"Not Irish stew again?!" protested Mike Stoker, as he sorted out the newspaper that was spread out all over the table in the kitchen of Station 51.
"Chet, there are other things in the universe of cooking, you know," chimed in Marco, as he finished putting away the dishes he had been washing. "Like enchiladas, perhaps?" he suggested hopefully.
"Oh, ye of little faith," quoted Chet, tossing a sliced carrot into a bubbling pot on top of the stove. "Yeah, all right, the last Irish stew didn’t turn out quite right, but never fear -- I’ve got a new recipe, and who’d make a better bunch of guinea pigs than you guys? This one is my cousin’s very special version. Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it," said Chet.
"As long as you don’t poison us, pal," said Captain Stanley as he walked in form his office. "Roy and Johnny are on a call right now, and who’d take care of you after we try to kill you? Remember Bob’s chili at Station 68?" he asked. There were smiles all around, as they recalled how Bob was convinced he was having a heart attack after liberally sampling the chili he was cooking.
"Au contraire," answered Chet. "With a name like Patrick Seamus Kelly, that’s just about as Irish as you can come. He told me this one comes from ‘the old country’, so it’s truly authentic. Maybe I should even use some green food coloring..."
Marco tossed the dishrag at Chet’s head, saying, "Not if you expect anyone to actually eat that slop!"
"Hey, man, don’t knock my cousin," said Chet, ducking the dishrag. "At least he’s a friendly cousin, unlike some I could mention, like Ana Maria, perhaps?" he added, smirking suggestively at Marco.
Marco sighed in defeat. "Okay, so my psychotic cousin is always trying to get me into things that will get me killed. I still don’t believe that bike riding thing..."
"Mike, have you seen the log sheet for that chemical plant fire last shift?" asked Hank. "I want to get this month-end report finished now."
"Yeah, Cap, it’s right over here with the newspaper. I was checking that reporter’s ‘version’ of what went on at the fire and comparing it to our log sheet. I certainly don’t remember all this drama, do you?" replied Mike, brandishing a section of the paper.
"Hey, let me see that, Mike," said Marco. He read a section of the article Mike had indicated. "Wow, when did the foreman ‘narrowly escape death’?"
"How about our ‘race against time’?" said Mike sarcastically. "Any chemical fire that ends up with no injuries, and is over in an hour and a half is hardly a ‘race against time’ -- it’s a bloody miracle! Just what fire was this reporter covering anyway?" he commented as he rummaged about on the table. "Oh, here’s the log sheet, Cap," he said, handing it over.
"Thanks, Mike." Hank cast a quick glance at the rest of the paper, which was spread out on the table. He noticed a familiar name in the art section. There was a headline which read: "Stoker’s time is then and now: ‘contemporary’ artist captures all periods."
"Hey, Mike," said Hank, pointing at the newspaper, "any relation?"
"Yeah -- my first, and favorite, cousin Jacky. It’s her first show since graduating from art school. Peggy and I went to the opening last night. You wouldn’t believe how many phonies show up at opening nights. They claim to be art critics, but when they start trying to ‘delve into the artist’s psyche’, as one guy put it, you have to laugh. Now take this review right here, where the critic says, "In the painting entitled ‘Oops!’ the artist was obviously doing an introspective realization and exposition of the whys and wherefores of life." What a crock! I know, for a fact, that the ‘painting’ was actually an accident. Jacky says she was carrying a fresh palette across the room when she tripped over her cat and fell into the canvas. She thought the canvas was ruined, but she put it in for a joke, more than anything -- just to see how the critics would ‘interpret’ it. She nearly choked trying not to laugh when Barrington-Smythe came out with that comment last night! She has always thought that art critics weren’t worth the amount of space they take up, either in the newspapers or in the art galleries. But, since their opinion gets people to the galleries, you have to put up with them. A ‘necessary evil’, I guess. Anyway, Jacky gave me a whole bunch of free passes in case anyone is interested in going to the show," said Mike.
"What show?" asked Johnny as he and Roy entered. Johnny picked up one of the carrots from the counter and started nibbling.
"Hey, Johnny," protested Chet, slapping Johnny’s hand, "Get away from the fixings for dinner."
"Not your ‘famous’ Irish stew again, Chet," groaned Johnny.
"No, this is a different recipe -- from my cousin Patrick," Chet replied.
"I’d better call Rampart and tell them to have the stomach pump ready," quipped Johnny.
"Ha, ha," said Chet sarcastically. "You know, Gage, you’re a laugh a year."
"What show?" Roy asked Mike.
"An art show starring Mike’s cousin Jacky’s work," supplied Chet.
"Yeah, I remember hearing you talk about her," said Johnny.
"What sort of art does Jacky do, anyway?" asked Roy.
"Well, let’s see..." Mike was interrupted by the klaxon as the alarm went off.
"Station 51, trash fire with injuries, 1117 Rochester, 1-1-1-7 Rochester, cross-street Marina. Time out, 1634."
"LA, Station 51. KMG 365," replied Hank.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
When they arrived on the scene, they could see a woman giving artificial respiration to a small girl, while a little boy looked on. He was rubbing his tear-streaked face and coughing. Smoke billowed from a dumpster about thirty feet behind them. Johnny shouted from the side of the squad as they pulled up to the scene, "Keep going, ma’am! We’ll be right there!"
She turned a startled face to the squad, nodded, and continued.
"Carol? Billy?" said Roy in a strangled voice as he jumped from the vehicle and ran over. The little boy ran at Roy while Johnny got out the oxygen.
"Uncle Roy! It’s Mary! She’s not breathing! She -- she was coughing, and then she just fell over! Mom started mouth-to-mouth right away, but..." wailed the sobbing boy as he clung to Roy.
Roy knelt and gently placed his arms around the boy. "Shh. It’s going to be okay, Billy," he soothed. "We’ll take care of Mary."
Johnny checked Mary for pulse and breathing. "She’s got a weak pulse, but she’s still not breathing. Can you keep going with the mouth-to-mouth for a couple more minutes while I set up the oxygen?" Johnny asked Carol.
She nodded and continued. Roy cast a stricken glance at Johnny, who was surprised to see tears standing in Roy’s eyes. Roy mumbled introductions, "My cousin, Carol, and her kids -- Billy and Mary."
Johnny nodded understandingly and said, "You take care of Billy -- it looks like he’s got some burns on his arms. We’ll take care of Mary."
Roy took Billy over to the side as Marco came over to the squad. "Roy," he said, "The fire’s just about out. Do you guys need a hand over here?"
"Yeah, Marco. Can you get the biophone set up, and bring some dressings and the drug box over? It looks like my cousin Billy here could use a hand," Roy replied, forestalling explanation.
"No problem, Roy. I’ll tell the captain," answered Marco.
"Thanks, Marco."
"So, Billy," said Roy as he steered his small cousin away from the scene. "What happened?"
Tears rolled down Billy’s face as he spoke, each sentence punctuated by sobs. "Oh, Uncle Roy! Mary was at the garbage thing, looking in, and…. There was all this smoke, and... I had to get her away, but she fell over, and I ran to get Mom, and... Then I came back out, and I pulled her away, and... I... I guess I burned myself then.... Is Mary going to be okay?" the little boy sobbed.
Roy looked over, then turned back to Billy. "She should be okay, Billy. You did a very brave thing, there, getting her away from that fire."
"D-do you really think so?" Billy asked in a small voice, as Marco arrived with the supplies.
"Yes, Billy. This is my friend Marco. He’s going to take care of those burns on your arms while I go help your Mom and your sister, okay?" Roy looked pleadingly over Billy’s head at Marco, who gave a barely perceptible nod.
Meanwhile, Johnny had taken over from an exhausted Carol. She stepped back and watched with a worried expression. Mary coughed twice, then started to breathe on her own. Carol turned to Roy, smiling with relief, tears running down her face. He grinned back at her and gave her a quick hug while Marco finished dressing the burns on Billy’s arms.
