting his rage at yet one more thing that wasn’t going to go according to his plans.

Bracken walked around the plane until he came to the large panel that Starsky had used to cover Carl Park’s body. When he lifted the sheet of metal, he was assaulted by the stench of the decomposing corpse. Just as he started to drop the panel back in place, he noticed a small piece of bright yellow paper poking out of the pilot’s jacket. It looked like an invoice, or maybe a flight requisition. Bracken pinched his nose closed with one hand and used the other to fish out the paper before stepping away from the makeshift grave.

It was a flight requisition, alright—signed by the pilot, Carl Parks, two passengers, Detective Sergeant Ken Hutchinson and Detective Sergeant David Starsky of the LAPD.

 

Chapter Seven

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 damn 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 puzzling 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 lost in his thoughts we he suddenly saw the stranger approaching from the woods again.

“Find anything useful?” Hutch asked, trying to sound casual.

“Nothing. 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. But there was something in the tone of Bracken’s 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 broken leg.” 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 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 grew 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 pose 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 crumpled 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.”

Damn, if only I’d kept my gun…Starsk, where are you?

“You’re only hurting yourself by being so uncooperative, pig. There are plenty of 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. And 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 was tackled from behind with such speed and voracity, the wind was knocked out of him.

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 revealed in the stranger’s flashing blue eyes was unmistakable.

“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. His anger was so all-consuming, he was oblivious of Hutch’s Magnum as it fell out of the holster and was knocked out of reach.

Starsky rolled over, pinning Bracken between his knees, pushing the hand that held the assailant’s 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 trickling from beneath the bandana. His head was throbbing, and the force of the impact caused his vision to blur.

They rolled across the ground again, each trying to gain the advantage, each grappling for control of the weapon. 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. Already injured, and weak from the loss of blood, Starsky faltered for a split second. Bracken took the advantage and jerked the gun hand free. With a tremendous push, he broke away from Starsky, leveled the gun at the detective, and fired.

Starsky rolled to the left, almost avoiding the bullet; but he wasn’t quite fast enough. A searing pain raked across the top of 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—void of all emotion. 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. The same blank, expressionless eyes met his.

“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 dazed, 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, buddy. Just a graze. I’ll live.”

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

Seeing Hutch was close to his breaking point, Starsky pulled him close, resting Hutch’s head against his shoulder, then sat silently, giving them both time for the adrenaline to recede. Starsky realized had he been a few minutes later, Hutch would undoubtedly have been dead. That frightening reality was almost more than he could bear to consider.

Gradually, Hutch seemed to regain his composure. “Look at us,” he said, laughing weakly. “We’re one hell of a 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 of relief and exhaustion streaming down his cheeks. “At least we’re alive—and I found us some water!”

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

* * * 

Hutch was resting now. It had been a horrible ordeal. 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. Fear mounted in Starsky as Hutch reminded him with no uncertainty how dangerous the open fracture could be. They both knew if not treated within forty-eight hours, the open wound could become a host for a deadly infection that would attack the bone marrow. If this happened, the best they could expect would be amputation. The worst—death. 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.

Despite his own pain, Hutch had fussed until Starsky let him examine his shoulder, which luckily, 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. Satisfied that Starsky wasn’t going to bleed to death, Hutch finally took two of the quickly dwindling Tylenol.

Starsky looked over at his sleeping partner now, 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 to discourage the bear and other predators from coming into their campsite. 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 one arm and saw Starsky sitting a few feet away, his tired 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, Starsk. Fine with me.”

They sat quiet, exhausted, eating their meager meal.

 

Chapter Eight

Starsky lay near the entrance of the cave, watching the fire pop and crackle. He was exhausted and sore, but at least the pain in his shoulder had finally started to ease up. In the distance, he had heard the mountain lion’s scream twice already, so he wasn’t taking any chances on letting the fire go out.

