Hi All,
Things are getting more difficult for the guys, more violence and bad things… some gross stuff too. Well, I think its gross… kinda depends on your definition of gross… um, on with the story. Oh, thanks a lot for the reviews! But what really matters is that you enjoy the story.
Starskysgal – So sorry that the flashbacks bother you, but there will be more of them.
To the Usual Suspects the usual, very heart felt thanks!
Warning! Rated R for content, some words and bad stuff.
Chapter 8
The Baron pulled back on the yoke and gained altitude, carefully maneuvering the Huey out of the small meadow. He waved back at Mr. Starsky, he then tried the radio and as expected, it didn't work. He made for the airport, pushing the copter has hard as he dared. This was almost as fun as much fun as the time the four of them had stormed that castle. He laughed, Huggy was right; life was much more exciting around Starsky and Hutch.
The Huey rose unexpectedly "Whoa Nelly, gotta watch those up drafts" the Baron smiled to himself, this was fun. He checked the horizon, the sun was going down fast, he would need to hustle to make it back to the little private airstrip they had taken off from. He increased the speed and pushed the copter to its near maximum speed of 121 knots, the single Lycoming tuboshaft engine whined with effort.
After a while, the Baron spotted the landing strip in the distance and tried the radio again. Nothing. He checked the skies carefully for other planes. It could get messy if he got into somebody's flight path. And he couldn't tell the control 'tower' (it wasn't so much a 'tower' as a slightly taller building then the others) that he was coming in mute and deaf, that he had no radio and was unable to hear them. His customary smile faded, it was time to be serious.
Something tickled at his nose. He sniffed. A burning electrical scent collected in his nostrils. So, Mr. Starsky had been correct. He would tell the man that, when next he saw the detective. He buzzed the tower and waved at the controller sitting in the booth. He pointed at his ear and motioned that his radio was malfunctioning.
The controller stood up and started to wave franticly at him. The Baron gave the man a quizzical look, radios sometimes went out, it was nothing to get excited about. And with his old plane, burning electrical smells were common.
Still, he had to get this bird on the ground, he glanced about to make certain he wasn't in anyone's flight path and that's when he spotted the fire. It was small but there, on the underside of the fuselage, it was just peeking out from the around what looked like the gearbox. From what he could tell from the refection from the tower windows, that is.
The Baron wasted no more time on what the fire looked like. He maneuvered the Huey away from the buildings. The copter was increasingly more difficult to fly. He found an open stretch and aimed for it. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and he pulled hard on the yoke, trying to regain control and get the copter closer to the ground.
"Come on baby… just a little more…" The Baron's plea went unheeded as the Huey rolled violently onto its side; the rotor blades contacted the ground and fragmented, a half a heartbeat later, the rest of the copter smashed into the ground. Debris, fuel and flames erupted from the wreck and the nearby grass caught fire.
The Baron's body, lashed to the pilot's seat by safety belts, jerked hard and the motion from the crashing copter surged through him and his last cognitive though was "Oh shit, is Joe ever gonna be pissed"
XXXX
After quickly re-burying the body, Starsk started to search for the path that three remaining men had taken away from the meadow. God help Hutch if it really was Colby with them. He and Hutch's former friend was a cold fish. But to actually like to kill? Starsky shook his head, not good. He had seen men like that in Vietnam. They would cut the ears off of their victims and string them around their necks, like trophies. Only those dead couldn't really be called 'victims' though, for they had been soldiers… still, soldiers or no, they hadn't deserved that treatment.
Starsky stopped those thoughts; he had to concentrate on finding Hutch before he ended up with a stab to his spine. He rechecked the ground near the plane and spotted something he had missed before. The grass was torn up and small branches were freshly broken on the ground. He knelt down and peered closely at the damage.
There had been a fight right here. Who had fought? What had they fought over, or about? Was it over the dead man? Starsky found a very clear footprint. It was Hutch's shoe size, he checked the print over very carefully, and there it was! There was the small cross in the heel print of the left shoe.
He knew it was Hutch's shoe print. He had cut the cross into the heel himself. Hutch would have been furious if he had known. Starsky just couldn't help himself sometimes. Superstitions got the best of him at times and carving the cross in the heels of shoes was to keep the devil from following you. He had them in his own shoes, along with the Star of David, just to cover all the bases. He smiled briefly; it would bug Hutch to no end if he ever found out about that.
Returning his attention to the area of the fight, he found a burst aerosol can. The can had been shot… but why? He sniffed it and it had a strong odor to it. He put it down where he found it, more out of habit then anything else. He then found a .38 shell casing not too far from that. Something had been in that can, something dangerous, perhaps? Or was it target practice? Or was it for intimidation? The answers to those questions would have to wait.