"What happened here?" asked Roy as he prepared to call Rampart.
"I’m not quite sure," answered Carol. "Billy and Mary wanted to play outside while I was in the bank. From what I can gather from Billy, some older kids were playing with matches and threw a lit matchbook into this dumpster. Billy knew that was wrong, so he was coming in to tell me when he realized that Mary wasn’t with him. He came screaming into the bank that there was a fire here, so I ran out with him in time to see Mary collapse. I guess the bank manager called the fire department. Billy tried to pull Mary away from the dumpster, and that’s when he burned his arms. Mary wasn’t breathing, so I started mouth-to-mouth. I don’t know how long I was doing that when you arrived. You know the rest," she said tiredly.
"Great job, Billy," said Marco. "Are you going to be a firefighter when you grow up?"
"I think so," said Billy proudly, as his mother smiled indulgently.
"Rampart, this is Squad 51," said Roy into the biophone.
"Go ahead, 51," answered Mike Morton.
"Rampart, we have two victims from a trash fire. First is a six-year old boy, with first and second degree burns to his forearms and hands. The burns have been irrigated and dressed. Second is a four-year old girl suffering from smoke inhalation. She was non-breathing for approximately six minutes, but artificial respiration was applied almost immediately. She is now breathing on her own, but is not yet conscious. We have her on oxygen at the moment."
"10-4, 51. What are the vital signs?"
"Rampart, vital signs: on the boy, pulse is 84, respiration is 20, pupils are equal and reactive. Skin is warm and moist. On the girl, pulse is 60, respiration is 14, pupils are equal and reactive. Blood pressure is 120 over 80. Skin is cool and clammy," reported Roy steadily.
"How extensive are the burns to the boy’s arms? Can you start an IV?"
"Rampart, the burns are from his hands halfway up his forearms. We should be able to start an IV."
"Okay, 51. On both children, start an IV of Ringer’s lactate. On the girl, keep the oxygen going, and transport as soon as possible."
"10-4, Rampart. IV of Ringer’s for both patients, oxygen for the girl," replied Roy as he turned to the drug box. "How are you doing, Billy?"
"My arms hurt an awful lot, Uncle Roy. How’s Mary? She’s still not waking up," observed Billy.
"Billy, we’re going to give you both some medicine through a tube. Now, we’ll put a needle in your arm up here, and the medicine will go from this bag into the tube and into your arm. The needle’s going to sting a bit, but the medicine will help you. Do you think you’re brave enough for that? You’ve really been a hero with helping save your sister’s life today, you know. I’ll make sure to tell your Daddy how great you’ve been today," said Roy gently.
"Okay, Uncle Roy." Billy heaved a big sigh. "I’m ready for the needle, but only if you do it. Will it... will it hurt very much?"
"Not too much, Billy. Now, I’m going to tie this rubber tubing around your arm for a couple of minutes. It’ll pinch a bit. Do you think you can close your eyes and hold your breath for a second?" asked Roy as he deftly swabbed Billy’s arm. "Now relax your arm, and let your breath out really slowly," said Roy as he inserted the needle in Billy’s arm. "That’s great. Why don’t you look over there and see how your little sister is doing? I think she’s starting to wake up now," said Roy as he checked the flow of the IV.
"I hardly felt that!" said Billy in astonishment.
"Hey, Billy," said Johnny as he helped the little boy into the ambulance beside his sister. "I guess you heroes don’t really feel the pain, huh?"
"No siree!"
"Roy, do you want to ride in or take the squad?" asked Johnny.
"I’ll ride in, I think. Mary could use a familiar face after a scare like that."
"I’ll see you at Rampart, then." Johnny tugged at Roy’s sleeve as he started to climb into the ambulance. "You going to be okay, Roy?" said Johnny softly.
"Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. See you in a bit," replied Roy, cracking a nervous smile, which he kept in place as the ambulance left.
"Hey, Johnny," asked Hank as Johnny climbed into the squad. "They’ll be okay, right?"
"Yeah, Cap. If Carol didn’t know artificial respiration, though, I don’t think Mary would have made it," said Johnny as he slowly shook his head. "Man, she was lucky her mom knew what to do."
"I hear you, Pal. I wish more parents would take the time to learn something so easy to do, that could save their kid’s life. You guys can be ‘on-call’ from the hospital for a bit until they’re both settled, but then we’ll see you back at the station. Just think about that wonderful Irish stew...." Hank said with a smile.
"Jeez, Cap, do you really want us to come back for that?" joked Johnny.
"Who do you think is going to resuscitate us after dinner?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
An hour and a half later, the squad pulled back into the station.
"Johnny, somebody dropped this off for you earlier," said Mike, handing him an envelope. "Said something about being a cousin of a cousin, from the north, I believe."
Johnny opened the envelope in puzzlement. He read the letter inside, and frowned slightly. "Jesse Little Bear? I can’t read this other page -- it’s in Chippewa." He flipped the second page over and said, "Oh, there’s a translation on the back." He read the text and a thoughtful look came over his face. "Hmm. My folks will definitely want to see this," he said to himself.
"Gage, what are you mumbling about?" asked Chet, from his position by the stove.
"Nothing you’d be interested in, Kelly. It’s called "An Ojibwe Prayer"*, sent by my cousin’s cousin up in Canada. He didn’t have my parents’ address, so he sent it to my cousin Adam, who’s over at the college in Pasadena for this term. I’ll call my folks tomorrow and send them a copy. They’ve wanted this for a while, but none of us could find it written down anywhere," Johnny answered.
"So come on, Johnny, let’s hear it," said Chet, wiping his hands on his apron.
"Forget it, Chet," Johnny replied with a slight frown of suspicion, folding the letter and tucking it into his pocket. "You wouldn’t understand the sentiment. It’s all about respecting nature."
"Hey, Roy," asked Marco. "How are your little cousins doing?"
"Well, they’re keeping Mary overnight for observation, and when we left, Billy was going on and on to his dad about the whole thing. Carol’s really tired, but very happy with the way things turned out," said Roy with a grin.
"Speaking of ‘how things turned out’," said Chet as he dished the stew into some bowls, "Eat hearty, me boyos!"
The alarm interrupted the calmness.
"Station 8, Station 51, Engine 60. Structure fire, 3498 Harper. Three-four-nine-eight Harper, cross-street Dunlop. Time out, 1836."
"Saved by the bell!" crowed Marco as they hurried to the vehicles.
"Station 51, KMG 365," answered Hank Stanley.
Johnny consulted the squad’s map as they headed to the scene. "Hey, Roy, I think this call is to part of the strip mall next to that big hardware store."
"The one across from the bank?"
"Yeah, that’s the one. Holy mackerel!" Johnny said as they came to a grinding halt in a line of stalled traffic. "What’s going on here?"
Roy sounded the horn irritably, to no avail. "For Pete’s sake, what’s the holdup?"
There were a group of protestors carrying picket signs in front of the Army Recruiting Center. Several police cars were just arriving on scene.
"Get out of Viet Nam!" shouted a scruffy man with a placard that proclaimed ‘Make love, not war!’
"Bring our boys back home!" chanted a group of teenage girls.
"Ban the bomb, man!" yelled another protestor, running back and forth across the street, effectively stopping traffic in both directions.
Johnny flipped the map over. "This is ridiculous! Roy, we’d better detour. No telling how long these cars and people will be here. We can’t wait for the cops to clear the route. Look, if we turn right at this intersection up here, then go north for about five blocks, we should be able to get back onto Hilson from there. Then we can take Dunlop over to Harper."
"Right, Johnny. You’d better inform Cap about the detour."
Johnny picked up the mike. "Engine 51 from Squad 51."
"Go ahead, Squad 51," answered Hank.
"Cap, we’ve got another protest here, and the street is blocked. There’s no way we can get the squad through, never mind the engine. The cops are here, but there’s no telling how long it will take to get the area clear. According to the map, if we turn right at the next intersection and go north for five blocks, we can get the cross street back to Hilson from there. Then take Dunlop to Harper. We’ll get the police to clear the area to the intersection so we can turn there," said Johnny.
