"They poisoned the coffee."
Starsky groaned, heard the sound echo strangely and felt a headache start to pound distantly from what might have been his head. A sound, like something sweet being sucked off a spoon, came to him from nearby and the voice continued to talk.
"The guards around here talk more than the prisoners." The voice said quietly. "They brag about everything, including the murders. And they do it intentionally because they figure, who are the prisoners going to tell? This is maximum security. Most of these guys aren't ever going to see a parole board. And if they do, all they gotta say is that the prisoner was a screw up, and the guy gets more time."
Starsky groaned, certain he knew the voice that was talking to him, but frankly wishing it would shut up. His head felt fragile as an egg shell and his wrist was stiff and his hand was throbbing like it was on fire.
"Now...those three prisoners. You'd've never heard about it on your end, but the prisoners have hundreds of theories. They never met them, before they were inmates. Not those three, but before them there were other guards. On staff one day, gone the next. The prisoners were never supposed to see the transition from guard, to infirmary, to escaped prisoner."
"Hutch…?"
"Huckleberry."
Starsky finally got his eyes open and stared at the underside of a bed. The part of the mattress that bowed toward him shifted and Hutch's face appeared, hovering in front of the dark space that had to be a jail cell.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm trying to figure out how you ended up in here, buddy." Hutch said.
Starsky lifted his head enough to see the cell walls beyond the struts of the bunk bed.
"Because you see, if you're in here, that means that you're destined to become an escaped, and therefore dead prisoner, and uh...I might be next."
"I promise you...you will die in the next two minutes if you don't shut up." Starsky slurred, only one eye making contact with Hutch.
His partner seemed unflustered by the threat and continued to stare down at him like a lopsided raccoon.
"Who hit you?"
"Hadrian. Big guy, gargantuan fists."
"What'd you do to make him mad?"
"Uh...I asked him to pass me a 'D'."
Starsky snorted, then groaned at the spike of pain it caused.
"I think he's got dysclse..dyslexi...he reverses his letters, see. And that makes him sensitive."
"A big guy like that...sensitive?"
Hutch rested his chin on the mattress of his bunk and asked, "How's your hand?"
"Hurts." Starsky was silent for a long time then said, "And we're in big trouble."
Quietly he brought Hutch up to speed, confirming their jointly arrived at theory and explaining what had happened to Tuttle.
"If we're right about Ackabee and the guards, he made the decision to get rid of you real fast. What all did you tell him?"
"I...told him I was single, new to town."
Hutch hissed. "That makes you easier to dispose of."
"Yeah...but I also told him I had a big brother who was a cop."
"Bingo." Hutch said quietly. "That's why you're still alive."
"He needs to run down this big brother cop before he disappears me into the woods." Starsky thought for a moment, his mind clearing. "But why would he stick me in with you?"
"I'm new to the system. Maybe making you disappear is his way of keeping the new people in line. They see guards turning on guards, then the guards are no more, they gotta think about their position as prisoners."
"Maybe."
"Were you able to check in?"
"Left a message." Starsky said, still chewing on the theory.
"Is this...whole thing starting to feel like a really bad idea?"
The air horn sounded, far too early to be any of the prearranged activities that filled the days of the prisoners. Lights started to snap on outside the cell door, the voices of the men rising in protest. Starsky carefully rolled onto his side, then sat up, his head swimming worse than before. His hand had been closed and bandaged, but the wounds felt raw and pulled at the stitches. He felt hot too, like he might have been fighting an infection.
Hutch slipped off the top bunk and stepped into the shoelace-less sneakers the prisoners wore, watching the doorway. "If were gonna escape, buddy, I'm 100% with you, but we're going to have to make it the best possible escape ever."
Starsky glared at Hutch, not sure he could stand, let alone escape, and wiped his hands on his pants. He was stunned to look down and find he was still in the guard uniform. Further, he still had the gun. Hutch stared at it with equal astonishment, watching Starsky pull out what looked like a full clip.
"Well that was stupid of them." Hutch said.
"Rubber bullets. Probably Ackabee's idea of less than lethal deterrent, though he blamed the warden."
"I don't like it." Hutch said.
"Suppose a prisoner...masquerading as a guard...escapes from a prison cell and all Ackabee has to do, to prove to the outside world that he, Ackabee, acted in the boundary of the law when shooting said prisoner, was to show them a videotape." Starsky said, his eyes wide.
Seconds later the door to their cell clicked, then slid open.
Both men stared at it, then back at each other.
"Wouldn't it look kinda hinky if the prisoner in the same cell with the masquerading guard, took the guard at gunpoint?"