Starsky stood up and adjusted the shoulder strap of the pack he was carrying. He found the trail and followed it. It was a deer trail, from the cloven hoof prints he saw. On top of some of the prints were human shoe prints. Having found the trail, he sped up. He knew that he really should stop and thoroughly check the pack and see what all was in it before it got dark. That could wait though. It would have to.
He broke into a jog. He had a lot of ground to cover if he was ever going to catch up with the men. He would go until it was nearly dark, and then he would stop. With that thought in mind, he pressed forward, moving a quickly as he dared.
XXXX
Hutch stumbled and struggled to catch his balance. He panted in the dry heat and was happy to note that there was just a hint of coolness in the light breeze that wafted by. His walking stick was getting heavier, but he maintained his grip on it. It was something he could hold on to and occasionally, in his now blackened universe, it felt like the only tangible thing in the world to him. And right now he needed that, strange how the stick had become like an extension of him, a part of him. His new best friend was a stick. He giggled at the thought and when he realized what he was doing, stopped.
Hutch knew that he was close to overheating… 'No, no, wrong word Kenny… heat exhaustion' He corrected himself 'cars overheat, not people', still, it felt like he was overheating, but he was sweating still, that was good. But he was getting more and more lightheaded. Being blind further robbed him of his equilibrium. The stick was pretty much the only thing that kept him on his feet now. His backpack pulled hard on his aching shoulders, dragging on him. Why was he carrying it? He unbuckled the straps and shrugged his way out of them, letting it drop to the ground behind him. Relief washed over him. He felt so light now.
"HEY! What the hell do you think your doing?" Rough hands grabbed him and put the pack back on him. The straps were cinched tightly.
"Water?" Hutch whispered through parched lips "Please?" It was asking a lot, he knew. They had not seen even so much as a mountain stream the whole day. The canteens were all getting low now. Hank had stopped giving him sips hours ago. Or it seemed like hours ago.
"Oh for Christ sake! Here!"
There was the sound of the cap being twisted off and water sloshing. Flecks of water hit his face, one landed on his lips and he licked it off greedily. "More?"
The gag was shoved into his mouth and roughly tied on. His mouth was wrench widely by the mass and his whole jaw ached from having been in a similar position the night before. Hutch blinked rapidly, trying to assimilate what was going on. His heat-fragmented brain slowly gathered its thoughts back up. Oh yeah… he was playing pack animal to two criminals. They were in the woods. It was hot. Really hot.
"Now MOVE!" Hank shoved him from behind. Hutch had no choice but to walk.
"If you take that pack off before I tell you to, I'm tying your hands, got it?"
Hutch nodded dumbly and gripped his stick hard and staggered down the trail. The wind blew by him again, a cool gentle caress that tickled his face and hair. If the gag would have permitted it, he would have smiled, it felt that good.
"We'll be stopping soon, looks like a good spot up ahead. I'll look around" Colby called out.
Hutch used his stick to pull himself forward. It would feel so good to sit down. He kept walking, sweeping the area in front of him with his stick until he hit something. He tapped along the thing. Wood. He tapped again. Sounded hollow. He sat down and leaned forward. He would have fallen over backward if he had leaned that way, he didn't dare take the backpack off again. Not yet anyway. They might not be done walking for the day. His breath came in pants and he tried to keep breathing through his nose, he would loose less moisture that way. He needed every little bit he had left.
He rested his head in his hands. His head pounded as if it were a tom-tom being beaten for a tribal dance. He wondered if he could get away with taking the gag off now. If he kept quiet, maybe they would let him leave it off. His fingers itched to remove the thing. But he made himself wait. His breathing slowed after while and his haze of exhaustion lifted ever so slightly. He became aware of a buzzing sound somewhere close by.
He tilted his head and listened carefully. It was bees, or maybe wasps. There must be a hive close by… to his right. He didn't move. He did not want to stir them up and have them attack. He carefully removed the gag. He would need help getting away from them and he didn't want Colby to decide to camp there, so close to the bees, or wasps. He was hesitant to call out and warn them, it might agitate the insects.
He turned his face to the sun to try to determine how much daylight they had left. The sun seemed weak and with the occasional cool breeze, it must be near sundown. He would wait a little longer. The bees (or wasps) left him alone, so far. He slowly put his head in his hands again and rested.
XXXX
Colby watched Hank and Hutch through the cover of the pine boughs. Hutch dropped onto a fallen log and put his head in his hands, clearly exhausted. Hank sat down on a rock and looked around for a few moments before opening his canteen and looking into it, the man took a quick drink and recapped it. He then picked up a stick and dug at the ground, obviously bored.