"10-4. It’ll add at least three minutes to our response time, but I guess it’s better late than never," answered Hank wryly. He watched impatiently as Johnny got out of the squad and trotted over to the nearest police officer.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
From over a block away, they could see the flames shooting out of the top of the strip mall. There were many people milling around the area, generally getting in the way of the police who were trying to keep them away from the fire. Station 8 was already there, and Engine 60 was approaching from the other direction. Hank took the radio and said, "LA, Station 51 on scene at 1853."
"10-4, Station 51."
Hank climbed out of the engine and went over to Captain Andrews from Station 8. "Hey, cousin, long time no see!" he greeted, shaking the other man’s hand warmly.
"Hi, Hank. What took you guys so long?" answered Captain Andrews.
Hank snorted in disgust. "Would you believe another anti-war protest? That’s the second one this week. They can sure disrupt traffic when they want to. Where do you want us, Mal?" he asked.
Malcolm checked his fire ground plan. "You cover the southern exposure. We don’t want the hardware store to catch too -- I think there’s a lot of paint stored on the edge of the common wall, but we haven’t had time to check yet. Now, we’ve evacuated the stores in the mall, but if you can send a team in to make sure the hardware store is evacuated, too, that would help a lot. There doesn’t seem to be any danger to that store at the moment, but if we can’t contain this thing in the next twenty minutes, we won’t have time to get them out if that paint goes up."
"Right, Mal, we’ll get right on that," replied Hank as the engine pulled to a halt near the hydrant across the street. He pulled out his handie-talkie, and talked to his crew. "Okay. Marco, Chet, get a two-and-a-half on the mall side of the hardware store. Keep it wet, especially where the roof of the next store joins it. Roy, Johnny, I want you to evacuate the hardware store. Then take another two-and-a-half to the other side of that roof. Those shingles might look pretty, but if they start to go, no telling how fast the fire will travel then."
"10-4. C’mon, Johnny, let’s go," said Roy as he parked the squad and they donned their turnouts.
"With you, partner!"
When they got into the hardware store, they found the place teeming with people surrounding a raised stage at the side of the store. There was a round of applause as some very shapely young women dressed in costumes shaped like giant paint cans paraded around the stage. A salesman announced into the microphone, "Yessiree, folks, you have just seen the lovely colors of our newest line of paints! We have just received a shipment of two thousand cans of this new oil-based paint, ready for purchase at the exceptionally low introductory price of six dollars per gallon! Step right up for this once-in-a-lifetime chance! Now’s the time!"
The salesman continued his spiel as Roy and Johnny tried to get through the crowd. Johnny grabbed the arm of a store clerk who was hurrying by them.
"Look -- do you have a public address system here? There’s a fire next door, and we need to evacuate your store as well," he quietly told the clerk.
The clerk’s eyes widened. "No kidding?"
Johnny pointed out the window at the growing amount of fire apparatus on the street and said, "That’s right, no kidding."
The clerk’s eyes widened even farther as he gazed at the vehicles. "Yeah, man. Come this way. We’ve got one in the manager’s office," he said as he led the way down one of the aisles.
"Roy, you try to get to the mike on the stage; I’ll get to the P.A. and announce it there," Johnny said as he followed the clerk.
"Right," acknowledged Roy as he continued to work his way through the crowd toward the stage.
Johnny and the clerk headed into the back of the store. Johnny thumbed the microphone open. "Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention please? You need to exit the building and go to the parking lot. Leave quickly, but don’t run. There is a fire next door. Stay calm." He turned to the clerk. "Can you keep repeating that for two minutes? Then leave, okay?"
"Right, man," answered the clerk. "Hey, folks, you heard the man. Leave quickly but calmly and go to the parking lot."
Roy had finally managed to make it to the microphone on the stage. He made his way over to the microphone, and grabbed the arm of the salesman who was continuing his patter. "Mister, stop the sales pitch," said Roy tersely. "We have to get these people out of here, right now."
The salesman put his hand over the mike. "What’s your problem, buddy? Where’s the fire?" he asked, with a smile on his face.
"Right next door, mister, and if we don’t get these people out of here, we could have real problems," said Roy quietly into the salesman’s ear. "Now give me the mike, so we can get these folks out of here."
"Are you sure this isn’t some kind of publicity stunt?"
"Look, there’s a fire in the next store and we’re not sure if we can prevent it spreading over here. Give me the mike," said Roy, beginning to lose patience.
The salesman’s permanent smile faded comically from his face. "Sure. Here you go," he said nervously as he handed over the mike. Roy repeated the same message that Johnny had delivered. As the crowd left, he asked the salesman, "Where’s the paint stored?"
"It’s right over here, in the back storage area," said the salesman as he led the way to the rear of the store.
"Hey, Johnny," called Roy, "You make sure the store’s clear -- I’m going to check things out in the back."
"Okay, Roy," replied Johnny as he headed down the far aisle of the store. He went up and down the aisles yelling, "Hey, is anybody still here?"
Roy looked into the storage area and muttered, "Oh, no!" as he saw the hundreds of cans of paint next to the metal wall connecting the hardware store to the rest of the mall. "Just how much paint have you got here, anyway?" he asked in astonishment.
"Well, we’ve got this special promotion going on now, so there’s about two thousand cans of oil-based paint, and about six hundred of this other type here," answered the salesman.
"Okay, mister," said Roy, shaking his head. "You’d better get out right now."
"No kidding!" answered the salesman as he hurriedly left.
"All clear, Roy," announced Johnny as he entered the storeroom. He stopped in the doorway as he saw how much paint was next to the wall. "Holy cow! There must be enough paint here to do the Coliseum!"
"Yeah," answered Roy. He felt the metal wall, swore softly, and pulled out his handie-talkie. "HT 51 to Engine 51. Cap, we have a problem. There are over 2500 cans of paint in here, mostly oil-based, and they’re right next to a hot metal wall. The store has been evacuated."
"Get out of there, now!" said Hank, urgently. "We’ll never have enough time to move that much paint!"
"10-4, Cap. C’mon, Johnny, let’s get out of here!" yelled Roy as they ran to the exit. As they went through the doors of the store, there was a low rumble followed by a series of sharp explosions. The force of the blast tossed Roy and Johnny through the air like a couple of rag dolls. A shower of broken glass rained on the parking lot.
"Everyone back away!" shouted Andrews as Hank ran toward his stunned paramedics. "Is everyone else okay?" he asked, as he pulled out his handie-talkie. "LA, this is Station 8. We’ve just had an explosion involving a hardware store containing 2500 cans of paint at this site. The hardware store is now fully involved. Respond another alarm to this location," he advised. "Also, request police assistance in evacuating the area! We could lose this whole block!"
"10-4, Station 8."
Andrews rapidly reassessed the situation. "Okay. Engine 60, get a two-and-a-half inch on each side of that metal wall." He continued to redeploy the remaining firefighters toward the hardware store, listening anxiously to the radio to find out which other units he could count on to help defeat this demon.
"Station 68, Truck 127, Truck 85. Respond to structure fire with Station 8. 3498 Harper. Three-four-nine-eight Harper, cross-street Dunlop. Be advised that Hilson is blocked between Dunlop and Agora. Time out, 1856."
Malcolm nodded to himself and made some notations on his fire ground plan, regarding the deployment of the additional crews when they arrived.
Meanwhile, Hank, Chet and Marco had reached Johnny and Roy. They were lying facedown in a crumpled heap surrounded by broken glass. "Watch that glass," said Hank as Marco and Chet approached the unconscious pair. They kicked aside the glass in their hurry to get to their fallen comrades.
"Johnny! Roy! Are you okay?" asked Chet as he and Marco turned over the limp bodies of the paramedics. They each felt for a pulse and exchanged relieved looks.
"Cap, they’re alive, but they’re both out cold and bleeding," reported Marco.
