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Starsky casually opened the fridge door to grab the beer and found himself face-to-face with a very pissed off rattlesnake. Shit! he thought as his legs gave out and he landed on his ass on the floor. The snake lunged and suddenly it, too, was on the floor, only inches away from where Starsky sat, his back pressed up tight against the kitchen cabinets. He was trapped.
Where was Hutch? Shit!, he thought again. His partner was outside in the rowboat. Starsky had gone into the cabin to put his jeans on over his red long johns. He’d gone in the fridge to grab a six pack of beer and discovered the snake instead. He glanced over at the jeans which now lay in a crumpled pile where he’d dropped them.
He could feel his face breaking out into a sweat. Not just breaking out, it was positively drenched in droplets. Outside, he could just make out the sound of Hutch calling to him, impatient, wanting to know what was taking so long.
Time passed excruciatingly slowly as the snake moved ever closer, its death rattle sending a chill up Starsky’s spine.
Finally Hutch was in the cabin, walking towards him from across the room, and when he saw the snake a look of terror set in. But he quickly pivoted into rescue mode and grabbed the flashlight, immediately changing his mind and throwing it at the bookshelf. Then he was around the corner and Starsky couldn’t see what Hutch was doing.
Starsky looked at the rattlesnake and then at his foot, protected only by a red sock. It was no match for a rattlesnake’s fangs. Hutch was creeping towards him now, holding out a blanket. Then everything happened so quickly there was no time to think and barely time to react. Hutch threw the blanket over the snake, ran to the window and tossed out the entire kit and kaboodle in a panic.
Over the thudding of his heart, Starsky was dimly aware that he and Hutch were both screaming.
“Snake,” Starsky panted as Hutch walked towards him.
“Where’d it come from?” Hutch yelled.
“From the refrigerator!” Starsky yelled back.
“Snakes don’t come in refrigerators!”
“This one did.”
But as Hutch began to walk towards the fridge to investigate it for himself, he abruptly stopped. He held up his right hand, staring at it, eyes as wide as the moon, and Starsky didn’t understand why Hutch was suddenly so fascinated with his own hand after they’d just faced down a venomous killer who’d invaded their peaceful retreat.
And then he saw the swelling and his own eyes opened wide in disbelief. Hutch’s wrist was blowing up like a balloon and his face had become a sickly shade of gray. Hutch winced in pain and began to sink wordlessly to the floor as Starsky grabbed him.