Never Give Up

Hutch is trapped under his car and comes to some realizations. Survival Missing scene.

Written for Nancy’s Soul.

Hutch looked up at the cliff above him, impossibly far. In his current situation, it would be like trying to reach the moon.

Was this how the ancients felt? Unattainable, unimaginable?

So much closer, the bulk of his mangled car, crushing down on his body, slowly, horribly. His pelvis was torqued against the unforgiving ground, rocks digging into his spine, reducing his world to pain.

Amazingly, his left leg was the one limb that didn’t hurt, which worried him more than all the other catalogue of injuries. He didn’t want to think about what numbness meant.

Take stock. Get on with it.

Head-check. Concussion. But not from the car accident, at least he didn’t think so. Most probably from the undercover job. He’d been out cold, according to Starsky, his own personal physician.

Thinking about Starsky hurt most of all and he shied away from that memory. Get back to the present. Safer–ha.

Okay, that was the wrong word. More like prudent. To keep watch, keep vigilant.

That was the right word. Assess his wounds. Be aware for danger, alert for help–.

He wouldn’t survive if he were not rescued. What was the old saw for survival without food or fluids? The rule of threes: three hours in harsh conditions, three days without water, three weeks without food.

Before you die. Thank you, Sea Scouts Manual for that cheery appraisal of the state of affairs.

How many hours had it been without water so far? He wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious. (did that indicate a second concussion, or an addition to the first one?) Time was passing without his notice, although he could see the sun had moved. Trying to remember how to estimate time by solar position was harder than expected. His brain ached abysmally.

The sun beat down on his face and exposed arms, burning his skin raw. His chest hurt-breathing was like inhaling knives. His hands were scraped and bleeding. Although, on the bright side again–if there was such a thing–the knife gash on his hand hadn’t been caused by the car accident either.

So he had an open wound for bacteria to enter. Terrific, as Starsky would say.

Starsky. Hutch’s eyes stung with tears. Would he ever see his partner again? To be honest, he would prefer to die here, undiscovered, than have Starsky find him dead.

He’d sent Sergeant Sonny McPhearson on a mission, to find David Starsky and report.

Could he trust the old man? He was two bricks shy of a load. What if he found a bottle and settled in, never got to Bay City. Had he found Starsky?

Hutch had to hold onto faith. Believe that Starsky would come.

Starsky, listen. Hear me. Feel me. Know me.

Hutch wearily swiped the moisture out of his eyes and sucked on his dirty, but wet finger.

Starsky, I am waiting for you. I know you. I feel you.

I love you.

Fin