"Damn it!" said Hank. "Let’s get them over to the squad." Mike Stoker came running over to help.
"Okay, fellahs, we’ve got to move them as flat as possible, in case they have spinal injuries. Chet, Marco, you two take Roy -- Mike, you get on the other side and we’ll take John over." Hank spoke into the handie-talkie. "Engine 51 to Engine 8. Mal, we’re going to need some paramedics and a couple of ambulances here. We have two injured paramedics here. Roy and Johnny are both unconscious at this time, but they’re breathing. We’ll get them over to Squad 51."
"Got you, Hank. Squad 8's on the way over," replied Captain Andrews. He turned to his crew. "Ben, Jack, get over there. They should have all the equipment you’ll need."
"Right, Cap," answered the paramedics from Squad 8.
Andrews spoke into the radio. "LA, this is Station 8. We have a Code-I times two at this site. Respond two ambulances to our location. Both paramedics from Station 51 are injured, so Squad 51 will have to be taken out of service."
"10-4, Station 8."
As Ben and Jack reached Squad 51, Mike was already setting up the equipment. Johnny stirred and moaned. Both his and Roy’s faces and hands were covered with abrasions and lacerations from the pavement and broken glass outside the store. Luckily, their eyes were untouched. "It’s okay, Cap," Ben said to Hank. "We’ll take care of them."
"Thanks, pal -- keep us informed," Hank said as he and his crew reluctantly returned to the fire.
Ben leant over Johnny and checked his face for signs of returning consciousness as he did a rapid body survey. "Hey, Johnny," said Ben, "Can you hear me?" Johnny mumbled something unintelligible. "Johnny, are you okay?" asked Ben. Johnny opened his eyes and brought his left hand to his face. He grimaced as he touched the abrasions and said, "Ben? Is that you? What happened?" Johnny’s eyes widened and he tried to sit up. "Where’s Roy?" he demanded.
Ben gently pushed Johnny back down. "Just lie back down, Johnny. Don’t move. Jack’s taking care of Roy. He’ll be okay. Where are you hurt?" he asked as he took Johnny’s vital signs.
"My face feels like it’s burning, and my head feels like it’s being hit with a hammer," answered Johnny with a groan, closing his eyes again.
"Well that’s what happens when you use your face as a runway, right? Okay, Johnny, you know the drill. Open your eyes. Now look at my finger," said Ben, holding a finger in front of Johnny’s face. "Don’t move anything but your eyes, and follow my finger," he advised as he slowly moved the finger back and forth in front of Johnny’s face. "Good. Now, are you feeling dizzy or nauseous at all? Is your vision okay?"
"Yeah. I’m a bit dizzy and nauseous, but I can see all right. How’s Roy doing?" asked Johnny.
"I don’t know yet. What day is it today?" continued Ben, as he scribbled down his findings.
"Jeez! It’s Tuesday the 12th, about seven o’clock at night, and I know the drill as well as you do," Johnny replied, again trying to sit up.
"Johnny, just lie back and take it easy. Do you remember what happened?" inquired Ben.
"I remember running out of somewhere -- there was something dangerous, but I can’t remember what. Something about paint?" replied Johnny.
"Just relax. You’ll remember everything soon enough. We’re going to take you and Roy to Rampart for a checkup."
As Ben continued his examination of Johnny, Jack assessed Roy. Roy started twitching his arms and legs, then moaned and grimaced. "Roy, can you hear me? Where does it hurt?" asked Jack.
"My ribs...and my face," gasped Roy. "I think...I’m going...to throw up..."
"Hang on, Roy. Let me get you up a bit," replied Jack. As he eased Roy into a semi-sitting position with his head turned to the side, Roy coughed violently a couple of times and then retched and vomited. "Sorry about that, Jack," said Roy weakly.
"Hey, no charge, Roy -- we’ve all been there a couple of times at least. Are you more comfortable sitting up or lying down?" asked Jack.
"Lying down, I think," said Roy. He clutched the right side of his chest with his left hand as Jack slowly lowered him to the ground. "Damn. It feels like...I’ve got some... busted ribs," said Roy between clenched teeth. "How’s Johnny?"
"He’ll be okay, Roy. Don’t worry. Just take it easy. I’m going to give you some oxygen, all right?" replied Jack as he set up the tank.
"Yeah, fine," answered Roy, grimacing in pain.
"Did you hit your head at all, Roy?" Jack asked, examining the cuts on Roy’s face.
"No. I landed...on my side...and the glass.…" Roy answered, closing his eyes and licking his lips.
"Just hang in there, Roy -- we’ll get you both to Rampart right away."
Meanwhile, Ben had set up the biophone. He spoke into the receiver, "Rampart, this is Squad 8. Come in, Rampart."
"This is Rampart. Go ahead, Squad 8," answered Dixie McCall.
"Rampart, we have two injured paramedics, involved in an explosion. Both are now conscious, but were unconscious for approximately five to ten minutes. Victim one is a 28 year old male, with a head injury and with superficial abrasions and lacerations to the face and hands. In addition, there is a 3 cm contusion to the left temple, accompanied by an abrasion with a moderate amount of bleeding. Pulse is 90, strong and regular; respiration is 18 and regular, blood pressure is 125 over 90. Pupils are unequal but reactive -- left pupil is 4, right pupil is 2. Skin is pale, warm and dry. There are no problems with vision, but he is complaining of severe headache, slight dizziness and nausea. Victim two is 30 years old, and he also has abrasions to his face and hands. There is bruising to the right side of his chest and some crepitus is apparent in the lower rib cage on the right side. He has vomited and he is nauseous and in severe pain. There is no apparent head injury. Vital signs are: pulse is 108, strong and regular, respiration is 24 and labored, blood pressure is 110 over 70. Pupils are equal and reactive; skin is pale, cool, and diaphoretic. We’ve got him on high-flow oxygen."
"Stand by, Squad 8," replied Dixie as she finished writing down the notes.
"Dix," said Ben hesitantly, "It’s Johnny and Roy."
Dixie slowly lowered her head to one side, closed her eyes and tightened her jaw. She clenched her fist and slowly brought it down on the counter. She shook her head slightly, then flipped the mike switch."10-4, Squad 8. Stand by." She turned to the nurse at the desk. "Sally, get Dr. Early, stat."
"Right away, Dixie," replied Sally as she headed to the staff lounge.
"Squad 8, are there any other injuries?"
"Stand by, Rampart."
More explosions ripped through the air from the hardware store. As Ben and Jack continued assessing their patients, three more engine companies, two more trucks and another squad arrived on scene.
"Johnny, does it hurt anywhere besides your head and face?" asked Ben as he began checking for other injuries.
"Mmmm?" muttered Johnny in a daze.
"Johnny? Johnny! Talk to me, Johnny," Ben ordered anxiously.
"Hmm? Wha...what day is it?" mumbled Johnny.
"What day do you think it is?" replied Ben as he took another set of vital signs.
"I...dunno.... Thursday? I’m beat," slurred Johnny. "My head hurts," he moaned as his eyelids slowly closed.
"Johnny! Stay with me. Open your eyes, Johnny." Ben picked up the biophone. "Hey, Jack, any other injuries on Roy?" he asked.
"Well, it looks like he’s got a couple of cracked or fractured ribs, and superficial cuts and bruises. He’s still having trouble breathing, and nausea, and I’m concerned about shock, but that seems to be it," answered Jack.
"Believe me...it’s more than enough," said Roy. "How’s Johnny doing?"
"He’s got a head injury, probably a concussion. You just lie back and relax and let us do our job, okay? Is your breathing any easier with the oxygen?" asked Jack.
"Yeah, a bit. Still hurts....like hell, though. Take care...of my partner, huh?" answered Roy through clenched teeth.
"Ben’s taking good care of him. You take it easy, Roy," replied Jack as he opened the drug box.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Joe Early arrived at the base station, took one look at Dixie’s face and said, "What’s wrong?"