Hutch had laid his hand over the gun and was pulling it from Starsky's hand.
"All they gotta do is shoot you, Hutch." Starsky said.
"With rubber bullets?" Hutch said, giving a devil may care smirk that cut at Starsky's chest.
A minute later they left the cell together. Hutch had the gun pressed against Starsky's temple, keeping Starsky close to this chest. They shouted together, Starsky pleading for none of the other guards to shoot, and Hutch shouting to be let through, while keeping his back against the wall at all times.
They stalled at the door that lead from Cell Block A to Cell Block B and Hutch screamed louder, Starsky adding an unsettling keen to his voice that finally prompted the stunned guards controlling the doors to unlock them. All of them.
They passed through three sets of hallways, barely moving as prisoner and hostage until they hit the cafeteria. It was dark, void of bodies. Hutch, keeping one hand on Starsky's shoulder, headed them across the wide open room to the door that would lead them to the recreation hall, then to admitting, then to the main door of the prison.
"This seem too easy to you?" Hutch asked.
"Maybe we caught them by surprise." Starsky said.
Hutch shrugged and reached for the door to the hall but Starsky stopped him. "Wait...not that way."
Without another word the dark haired partner crept up the stairs that would lead to the promenade, searching the dark length of concrete and barbed wire beyond the windows before he tried the door. It opened, and Starsky stayed in a low crouch while he leaned his torso into the wind. He jumped a moment later when Hutch appeared at his right shoulder.
"What's the matter?"
"The search lights. Those guys on the cell block opened all the doors. There's a risk of a major jail break, and the search lights are pointed at the parking lot. Why not the deadman zone, why not the woods?"
Hutch glanced out beyond the promenade, then back to his partner. "I see your point."
"They want us to escape. Or they wanted me to. So they can shoot me down once I'm in the woods."
"Except that maybe we screwed up Ackabee's original plan to fool your brother…"
"That means this should start to look like a real prison break in 3…"
The two counted together, "2….1."
Nothing.
Then the sirens, the lights started to move, and the voice of the warden rang through out through the prison declaring an armed and dangerous prisoner was on the loose.
"Glad we waited for that." Hutch said.
"I feel bettah." Starsky said, then grabbed the gun, pointed the barrel at his own head and nodded toward the guard tower. "Come on, criminal."
"Why am I always doing all the work?" Hutch sighed, guiding his prisoner out the door.
They moved fast down the promenade, ducking under a searchlight and coming up on a guard tower with a bang. Hutch shoved Starsky's face against the glass and made sure the gun was clearly visible. The guard in the tower made a move toward the rifle leaning against the console then froze when Hutch drew the hammer back on the gun.
They were given access and Starsky was 'ordered' to tie up the other guard. While Hutch armed himself with real ammunition, Starsky studied the switches and started flipping them randomly. "I got an idea." He said, working the panel until half the lights were blinking and the other half looked ready to burn out.
"Don't bother explaining, I won't like it." Hutch said, watching his partner with concern.
"Okay then." Starsky said with a shrug, then eyed the gun that Hutch had pulled aside for him. "You ready?"
Hutch took a deep breath and nodded, and Starsky pointed to the hatch in the floor. Hutch bent to open it, then climbed down to the first landing. "Come on, Starsky."
"Take that you arrogant suckers." Starsky muttered, flipping all the switches that would swing around the search light of their tower so that it blinded the guard in the next tower. He took to the stairs a second later, took his gun from Hutch and led the way down three more flights.
"Our avenue of escape is going be between this tower, and the one to the left." He shouted, barely touching the stairs. "Cause there's nobody to shoot at us in this one, and the guy in the other one can't see."
"Not bad, partner." Hutch said.
Neither man stopped at the door, but charged out into the wide open field of gravel and brush that led, uninhibited to the parking lot. Starsky spotted the Torino, parked at the very back of the lot where he'd left it the previous morning. He slapped his breast pocket once to make sure the keys were still there, then slid to a halt when he heard a dull thud behind him.
Hutch had tripped and rolled, and tried to recover but couldn't.
"Hutch!"
On his hands and knees, Starsky's partner dragged his left leg up under his chest and tried to push to his feet. Starsky thrust his arm under his partner's right shoulder before he could fail and forced him forward.
"You were right.." Hutch grunted. "...about your theory."
Starsky propped Hutch against the side of the Torino, struggling to get the keys out of the narrow pocket in the uniform coat. Finally ripping the pocket off the coat entirely, Starsk managed to unlock the driver's side, slung the door open and guided Hutch down onto the seat.