Lying behind him, Hutch had succumbed to a restless sleep. Rationally, Starsky knew that he wasn’t to blame for what Bracken had done to Hutch today, but he still felt rotten he hadn’t been there to protect his partner. Now, he was bound and determined not to let anything else bad happen to Hutch.

In the quiet of night, he had plenty of time to think about just how desperate their situation had become. He knew that Hutch’s physical condition was tenuous, at best. If his leg became infected, gangrene could set in. And if that happened, Hutch would die unless he got adequate medical attention.

Starsky was discouraged. Usually the optimist of the duo, he was finding it harder and harder to keep up a good front. Because he knew that Hutch was depending on him to get them home, Starsky was determined he’d do whatever necessary to accomplish that end. Obviously, Hutch was in no condition to travel, nor could he be left alone to fend for himself while Starsky went off to search for help. It was Catch 22. He just hoped that by now, someone realized that the plane was missing.

Starsky could have kicked himself for not telling anyone back home where they were going. He had made up that cock’n’bull story about winning a sweepstake and had glossed over the details so Captain Dobey couldn’t check it out. Now, here they were in the middle of nowhere and nobody even had a clue where to look for them. How many times had Hutch turned to him in his best Laurel and Hardy voice and said, ‘Another fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Stanley’? Starsky smiled to himself. This time you’re right, Hutch. It’s a fine mess alright…

He fought sleep as his eyelids grew heavier. Got’a stay awake…got’a keep the fire goin’…got’a look after Hutch…That was his last thought before fatigue won the battle.

* * * 

Haunted by fever-induced nightmares, Hutch was agitated, thrashing about and fighting to free himself from the sleeping bag. He mumbled incoherently, and called out loudly, first for Gillian, then for Starsky—arguing with some unseen demon, as the fever raged through his body. Tears streamed from his bloodshot eyes as he relived the scene in Gillian’s apartment. Starsky woke up with a start and scrambled on hands and knees to where Hutch lay. He reached out and touched Hutch’s face, and discovered he was burning up with fever.

“Calm down, buddy. I’m right here. Come on, Hutch, you got’a be still now.”

Starsky’s heart was pounding and he felt a cold knot of fear in the pit of his stomach, realizing that while he was sleeping, Hutch had taken a turn for the worse. Starsky kept talking, trying to calm him, trying to penetrate his delirious dream world. Finally, in desperation, he wrapped his arms around Hutch and held on tightly to restrain him from doing further damage to his leg. Starsky was surprised at how strong Hutch was as he fought to hold him still. Finally, Hutch tired, and the fight drained from his body.

Once he stopped struggling, Starsky eased him back down and fetched what was left of their precious water supply. He patiently coaxed Hutch to take a few sips, hoping it would help cool the fever and relieve the delirium. Then, not knowing what else to do, Starsky soaked his handkerchief with water and used it to wipe Hutch’s face.

“Ma use to wipe my face with a cool cloth when I was sick,” he said, as much to himself, as to Hutch. He smiled as he thought back to when he was a little boy. “I remember when I had the measles, she musta done this for hours. Every time she thought I was asleep, she’d try to slip outta the room. But I wouldn’t let her.” Starsky wet the cloth again and repeated the process many times throughout the night. He kept up the one-sided conversation, hoping the sound of his voice would somehow reassure Hutch that he wasn’t alone.

After awhile, Hutch quieted and drifted into a peaceful sleep; and Starsky began a vigil which would last until daylight.

* * * 

When Hutch woke up the next morning, he found Starsky sitting in an upright position, leaning against the rock wall. His right hand was resting on Hutch’s head. Hutch’s whole body ached and his mouth felt like sandpaper. At least the intense, burning heat that consumed his body the night before was gone.

Hutch quietly eased from beneath Starsky’s hand and unzipped his sleeping bag. He vaguely remembered Starsky forcing cool water past his parched lips last night. Or was it a dream? Then he saw the empty canteen lying beside Starsky’s leg. In his left hand was the still-damp handkerchief.