She looked sadly at him and replied, "Johnny and Roy were in an explosion at a hardware store. Here are the preliminary findings. From what we’re hearing on the fire department dispatch, we could have more victims. They’re on a fourth alarm now, and there’s more than 2000 cans of paint in that store."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Johnny! Talk to me, man," said Ben. "Shit!" he said, as he tried and failed to rouse Johnny with a response to pain, before calming himself enough to call Rampart. "Rampart, this is Squad 8."
Joe practically leapt at the microphone. "Go ahead, Squad 8."
"Rampart, updated vitals: victim one is now completely unresponsive. Pulse is 82, strong and regular; respiration is 14, regular; blood pressure is 140 over 95. Pupils and skin condition are unchanged. Before he lost consciousness, he became disoriented. Stand by for vitals on second victim."
"Standing by, 8. On first victim, start an IV of Ringer’s, and hyperventilate him with oxygen. Continue monitoring vitals and transport immediately," answered Joe.
"10-4," replied Ben, before handing the biophone over to Jack.
"Rampart, updated vitals on second victim: pulse is 110, a bit weak and regular; respiration is 20, still labored; blood pressure is 110 over 80. No change in pupils, skin is slightly cooler. He is in considerable pain, Rampart," finished Jack as he awaited a response.
"Johnny? Johnny..." said Roy as he struggled to rise and look at his partner. Jack pushed him back and ordered, "Roy, lie still! You’re not doing anybody any good by getting upset. We’re doing all we can for him, but you’ve got to try to relax. I know you’re worried. We all are. Don’t fight me, okay?"
Roy reluctantly gave up and settled back down on the ground, clenching his teeth against the pain.
"Squad 8, continue with the oxygen, and start an IV of Ringer’s lactate. Also, administer 20 mg Meperidine IV. Continue monitoring and transport immediately."
"10-4, Rampart. We’ll be coming in two separate ambulances," answered Jack as he started the IV. "Hey, Ben, you take 51’s biophone, and I’ll take ours, okay?"
"Right, Jack. Look, I’m going to grab this first ambulance. I’ll see you at Rampart," said Ben, helping move Johnny to the stretcher.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Dixie met the first ambulance at the entrance. "Take him into Room 2," she said. "How is Johnny doing?" she asked as they headed to the treatment room.
Ben answered, "He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness, but when he’s conscious, he’s not really coherent. His vitals are more or less stable, though, but his blood pressure is rising slowly."
As they transferred Johnny to the exam table, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor from his pocket. Dixie picked it up and absent-mindedly put it in her pocket, intending to give it to him later. Johnny’s eyelids fluttered open momentarily and he moaned lightly.
Dr. Early quickly stepped over and looked Johnny straight in the eyes. "Johnny, do you remember what happened?"
"Mmm? Oohhh, my head...." Johnny frowned and tried to shake his head, only to discover that he was strapped to a backboard. "What’s going on?" he slurred, his eyelids closing slowly. He forced his eyes open, squinting at the lights in the treatment room. "Where’s Roy?" he asked anxiously.
Joe replied, "He’s on his way in now. How do you feel?"
Johnny said, "Okay, I guess. I have a headache, and I’m a bit dizzy, but that’s it. What happened?" he asked drowsily. "Am I on a backboard? What’s going on?"
Joe countered with, "What is the last thing you remember?"
"Well, Roy’s cousin and her two kids were in a fire at a bank...but that doesn’t explain why I’m here on a backboard and Roy’s nowhere in sight. What happened?" he asked, as he grew agitated.
Dixie said, "Calm down, Johnny. There was an explosion..."
Johnny interrupted, "The paint!" He struggled to get up, only to be hampered by the backboard straps. "Where’s Roy?"
Dixie put on her best sergeant-major’s voice. "Johnny Gage! Calm down! Roy’s on his way in. He may have a couple of bruised or cracked ribs, and some cuts, bruises and abrasions. He’ll be fine. You have a head injury, which is why you’re immobilized. Now just relax, and let us do our jobs. As soon as we can, we’ll get you word of Roy. Right?"
"Yeah, Dix, you’re the boss," answered Johnny, as his eyelids closed again.
Joe joked huffily, "And I thought I was the boss here."
Johnny said drowsily, "Don’t fool yourself, Doc -- Dix really runs things here."
Joe smiled wryly and asked, "Dix, can you get another set of vitals? He’s starting to sound a bit delirious to me. Johnny, what day is it?"
"Uhnn?"
Dr. Early shone his penlight into Johnny’s eyes. "Dix, we’ll need a full skull and spinal series, and keep an eye on the intracranial pressure. Also, arrange for a CAT scan. Ben, has he been lucid at all?"
Ben replied, "Well, the first time he regained consciousness, he seemed pretty aware of things. He was alert and oriented for about two minutes, then he passed out. He came out of it a little in the ambulance a few times, but he was still pretty confused and not really alert. He responded a couple of times to pain, but when he’s out, he’s really out. Do you still need me, Doc?"
"No, thanks, Ben. You gonna check on Roy?" Joe asked.
Ben looked at the handie-talkie, unconsciously fiddling with the antenna. "Yeah. Bill’s bringing the squad in, then Jack, Bill and I have to get back to the fire."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Mike Morton met the second ambulance as it arrived. "Treatment three," he said tersely, looking at Roy’s pallor. "Roy, how are you feeling?" he asked after they had transferred Roy to the gurney.
"A bit better," Roy answered dopily. "How’s Johnny doing?" he asked weakly, plucking listlessly at the blanket covering him.
Morton replied, "I don’t know yet. Do you still feel nauseous?"
"Not like earlier.... I’m not going to throw up again...if that’s what you mean. The ribs hurt a lot... but not much else," answered Roy, breathing harshly.
Morton bent over Roy to examine his ribs. Roy winced and withdrew involuntarily as Morton carefully palpated his lower rib cage.
"Sorry, Roy. Does it hurt anywhere else?" Mike asked as he continued his examination.
"Not really..." he grimaced as Dr. Morton touched the lacerations on his face.
"Roy DeSoto, you’re a terrible liar," replied Mike. "Carol, I want a full rib series, spine series, and we’d better have a skull series as well. None of these cuts needs stitches, but they should be cleaned. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. I want to check on Johnny, and I’ll let you know."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Doctors Early and Morton met in the corridor, along with Ben and Jack. Bill Foster, one of the other firefighters from Station 8, silently joined them.
"Waiting for x-rays?" asked Mike.
"Yes," answered Joe. "How’s Roy’s condition?"
"Well, he’s probably got three or four broken ribs, and some assorted bruises and lacerations. There doesn’t seem to be any other internal damage, but I’ll know better once I see the x-rays. What about Gage?" asked Mike.
Joe looked down at his fingers before he answered. "It doesn’t look too good right now. His blood pressure is still rising, and he’s drifting in and out of consciousness. Once we get the results of the CAT scan, we’ll be able to tell more. The intracranial pressure seems to be increasing. He’s got a concussion for sure, but I’m afraid that there may be contusions to the brain as well. After I look at the x-rays, he’ll either be headed to surgery or the ICU. For now, it’s a waiting game, to see if the pressure can stabilize without surgery. I wish the news was better, fellahs," he said to the firefighters. "We’ll know more in an hour or so. I’m going to call JoAnne DeSoto. Can you fill in the others at the fire?"
Ben nodded miserably. Bill said grimly, "Nothing personal, but I hope we don’t bring you any more business. We’re up to seven alarms right now, and there’s no telling how long we’ll be fighting this fire."
Jack said wearily, "I guess we’d better get back, then. See you later, doctors."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
On the way back to the fire, Bill commented, "Are you okay, Ben? You’re not usually this quiet."
Ben sighed. "I’m just really worried about Johnny. I’m afraid they’re gonna have to take him to surgery."
The others nodded and fell silent. As they neared the scene, Bill said in awe, "Holy Mother of God!"