Hutch lifted his head after a few minutes and tilted it this way and that, trying to figure something out. The blond was like an animal in the wild. Without his sight, he was reduced to sniffing and groping. It was so funny; the man was usually so sophisticated and now look at him. Reduced to a pack animal. Colby grinned.
Which one should he kill? The tension had been building in his body all day. He was nearly panting with pleasure now. His hands slowly rubbed at the material covering his crotch. It was all sooo nice. It was nearly time now. He closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet mountain air.
Rub. Kill Hutchinson?
Rub. Kill Hank?
Rub. Hutchinson?
Rub. Hank?
Rub. Hutchinson was blind. Couldn't run away. Rub
Hank had a gun. Rub.
Hank could see. Rub.
Hutch had beaten him once. Rub. Had nearly beaten him again. Rub.
Hank was healthy, strong. Rub.
Hutch was weakened by exhaustion and lack of water. Rub.
Colby stood up, still smiling. He knew whom he was going to kill.
XXXX
Starsky hated to stop, but he would have to. He couldn't follow the trail in the dark and there wasn't much of a trail to begin with, just a footprint here, bent over grass and weeds there. Tracking was not really his forte, but he dredged up as much of the old skill as he could from his time in Nam. It brought back more unpleasant memories.
"Men, we need that sniper killed. Starsky, Jacobs, you two are the best shots, you two head out and see if you can't find that son of a bitch that's picking us off" Sergeant Jones whispered "Good luck men, good hunting!" Sergeant Jones saluted them "We'll hold position here as best we can, hurry now" he motioned them off.
"Good hunting?" Starsky rolled his eyes, but saluted and grabbed his gear. Timmy Jacobs gathered his things as well.
"Yeah, what did you expect him to say? Bad hunting?" The blond kid laughed and shouldered his pack. "C'mon city boy, let me show ya how it's done"
"Don't call me boy, FNG" Starsky chuckled. He liked Jacobs. The kid always had a comment about everything. He had not really gotten to know the Fucking New Guy or FNG as they were called. But so far, no one else could make him smile as often as this kid. Kid, hell he only had about a year on the kid.
Starsky shook his head. It felt more like a lifetime. FNG's didn't really know the score, didn't know the dangers and were most often killed quickly if they didn't catch on. He should try to keep his distance and not make friends too soon, at least until the FNG proved himself by surviving for a month or two.
"Okay Slick… that's short for city slicker" Jacobs patted him on the arm and grinned, no rancor in his tone.
"Shut up, I know what it's short for. How 'bout I call you Tim, that's short for Timmy " Starsky rolled his eyes at that. Gees, couldn't he think of something better to say?
"How about you call me Jake, that's what my friends call me" The blond flashed him a smile and adjusted his helmet. "What do you know about huntin' Slick?"
"Nothin', but I wouldn't really call this huntin'. Who we're hunting is packin' guns and they know how to use 'em"
"So do we partner, so do we" Jake smiled again "Well Slick, listen up, I'm about to learn ya a thing or two" The blond became all business then and as they made their way though the jungle, Starsky was taught how to track. He and Jake had killed the sniper.
He would never become the tracker that Jake was, but he would remember the lessons he learned that day.
He stopped and made a quick camp, like back in Nam, he placed the mountain behind him and made sure he had a clear view of the area all around, plenty of cover for himself and not enough for his enemies. He ate a quick meal, a tasteless MRE that the Baron had packed away. He didn't start a fire. The enemy might see that. He curled up in his hidden position and dropped off into a light sleep.
XXXX
Hutch felt the sun fading on his skin. He could not see the brightness dimming. It sadden him that he could not see the colors. He wondered if he ever would see them again. Hank had sat down somewhere to his left a while ago and he had listened for Colby. But had heard nothing.
There was a cool damp breeze blowing now. A front must be moving in. Maybe they would get some rain and then he could get a drink. Water would be oh so nice right now. He could imagine the rain dripping down on him and running into his mouth. He licked his lips in anticipation. Water… cool, sweet water….
A sound off to his left jerked him back into the now. He tilted his head. He could hear the bees (or wasps) buzzing and something else… a soft sound… He moved his head; trying to locate the sound… there is was again. A gurgle and a soft pant.
Huh? Hutch's brain turned the sounds around in his head, trying to get a mental picture of what was going on. He didn't ask. He didn't want the gag put back in. He listened harder. The panting was rhythmic and the rhythm was increasing. It sounded rather like… like someone approaching his climax. Hutch curled his lip in disgust. Were Hank and Colby doing 'it'?