They had made it through another night. Hutch could see dark smudges under Starsky eyes, the result of too little sleep. He still had Hutch’s bandana tied around his head; his hair matted with leaves, dirt, and dried blood. Hutch could see where the bullet had grazed Starsky’s shoulder yesterday—more dried blood, evidence of inadequate cleansing and lack of medical supplies.

God, he’s pitiful to look at! And what’s he do? Sits up all night taking care of me. Hutch smiled to himself and shook his head in amazement. Starsky was such an enigma to him. His tough-guy image fooled most people; but those closest to him knew his capacity for kindness and his undying loyalty to those he loved.

Lost in thought, Hutch wasn’t conscious of the sound right away. But then it grew louder; just a hum, at first. Then louder, and closer. He deliberately listened now, trying to identify the source. His mind was groggy from the after effects of the fever, but slowly, recognition came.

“Oh, my God…oh my God! Starsk, wake up! Wake up, buddy! I think I hear a helicopter!” Hutch began shaking Starsky and yelling at the same time. “Wake up!”

Starsky was so startled, it took a few seconds for him to comprehend what Hutch was saying. Then he was on his feet; rushing out into the open, scanning the sky for a glimpse of the craft they could both hear so nearby.

“The fire, Starsk! Throw some more wood on the fire!” Starsky reacted instantly and began throwing twigs and sticks on the smoldering fire. At first, it didn’t catch, but when he scooped up an armload of dry leaves and tossed them on the coals, the flame leapt up and restarted the campfire.

They were like two school boys—Starsky dancing around, flapping his one good arm, calling out to the search team, while Hutch joined in by cheering his partner on to ‘yell louder, add more wood, jump up and down more’!

The chopper passed them by, unseen, and appeared to move away from them. Starsky ran after the aircraft, but no one seemed to notice. Hutch’s heart plummeted at the prospect of being so close to rescue, then abandoned. Desperate to keep them from leaving, Hutch barked out more orders. “Starsky! Come back here and throw more wood on the fire!”

Realizing that he was getting nowhere running after the helicopter, Starsky rushed back to the sparse campfire and frantically threw more fuel on the flames. They both watched the sky anxiously. Starsky thought he saw the helicopter hover in one area for a few seconds—move away—then return.

“They see the plane!” he shouted to Hutch. “They see the plane!” By now, their campfire was blazing pretty good. The smoke billowed upward, catching the attention of a paramedic onboard the helicopter.

“There they are!” he shouted over the rotor blade noise. “See them? Two men, on the other side of that stand of pines. See? There—by those rocks.” The pilot pulled the chopper in a wide circle and started toward the plume of smoke. He grinned as he watched a scraggly looking fellow wearing dirty clothes and a red bandana tied around his head, jump up and down like an Indian doing a rain dance.

“I think those guys are ready to go home,” he said, laughing at Starsky’s gyrations.

“They’re comin’ back, Hutch! They’re comin’.”

“I see they are, buddy. I think we’re going home.” Hutch’s eyes closed briefly as the sighed with relief. It looked as though their ordeal was about to come to an end.

Starsky turned and looked at him. Neither said a word, but the meaning was clear. They had made it. And they had made it together.

    

Epilogue

Captain Dobey held the door open as Starsky maneuvered the wheelchair into the control tower booth. Hutch was kind of enjoying being chauffeured around; even though the chair was lightweight enough he could have easily handled it himself. He was wearing his ‘lucky’ fishing cap, in his lap was a gigantic basket laden with exotic fruits,gourmet cheeses, a variety of nuts, and hand-dipped candies.

Seth Carter and John McGinness both turned and looked up as the trio entered their workspace. They hadn’t the slightest idea who these guys were, but they had never seen a gift basket of that proportion before, so their interest was immediately piqued. Dobey took the initiative and introduced himself. “I’m Captain Harold Dobey with the LAPD. Are you two Carter and McGinness?”