Ben stared at the thick, fifty-foot high plume of black smoke. "Jee-zus H. Christ! How in the hell are we going to beat that?" he said in disbelief. He fumbled for the microphone. "Engine 8, this is Squad 8. We are back on scene. Where do you want us?"
"Squad 8, report to the command post," answered Captain Andrews.
"10-4," Ben replied.
When they reached the command post, Ben and Jack were assigned to the triage area, and Bill was assigned to help out one of the foam units. Captain Stanley stopped by triage and asked anxiously, "How are they?"
Jack replied, "When we left, they were still waiting for the results from the x-rays. They figure Roy’s got some broken ribs. Johnny..." he paused, cleared his throat, and said in a rush, "Johnny’s unconscious right now. They might have to operate to relieve the pressure on his brain. Dr. Early’s still waiting for some test results, but he couldn’t say any more than that. I’m sorry, Captain Stanley."
"Yeah," Hank said, blinking furiously. He rubbed his eyes and sniffed. "Damn smoke," he muttered. "I’d better get back there."
Ben clasped Hank’s shoulder and said, "Cap, we’re all pulling for them. Dr. Early was calling Roy’s wife when we left."
"Well, that’s one less chore for me, I guess. Thanks, fellahs," said Hank as he headed back to his worried crew.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Thanks, Mark," said Dr. Morton to the technician who delivered Roy’s x-rays. He turned on the lightbox and examined the x-rays. "Good. Your skull series and spine series are all clear. But, you have four ribs that are fractured all the way through, and two others that are cracked. The organs seem to be fine." Mike asked, "How are you feeling, Roy?" as he checked the latest vital signs on the chart.
"Well, the ribs still hurt.... but the meds are taking.... the edge off things.... I’m really tired..." Roy mumbled. "Any news.... on Johnny?"
Mike said carefully, "We’re still waiting for the results from the x-rays and the CAT scan..."
Roy grabbed the doctor’s arm and asked in alarm, "CAT scan? What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?"
"Roy, you’ve got to calm down! We’re doing everything we can for him. We’ve just got to wait," said Mike regretfully.
Roy tightened his grip on Mike’s arm. "Doctor, that’s...my partner in there... I need to know.... how he is.... and what to expect..." he said urgently.
Mike said, "Okay, Roy, I’m going to level with you. He’s unconscious, and his blood pressure is rising steadily. His pupils are unequal, and when he was still conscious, he was complaining of a headache and dizziness. You know the signs and symptoms as well as I do. Dr. Early is hoping the intracranial pressure will resolve itself on its own, but one of the ORs is on standby. That’s as much as I can tell you right now."
Roy reluctantly released Mike’s arm. "Thanks.... Can you let me know...?" he trailed off.
Mike nodded. "We’ll keep you up on things. Now, let’s see to those ribs."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"LA, this is Battalion 14. This fire is now under control. We’re taking Station 51 off duty for the rest of the shift. All other units with the exception of Station 8 should be available in one hour. Time out, 2143," announced Chief McConakee.
"Battalion 14, LA, 10-4," responded the dispatcher.
Chief McConakee walked over to the canteen, where the crew from Engine 51 was taking a well-deserved break from the action. He looked at the morose faces, and beckoned Captain Stanley over. "Hank, your crew’s off duty for the rest of the shift. Just take the rigs back to the station, and I’ll see you at Rampart once we’ve cleaned up this mess."
Hank nodded and shook the chief’s hand. "Uh -- thanks, Chief," he said in a daze. "We’ll see you there. I’ve got a couple of people to call. The hospital already got in touch with JoAnne DeSoto, but I’ve still got to call Gage’s folks in Montana. God willing, they’ll make it in time. From what the other paramedics said, it doesn’t look too good right now. But, you have to have faith, right?"
Chief McConakee nodded compassionately and said, "Get going, Hank."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"That’s right. Just call me back at this number when you know your flight information, and we’ll get someone out to the airport to pick you up." Hank paused, as he listened to Bob Gage, then he replied, "Yeah. I think so too. There hasn’t been any change yet, so we’re hoping that things will resolve on their own." He listened again. "Okay, can you give me that number?" Hank gestured at Mike Stoker to write down the telephone number of Johnny’s cousin, Adam. "555-4348. Yeah, I’ll give him a call. Once again, Bob, I’m really sorry about all this. We’ll see you soon. Right. Bye."
Hank sighed. The worst thing about being a captain was making this kind of telephone call. You did the best you could to keep your men safe, but sometimes fate intervened and blew you out of the water. He shook off the gloomy thoughts, and wearily reached for the piece of paper Mike Stoker was holding.
"I’d better get in touch with Adam, too. What the hell am I going to say? ‘Hello, you don’t know me, but your cousin is at Death’s door?’" Hank said in frustration, absentmindedly crushing the paper with Adam’s number.
"Uh, Cap," said Chet softly, pointing at the paper.
"Hm? Oh, right. Thanks, Chet," replied Hank. "Look, you guys go get a coffee or something. I’ll see you in a few minutes." Without waiting for an answer, he turned his back to them and slowly started uncrumpling the paper. He bowed his head over his trembling hands and looked unseeingly at the paper. The others left quietly as their captain sank into a chair, his shoulders shaking as he fought the tears that were already spilling slowly down his cheeks.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Dixie, what are his latest vitals?" asked Joe, as he checked Johnny’s pupils again.
She consulted the chart. "Pulse is 58, respiration is 10, blood pressure is now 168 over 104," she said steadily.
Joe Early and Kel Brackett examined the results of Johnny’s latest CAT scan. Joe pointed at the image and said, "Look, Kel, there it is. We can’t wait any longer. Dixie, alert the OR. Have him prepped for immediate surgery. I’ve already talked with Dave Stein up in neurosurgery. He’ll be assisting me with the operation. Kel, can you tell the others? We’ve got to head up right now."
Kel nodded his acknowledgment. "Sure, Joe, no problem." He shook Joe’s hand, adding, "Good luck."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The mood in the doctors’ lounge was somber. The firefighters were tense, listening carefully and with a growing sense of depression as Dr. Brackett outlined what was happening.
"So, fellahs, that’s it in a nutshell. They’ve just started the surgery now. Do you have any questions?" asked Dr. Brackett.
Chet broke the stunned silence. "So," he asked bluntly, "What, exactly, are his chances? I mean, really? He could die, couldn’t he?"
Brackett crossed his arms across his chest and said slowly, "Yes. He could die. We think he should pull through all right -- the brain seems to be bleeding in only one place, but brain surgery is, by its nature, very dangerous. I don’t like to quote the odds in this kind of surgery, but if I had to, I’d say his chances are about 70-30." He turned to Hank Stanley. "Have his parents called back yet?"
Hank nodded. "They were lucky, and managed to get a lift to the airport in Tucson with some oil tycoon who was at their place, buying horses. This guy has his own private jet, so they left immediately, and their connecting flight to LAX should be arriving at about 2 am tomorrow. Mike Stoker said he’d pick them up. I finally got hold of Johnny’s cousin, Adam, and he should be here in about half an hour. Does Roy know yet?"
Kel pursed his lips. "I was just on my way to tell him. If you don’t have any further questions, then, I’ll go see him now. He’s supposed to be sleeping, but if I know Roy DeSoto, he’ll be fighting sleep until he’s heard more about Johnny. I wish the news was better, but we have every reason to be optimistic." He got up and headed out the door. "I’ll see you later, and I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
JoAnne DeSoto didn’t know what weird sixth sense made her look through the window of the door in her husband’s hospital room. She saw Dr. Brackett gesture for her to come out of the room. She nodded slightly, turned to her husband, and said, "I’ll be back in a couple of minutes, Honey. I’m just going to go get some coffee."
Roy murmured, "Okay, Sweetheart."
JoAnne stepped out of the room and whispered urgently to the doctor, "Has something happened to Johnny?"
Kel looked at her peculiarly. "Yes, as a matter of fact. How did you know?"