There was blood. Blooming on Hutch's left side, pulsing through the gaps between the fingers he'd pressed there.
More bullets were coming, pinging off the hood of the car as Starsky turned the engine over and fishtailed backwards across the parking lot. He managed a sloppy handbrake turn, slammed the car into gear and took off.
Two more shots slapped into the rear, sounding like hail. Only then did Starsky hit the headlights. With one hand on the wheel he ripped off the security guard jacket and shoved it toward his partner.
Hutch's breathing was shaky, the blonde dealing with the pain, shock, and fear all in one go.
"Hang on, Hutch, hang on." Starsky begged, hitting the switch on the radio and picking up the receiver. They were 114 miles outside of Bay City, at higher elevation, which meant the mountains might interfere with the signal. They're best bet would be a pay phone somewhere but Starsky didn't dare stop.
"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. Anybody out there that can hear me, call the Bay City PD, Captain Dobey, Precinct 9. Tell him the birds have flown the coop. I repeat. Captain Dobey, Bay City Metro Division, Precinct 9. Birds have flown the coop. Over."
Hutch struggled to swallow, his whole body shaking. "Should probably...f-find a hospital."
"That's the plan partner, but I don't trust this town."
Hutch's whole body stiffened, his teeth shone in the darkness and Starsky flung a hand out as they careened sharply around a mountain road.
"Gotta stop the bleeding." Hutch forced the words out, his body relaxing again, breaths once more exploding from his lungs. "S-starsky. Gotta stop the bleeding."
"I know that Hutch!" Starsky shouted, gritting his teeth as he wound the car down a two lane highway that normally had a limit of 45mph.
Hutch tried to clear his throat, then gave a half-hearted cough, air coming out of him in huffs like a balloon with a rhythmic leak.
"Th-think...think it went through." Hutch said.
Starsky slipped a hand behind his partner's back and wiped the blood that came away on his uniform pants. "Yeah." He said, choking on the word. "How do I stop the bleeding...Hutch. Tell me. I can't...I can't very well put a tourniquet around your chest."
"P-pressure….h-heat. C-cold."
"Cold?"
Hutch nodded, his head lolling a little. "Cold...slows blood."
"Yeah but...won't that hurt ya, I mean? Aren't you supposed to keep warm?"
"You want me...w-warm..or alive?"
Starsky slowed the car, rapidly, slipped the Torino onto a gravel turn-off and slapped it into park, leaving the engine running. He jerked his uniform shirt off, ripping buttons and folding it into a pad that he pressed against the exit wound. Hutch stiffened and tried to stifle the cry of pain. Starsky tried to ignore it, folding the uniform jacket into a similar pad before he gently rocked his partner onto his side and pressed it against the entry wound on his back.
"Stay there…" Starsky said, his face hard against the fear, the agony his partner was in, the killing anger. Not willing to let it show. Not willing to let overtake him just yet. He ran to the side of the road and took off the white undershirt, laid it on the ground and started filling it with snow.
Snow...the one cold commodity that California had in spades at higher elevations. Snow...the one thing about this mountain that he chose to mock while pretending to be Skeeter. Snow...the thing that he desperately hoped his brilliant partner would be right about.
Starsky packed as much snow into the shirt as possible, wound it into a ball and carried it back to the passenger seat. Hutch's eyes were closed, shut tight against the pain.
The bigger wound was the one in the front. That was where the bullet, after expanding, had burst through. That was going to have to be the main focus of the cold treatment until he could get Hutch into the hands of real doctors, that knew what they were doing.
"Hutch. Lean back against the seat buddy." Starsky said, making sure that the compress on his back stayed over the wound. "I got...I got some snow." Starsky said, a laugh he couldn't control escaping his lips. He pressed the ball shaped compress down and Hutch stiffened again, his hand flying up, fingernails digging into the unprotected skin on Starsky's arm.
"Come on, partner. This was your idea. Hey!" Starsky's hand lifted, slapping against Hutch's face lightly until the blue eyes opened. "Your idea. You gotta cooperate with me, huh? Now...give me your hand. That's it...I know, it's cold, buddy. I know. That's it. You hold that there...and don't get smart."
Starsky pressed both Hutch's hands against the cold dampness of the shirt and waited until Hutch kept his hands their voluntarily before he shut the passenger door, climbed into the driver's side and started down the road again.
Once he was up to speed, he let his right hand rest over his partner's hands. Feeling them slowly get colder. Listening desperately for each breath. Watching the road with the knowledge that if he couldn't even drive them safely to a hospital, his partner's life-saving snow treatment was going to be pointless.