That’s right,” Seth answered. “I’m Carter and he’s McGinness.”

A smile passed between the two detectives, both thinking how many times they had introduced themselves in a similar fashion.

“Yeah, well, I’m Starsky and he’s Hutch.” Starsky couldn’t resist.

Smiles wreathed the faces of both air traffic controllers. They recognized these names immediately. “Man, are we glad to see you guys alive,” Carter said, while extending his hand to greet the three policemen. McGinness followed suit.

“I brought my detectives here to thank you personally,” Dobey said seriously.

“I don’t think ‘thanks’ is adequate for what you two did for us,” Hutch said earnestly. “We know you were responsible for initiating a search for our plane. Otherwise, we probably would have died before anyone even missed us.”

“Just doing our jobs,” Seth said, modestly.

“And doin’ ‘em damn good, too!” Starsky added with enthusiasm. “Hutch is right. You don’t have any idea the shape we were in by the time they found us. My partner here was about eight hours from gangrene in that leg. If we hadn’t been picked up when we were, he would have lost his leg, or maybe even his life. I wanna thank you for pushin’ the panic button.”

“You both look like you’ve been to Hell and back,” McGinness joked, although in reality, he thought it was a pretty apt description. Both men where bruised and scraped up like they’d been rumbling somewhere in a back alley, and Hutchinson’s leg was in a cast from ankle to upper thigh. “We’re just glad you both made it.”

“We wish we could have gotten to you before the pilot died,” Carter said, his voice tinged with remorse.

Hutch could see the man inexplicably felt guilty about Carl’s death. “Listen, Carter, our pilot died on impact. My partner checked him out before he even dug me out of the rubble. No one could have saved him.” Hutch could see his words seemed to relieve some of the hurt in Seth Carter’s eyes.

“He’s tellin’ it like it is,” Starsky added. “He went through the front of the cockpit, Carter. No sign of a pulse. I think maybe his neck was broken when he hit the glass. The autopsy results haven’t been released yet, but I’ve seen a lotta traffic accidents, and that’s what it reminded me of.”

A hush fell over the small group for a few seconds, then Dobey steered the conversation back to a happier topic.

“These two are a pain in the ass sometimes, but they’re still the best detectives in my precinct, so I came along to thank you too, for going the extra mile. I’ve talked to your supervisor, and cleared it for you both to be off tomorrow afternoon. We’re having a little awards ceremony in your honor for the part you played in locating these two renegades.”

The two air traffic controllers were stunned. Both of them felt that they had only done what was right. It had taken a lot of persuasion, but they’d convinced the authorities that a plane had gone down, in spite of the fact that they were going on pretty sketchy evidence; and they had plotted out a surprisingly accurate location of the area to search.

“By the way,” Starsky poked Hutch’s shoulder, “are you gonna give ‘em the basket, Blondie?”

“Oh, yeah…uh…this is from Starsk and me. We didn’t really know what you’d like, so we told them to put a little of everything in here.”

Seth Carter blushed brightly as he and John thanked them both and took the huge basket off Hutch’s lap. After visiting another few minutes, the two controllers had to return to their stations and Dobey, Starsky, and Hutch headed back to LA. As Starsky fired up the engine of the Torino, Dobey helped Hutch get settled in the back of the car, then climbed into the passenger seat up front.

“Starsky, I’m going to sit up here so we can discuss in detail, this so-called sweepstakes trip of yours. I want to know where the hell you won that prize! And why no one knew where you were going! Furthermore, how did you get stuck with that relic of an airplane?”

Starsky looked in the rear view mirror in time to see Hutch duck his head to conceal his laughter. With an “I think I’m gonna be sick look” on his face, Starsky swallowed hard and said, “Now, Cap, I can explain all that—”

“Well, that’s good. Because I’m all ears and we’ve got about two hundred miles worth of explaining time available! But if you think I’m going to buy some lame….”

The End