A cold feeling washed over him as Hutch realized what was actually happening just a few feet away. Colby was murdering Hank. The gurgling was Hank struggling for breath… a stab to the spine was paralyzing him and his ability to breathe… the man was dying. And the rhythmic pants were Colby enjoying himself. Really, really enjoying himself.
Vomit worked its way up his throat, where it burned. Hutch swallowed hard. What could he do? He was blind, helpless, was he next? Probably. He heard Colby reach his conclusion and Hutch stood up, his grip was tight on his stick. Should he run? Where could he go? Which way? He had only seconds, if that… he needed more time, just a little more time.
"Well, Hutch… did you enjoy that as much as I did?" Colby sounded relaxed, happy. "It was great… you should have seen it… that's right you can't. You want me to describe it to you?" Colby stood up and moved closer. "I love to see the look on peoples faces when they die. Whenever I get the chance, I watch them die. I don't always get the chance, in my line of work, sometimes you have to do it and run… well, rarely run. People notice someone running away from a scene. I always walk. Sometimes I even whistle"
Hutch could hear Colby walking around him, or trying to. Hutch kept turning to face him so John couldn't get behind him to stab him. It wasn't much protection. He heard the zipper close on Colby's jeans. He shuddered.
John gave a satisfied sigh. "Hank was the best I've had in years. Oh, I wish you could have seen it. He looked so stunned, and then kind of sad. Then he cried. Oh how the tears streamed down his face"
Colby laughed lightly "I wonder why he cried? Was he crying because he was dying? I looked deep into his eyes as he cried. He tried not to look at me. He kept closing his eyes, so I cut his eyelids off. He couldn't close his eyes then. Then his eyes streamed with tears and blood… Hutch, you should have seen it…" Colby closed his eyes and inhaled slowly and exhaled, just as slowly. Ecstasy, that's what this was, sheer ecstasy.
"It was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen… it brought me great joy. I'm sure you heard that. I tried to keep it quiet… I like it quiet. Quiet is best" Colby slumped down and sat on the log the detective had just left. He was tired. But it was a good kind of tired. A smile danced on his lips.
He looked at Hutchinson; he was no threat, blind as he was. Colby watched him closely for several minutes and the blond wavered as his stood, obviously barely able to stand up. The man's knuckles whitened on the walking stick, he was no threat at all. John closed his eyes, reliving the bliss he had just experienced. This was by far the longest he had ever felt anything. He just couldn't stop smiling. Life was good.
Hutch heard Colby sit down. John was sitting on the log that he had just vacated. Hutch gripped his stick. He had one shot. Just one. He waited for several minutes, his knees shaking with the strain of staying upright and not moving. One chance, focus, focus! Just one. Wait for it… Wait for it… NOW!
Hutch tuned in on the sound of the bees and jammed his stick into the hive, swishing it around in there before pulling his stick out and turning to run away. It didn't matter where or what direction, he just made himself run as fast as he could.
XXXX
"What the? Hey, Hutch where are you going" Colby stared after the blond, the stick had missed him, stupid cop, just where did he think he was going? Colby stood up as an angry buzz erupted beside him. Suddenly he was being attacked from all directions, stings piercing him as the bees swarmed him.
"Hutchinson! GOD DAMN YOU HUTCHINSON!" Colby bolted off through the trees as the bees continued their attack. Hutch had ruined his bliss. Just as soon as this bee attack was over, the blond was going to find out just how slowly he could make a man die. John gave it no more thought and continued his blind flight from the bees.
XXXX
Hutch used his stick to find a path; some of the bees stung him, as he could not run as quickly away as Colby. He tried to go in the opposite direction of the sound of Colby's voice. The bees kept stinging him, forcing him onward when all he wanted to do was stop and suddenly, the ground disappeared and he fell.
The ground reappeared painfully as trees and bushes hit him as he fell, slowing him, but hurting him more. He kept silent and tried to stop his descent, to no avail. He plummeted down the incline, rolling and bumping down until he stopped with a splash as he landed in a small stream.
Water at last! He thought.
Consciousness evaporated, leaving him in a now, very familiar place. In the dark.
XXXX
The fire was nibbling slowly at the grass around it. It was growing slowly and moving slowly. It was dark and the air was damp and cool. Not ideal growing conditions for a fire. So it kept low to the ground and ate only the oldest, driest of the litter. If the air grew too damp or if it rained, the little fire was doomed. But deep down, it had, like all fires have, it had the desire and the potential to be big one day. But that could only happen under the right conditions. And right now, the conditions weren't right. The fire sighed and sputtered and remained small and close to the ground. For now.
TBCNote: MRE – Meals Ready to Eat