JoAnne shrugged it off impatiently. "Call it ‘Women’s Intuition’ -- what’s happened?"
"Johnny’s up in surgery right now to repair an area of his brain that’s bleeding. We were hoping that the bleeding would stop on its own, but it didn’t. Is Roy awake?" Kel asked.
"Yes, he’s awake -- but he’s pretty sleepy. He’s fighting it, though. He was sure something was wrong. Looks like he was right on that score. Come on in -- he’ll only be upset if you don’t tell him."
"You’re right, JoAnne. Let’s go."
Roy took the news of Johnny’s surgery very calmly; almost as if he’d been expecting it. Only the sight of JoAnne’s hand turning white where Roy was clenching it betrayed Roy’s inner unrest and anxiety. "I thought so, Doc....His vitals seemed.... all wrong...at the time. What are...the odds?" he asked softly.
Kel paused. "Well, as I told the others, probably about 70-30 at this point. According to the last CAT scan, the bleeding seems to be confined to one area, and that’s what they’re repairing right now."
Roy asked, "Dr. Early?"
Kel nodded. "Yes, and Dr. Stein as well. They’re the best, Roy. Johnny’s got everything going for him."
Roy drew a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his ribs. "Promise me...as soon as you know.... no matter what happens...." he broke off, biting his lips.
Kel replied, "Of course, Roy. The minute I hear anything, I’ll stop by."
Roy relaxed his death-grip on JoAnne’s hand. "Thanks, Doc."
Kel looked at him in speculation. "Try to get some rest, Roy. It’s likely to be a couple of hours, yet."
Roy shook his head. "I won’t.... be able to rest...."
JoAnne patted his hand. "Please try, Honey. I’ll be right here, by your side. Remember our contract?"
Roy cracked a weak smile. "Trust you...to bring that up...now. Okay, Sweetheart.... you’re the boss."
Kel said, "I’ll be back later." As he left, he turned back to see the DeSotos gazing at each other -- saying nothing, yet saying everything that needed to be said.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hank walked over to Mike Stoker and roused him out of his light dozing. "Hmm? Is it over?" asked Mike drowsily.
Hank smiled tensely. "No, Mike, he’s still in surgery. You have to go to the airport and pick up the Gages, remember?"
Mike shook himself awake. "Thanks, Cap," he said, stretching. "I’ll get right over there. Any word yet?"
Hank replied, "Nothing yet. I guess no news is good news. He’s been in surgery for about two hours so far. Dr. Brackett didn’t know how long they’d be, but he said that brain surgery could go on for as long as six or eight hours sometimes. Are you sure you don’t mind going to the airport? I can if you want," he offered.
Mike smiled and said, "Cap, I’m going nuts waiting. At least if I’m driving, I’m doing something to get my mind off things. Did you want to come, too, Adam?" he asked Johnny’s cousin.
"No, thanks. I think it will be easier for them if I’m waiting for them here. Besides, I haven’t seen them in four years, so we have a bit to catch up on. It will help pass the time while we wait for news," Adam answered.
Mike picked up his jacket. "We’ll be back soon," he called to the others as he left.
Hank stretched and said, "I’m going to go up and check on Roy. I’ll be back in about five minutes. He must be worried, too."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
When Hank entered Roy’s room, JoAnne smiled understandingly and quietly left. Roy immediately looked up at him and said, "Well? What’s the word?"
Hank spread his hands apart in a gesture of helplessness. "Sorry, Roy, we haven’t heard anything yet. Mike just went off to the airport to pick up Johnny’s folks. Johnny’s cousin went with him, too. It’s been a couple of hours, so hopefully we’ll hear something soon. I wanted to know how you’re feeling," he said, sitting in the chair beside the bed.
Roy smiled crookedly. "To tell you...the truth...I have felt better...My ribs ache...big surprise there...I’m worried sick...well, sicker, I guess...about Johnny.... I hate waiting..." he said, toying with his IV.
"You and me both, Pal. They won’t let you have more than one visitor until tomorrow sometime. We’ve all drawn lots to see which order we can visit you. I’d better get back now. You take it easy, and I’ll see you tomorrow."
"Thanks, Cap...See you later," answered Roy.
Hank ran into JoAnne in the corridor. She hugged him fiercely and whispered, "I’m so worried, Hank. Any idea how long it will be until we hear anything about Johnny? I talked with Chris and Jennifer earlier, and told them their Daddy was going to be okay, but that we didn’t know about their ‘Uncle’ Johnny. They’re pretty upset. They know I’m not telling them everything."
Hank said softly, "I know, JoAnne. The waiting is hard on us all. Dr. Brackett wasn’t sure how long things would take. Look, Bob and Annie Gage should be here in about half an hour. Do you want me to send them up here?"
JoAnne considered it. "You know, Hank, that might not be a bad idea. Yes, why don’t you do that. Assuming, of course, that we still haven’t heard anything by the time they arrive. Where will they be staying?"
Hank smiled. "Well, if I didn’t bring them home with me, Sandi would have my guts for garters -- at least that’s what she said earlier. She even described the disembowelment in disturbingly graphic detail. You know how it is -- when the boss gives an order, she expects it to be obeyed. I’ll see you later, okay?"
"Thanks a lot, Hank. Say ‘Hi’ to the guys for me," JoAnne said, before she went back into Roy’s room.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hank paced anxiously as he waited for Johnny’s parents to arrive. Mike had called from the airport to say they were on their way to the hospital. Hank stopped his pacing long enough to glance at the clock again. Why is this taking so long? Johnny’s been in surgery for nearly three hours now. What are we gonna do if he doesn’t pull through? He resumed his pacing, oblivious to Adam, Chet and Marco. Adam was sitting cross-legged in the corner of the room, apparently in some kind of trance. Chet sat hunched over, studying some invisible dirt on his hands. Marco tried to read a magazine, but he threw it down on the table when he realized that he had gone over the same page six times and still hadn’t remembered what he’d read. Three minutes later, Hank stopped his pacing to look at the clock again. Why is this taking so long?
Mike Stoker quietly cleared his throat. "Uh, Cap, Johnny’s folks are here."
Hank whirled in surprise. "Bob, Annie. It’s good to see you -- I just wish the circumstances were different. How are you?"
Annie replied wearily, "Well, as you say -- different circumstances. We’re worried, exhausted -- how about you?"
Hank said ruefully, "Pretty much the same. I take it Mike filled you in with the current situation?"
Bob nodded. "So there still hasn’t been any word yet?"
Hank shook his head. "Nothing so far. It’s been about three and a half hours since he went into surgery, and the doctors said there was no way to tell how long things would take. We’re just hoping that ‘no news is good news’ at the moment."
Adam spoke up from the corner. "I think things are going well. I feel a positive energy in the air that wasn’t there three hours ago. Keep your fingers crossed. How’s the ranch? It’s been three years since I visited."
Bob glanced matter-of-factly at Adam. "Hi, Adam. Things are pretty much the same as always. You’re welcome to come by, anytime. You know that. How’s the course at the college going?"
Adam said solemnly, "Pretty good, I guess. I escape to the mountains whenever I can, though -- the city is really smothering sometimes."
Annie said sadly, "That’s what Johnny says when he comes for a visit."
They settled down on the couches to wait for news.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Kel met Joe and Dave as they left the OR. Kel relaxed the muscles that he hadn’t realized were tense as he saw their smiles.
"I take it the surgery went well, then?" he practically demanded.
Joe rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes, it went well. There were actually two areas of bleeding, not one, so it took us longer than we thought. He’ll be critical for a while, but we’re optimistic. Are his folks here yet?"
Kel nodded. "They’re with Roy DeSoto right now. Where’s Dixie?"
Joe chuckled. "Where do you think? She’s in the recovery room, and then she’ll be accompanying Johnny to the surgical ICU. Come on, let’s go see the Gages. Then we’ll go on down to the lounge and talk to the guys." He rolled his head from side to side, trying to stretch out the kinks. "Boy, I’m glad I don’t have to do that kind of surgery every day. That’s a little too nerve-wracking for a daily dose."
Joe pushed open the door to Roy’s room. It’s like a tableau in a mystery play, thought Joe, noticing the way everyone seemed to freeze as he went in. He smiled and was pleased to see every person in the room visibly relax. "Okay, here’s the situation: There was bleeding at two areas rather than one; that’s what took so long. We’ve repaired the damage, and he’s in recovery now. He’ll be moved to the surgical ICU in about half an hour. You can visit briefly then, but he won’t be responsive at all. He’ll be unconscious for a while. It’s hard to say how long at this time. We’ll be continually monitoring his condition, and if all goes well, we’ll be able to project his recovery very soon. Do you have any questions?" he asked Bob and Annie.
They both shook their heads. "As always, you’ve laid things on the line pretty well. I’m sure we’ll think of some questions in the next day or two. Thank you, Doctor, for everything -- especially for saving our son’s life," replied Bob. "You should get some rest now -- you look tired."
Joe chuckled. "I’m not about to argue with such a keen observer. I’ll just go down to the lounge and update the others, then I’m going to go find a spare bed and crash for a few hours. How are you feeling, Roy?" he asked.
Roy smiled weakly. "A lot better.... now. I think.... I’ll get some sleep..." he yawned widely.
Joe smiled and said, "I think we can take that as a cue. Good night, Roy and JoAnne." He ushered the others into the hallway. "Let’s head down to the lounge."
JoAnne patted Roy’s shoulder and said, "Good night then, Sweetheart. I’ll see you about ten o’clock. Now I can tell Chris and Jennifer some good news." He was already snoring softly. She kissed him gently on the cheek and turned the light out as she left.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Joe repeated what he had told the Gages and DeSotos to the others in the lounge. The palpable sense of relief pleased him greatly. He suggested that everybody go home, since they wouldn’t be able to visit until much later anyway. Then he escorted Bob and Annie to the surgical ICU, and handed them over to Dixie. "Dix, if anyone needs me, I’ll be in the residents’ dorm."
"Okay, Joe. Take it easy," she said. Dixie smiled warmly at Bob and Annie Gage. "He’s still in a coma, but at least his condition is stable. We’re not sure how long he’ll be like this -- it’s really difficult to tell. You can go in and see him, but don’t expect him to respond to you. He can still hear you, though, so don’t be afraid to talk to him." She absently put her hands in her pockets and found the letter that had fallen out of Johnny’s pocket back in the treatment room. She took it out and handed it over to Annie Gage. "This fell out of Johnny’s pocket when he first got in. Who knows -- you might want to read it to him."
Annie looked at Dixie with shining eyes as she looked at the return address. "This is from Jesse Little Bear! I think this is the prayer we’ve been trying to find for years." She opened the letter and saw the prayer. "Bob! This is it. Look!" Annie brandished the prayer at her husband. He looked it over and nodded happily.
"Annie, I know we wanted this for the pow-wow ceremony, but it would work beautifully in a healing circle, too. What do you think?" asked Bob.
"Yes, let’s do it. Dr. Early, how open-minded are you?" asked Annie Gage, linking his arm in hers as they went to see Johnny in the ICU. "There’s something we’d like to do that will bring great comfort to us all...."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chet fidgeted nervously, folding and unfolding the paper he held captive in his hands. "Mr. Gage, are you sure about this? I mean, shouldn’t this be strictly a family thing? What if I mess something up? I feel like an intruder."
"Chet, three things. First, my name is Bob: Mr. Gage is my father. Second, you are family. You may not be blood-kin, but you work with Johnny, you’re his friend, and you’re a part of his life. You may have this non-stop practical joke war, but underneath it all, you really care. Sometimes, that makes people a lot closer than being related by blood." Bob gestured around the circle at everyone in the room. "In some way, you are all part of Johnny’s family. We would not have asked you here if we didn’t feel that way about you. You have all shown how much you care about our son." Bob turned back to Chet. "Third, as long as your feelings and thoughts are sincere, you can’t ‘mess something up’ with this ceremony. I mean, look at us: this is not a ceremony that is from our particular band, but the spiritual connection with everything that exists around us is the same, no matter where the ceremony originates. Some ‘purists’ might think that what we’re doing breaks someone’s time-honored traditions, but I’d like to think that this ceremony combines a lot of good things from different traditions. We’re making this ceremony our very own, so it’s impossible for anyone to ‘mess it up’. Is everyone ready?"
At the assent from the others in the room, Bob smiled and said, "Okay. Let’s begin then. We already know that we have been praying to whatever spirit we believe in, for Johnny’s recovery. We thank you for this. We have the fortune to have, as well, an Ojibwe prayer* that sums up a lot of the things we all hold true. Please join hands around the circle, and read the prayer together."
Miigwetch Nmishoomis
ogii-bi-waase-aazheyin nongom.
Miigwetch ndikid nongom gii-zhigak, weweni ji-mino-gnawaabmag ngwii-ji-bimaadis,
miinwa weweni ji-gnoonag.
Miigwetch giiye shkikimi-kwe ogii-miizhiyaang maadizowin, ogii-miizhiyaang miijim,
ogii-miizhiyaang nbiish, ogii-miizhiyaang wesiinhyig miinwa ogii-miizhiyaang nesewin.
Semaa nbaagdina Giiwedinong, Waabanong, Zhaawanong miinwa Epingishmak.
Naadmooshin ji-mshkoogaabwiyaan miinwa ji-zoongde’ehyaan.
Miigwetch Nmisoomis.
Thank You Grandfather (sun) for shining on us today.
I say Thank You for this day, that I will look upon everyone and that I will talk to everyone in a good way.
Thank You to Mother earth for giving us life, for giving us food, for giving us water, for
giving us the animals and for the air that we breathe.
I offer my tobacco to the four directions, North, South, East and West. Help me to be able to stand strong and to have a strong heart.
Thank You Grandfather.
Everyone turned in astonishment as they heard Johnny mumble, "Miigwetch" from his bed. Joe darted over to check on him, then he smiled and said, "He’s definitely coming out of it. I think we’d better clear the room of everyone but immediate family, okay?" All but the Gages left quietly, to gather in the waiting room downstairs.
Joe shone his light in Johnny’s eyes, and was pleased to find them reacting normally. "Johnny? Can you hear me?"
Johnny blinked rapidly. "What happened? Why am I here?"
Annie said softly, "It’s good to see you, Johnny."
Johnny looked confused. "Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?"
Joe explained, "You’re in the surgical ICU, recovering from brain surgery to repair some lesions that you got as a result of an explosion. Do you remember anything?"
Johnny closed his eyes. He brought his right hand to his forehead and rubbed it, trying to remember. "I remember a fire at a mall, and a hardware store, but that’s about it...Roy? Is Roy all right?" he asked, his eyelids snapping open.
Joe patted his shoulder. "He’s okay, Johnny. He’s just outside. He can come in for a visit a bit later. Try to get some sleep now."
"All right," Johnny answered drowsily. He was asleep before the others had even left the room.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"He remembers everything up to the accident, which is pretty much normal for this kind of injury. We’ll run some tests in a little while, but things look very optimistic for a full recovery," Joe announced happily. "We’re going to have to limit the visits to no more than five minutes, and no more than one person at a time, okay?"
Everyone nodded. Adam said, with satisfaction, "I guess our ‘new’ tradition has a lot of merit, doesn’t it? Miigwetch, Nmishoomis."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Author’s notes: *Ojibwe Prayer copyright L. Bebamikawe. I just had to throw in the "Ojibwe Prayer", since it sums up a great deal of the philosophy that I am learning at the moment with my Ojibwe studies. I’d like to thank Pat, Kim and Kate for many helpful comments, and for staggering through a couple of versions of this story. If I’ve missed anyone else whom also beta-edited or read, please forgive me -- your help has been invaluable. Miigwetch!
Editor's note: This story was adopted from Code Red
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