Watching John Gage as he dashed in from the parking lot, Chet crouched behind the engine, his moustache twitching like the whiskers of a mouse who had just caught the fresh scent of cheese.

Johnny shed his sopping jacket, shaking off the rain that clung to his dark, wavy hair. He pushed open the door to the locker room, intent on getting changed as quickly as possible, hoping to avoid the 'you're late' again lecture from the Cap. Traffic on a Sunday wasn't going to be a valid excuse, especially on a day like today when everyone hid from the weather in their cozy homes.

Chet crept up to the door that separated the apparatus bay from the lockers, peering through the small glass insert, rubbing his hands with glee. He had come in extra early that morning, allowing himself enough time to set up his double whammy on Gage. He had even had enough time left to get a cup of coffee and socialize with the rest of the crew as they ambled in and out of the kitchen, jumping to his feet only when he had heard Johnny's Land Rover pull up outside in the driving rain.

"Chet, what are you doing?"

Startled, Chet pulled up, whacking his head against the doorframe, biting his lower lip to stop himself from yelping. The sound of Roy's voice echoed in the apparatus bay.

"Don't sneak up on a guy like that, will ya?" Chet rubbed his forehead, feeling a small but painful bump develop above his left eye. "I could've been seriously injured, you know?"

Coffee cups in hand, Roy DeSoto and Mike Stoker watched as Chet regained his composure. With a quick glance, each confirmed what the other was thinking; The Phantom was on the prowl again.

"Come and watch this." Chet beckoned as he darted back to the window, his injury forgotten, giddy with anticipation. Roy and Mike gathered in behind him, wondering what kind of drama was going to unfold in the small room on the other side of the door.

In the locker room, Johnny sat on the bench in front of his unopened locker, stripping off his wet shoes and socks, jacket lying beside him on the bench, drying. Turning to his locker, he did not hear Chet suck in his breath.

"Here it goes!" Chet rubbed his hands together in a most Phantomly fashion, focusing on the scene before him.

Peeling off his shirt, Johnny opened his locker, pulling out his trousers and a spare pair of socks.

"WHAT?!" Chet pressed his nose against the glass, a shocked expression pasted on his face.

"That was real exciting, Chet." Roy rolled his eyes at Mike. "What do you do for an encore? Make grass grow?"

"No, no, no, that's not right! It didn't go off." Chet pushed open the door, fixated on the open locker, Roy and Mike close on his heels, their curiosity getting the better of them.

Johnny pulled on his pants, watching the trio walk in the room. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as Chet moved past him to the paramedic's locker.

"What's with him?" Johnny pointed his thumb at Chet, directing the question to the two bemused firemen, who both shrugged.

Mumbling to himself, Chet stuck his head in the locker, rooting through the clutter on the bottom.

"Hey, get outta there!" Grabbing the stocky firefighter by the back of the collar, Johnny yanked Chet out of the locker, almost taking out the frustrated Phantom's kneecaps on the end of the bench. "What's the matter with you?"

"I don't know how you did it, Gage," Chet plopped himself down on the bench in front of his own locker, left hand examining his knees, right hand going to the growing bruise on his forehead, "but I'm gonna find out."

"Chet's upset because his prank didn't work." Roy smiled as he sat on the edge of the sink, enjoying the scene playing out before him, prank or no prank. From the look on Mike's face, Roy could tell that he was enjoying it too.

"So, Chet, your little plan failed, huh?" Johnny grinned, amused by Chet's puzzled and slightly miffed expression. "That'll teach you mess with John Gage. I'm just too smart for ya."

Mike, sipping his coffee, suddenly choked on the hot liquid as he started to laugh. He waved off the concerned look from Roy.

Johnny turned to his locker, reaching for his uniform shirt, his smile faltering as he paused, hand inches from the hanger. He didn't see any booby traps, but then, he never did. "Just what exactly DID you do?"

"Gage, like you don't know." Chet, satisfied he still had two working kneecaps, stood gingerly. He moved to the mirror to examine his forehead. "I just want to know how you found out about it and got rid of the stuff without me seeing you." The bump felt bigger than it looked.

"Umm, Chet?" Roy's curiosity finally got the better of him. "What exactly did you have planned?"

"Yeah." Mike nodded in agreement, giving his full attention to Chet.

"Oh, man, it would've been beautiful." Chet pulled himself away from the image in the mirror, visions of what should have been, flashing in his mind's eye.

Johnny decided to risk pulling his shirt off the hanger, letting out a relieved sigh when nothing happened. As he listened to Chet's plan, he was glad fate had intervened. Or that somebody had.

"The two bombs were set to go off the second the locker door opened, nailing Gage from either side." Chet stood in front of his own locker, playing the part of Johnny, visions of water bombs dancing in his head. "Right after that, the airhorn I planted would go off, signaling victory for The Phantom!" Chet yanked open his locker door, caught up in the moment.

SPLASH! SPLAT!

The airhorn blared from the opened locker, startling the firemen.

Hearing the alarm, Cap and Marco came running in from the kitchen, sliding across the wet floor, arms flailing in the air. They bowled into Mike, knocking the engineer on his butt, all three going down in a tangle of limbs, Mike's half-filled coffee cup landing upside down on Marco's clean, pressed uniform. Chet, dripping wet, cringed as he watched the Cap try to separate himself from the melee.

"Would someone turn that damn thing off!"

The angry tremor in Cap's voice set the men into action. Roy and Chet fumbled in the locker, looking for the kill switch on the horn, while Johnny helped Mike and Marco to their feet.

Captain Stanley stood, straightening his uniform in as dignified a manner as he could manage, grateful when the horn was finally silenced. He frowned as he surveyed his crew. Marco wiped at the coffee that stained his shirt, just as amazed as he was at the sight before them. Mike stood cool and calm, as if nothing at all had happened. Roy seemed surprised, standing between the lockers, the silenced airhorn in his hands. Johnny was hastily buttoning up his shirt and tucking it in, pretending he hadn't been late again, as usual. Finally, the Cap's gaze fell on Chet. With water dripping from his moustache and the hangdog expression on his face, Chet looked like the proverbial drowned rat.

"Kelly, what are you doing?" Anger tinged Cap's sarcastic tone.

"Nothing, Cap." Chet tried not to notice the smirk on the faces of the other men, especially Johnny's, whose lips threatened to turn into an all-out grin.

"Well, it certainly didn't sound like nothing." Cap dug his hands into his pockets, clenching and unclenching his fists. He took a calming breath as he strolled up to Chet. Taking in the wet uniform, and the puddle forming around Chet's feet, Cap shook his head. "It doesn't look like nothing."

"Cap, really, I was just showing..."

The station tones sounded, and a grateful Chet silently thanked the dispatcher for his incredible sense of timing.

Quickly throwing on their turnout coats, the men jumped into the vehicles, waiting as the bay doors inched up. Torrents of rain washed down the driveway into the street, steam rising as the cool rain met the hot pavement.

"Station 51. Traffic Accident, unknown injuries. Warden Avenue at St Clair. Please be advised - truck hauling animals is involved. Time out, 8:25."

*******************************************

The thick cloud cover and heavy rain turned the early morning light into an inky darkness, staining the world a deep indigo. 51's rescue vehicles drove with their emergency beacons and headlights on, occasionally hydroplaning on the slick roads.

"Man, we should've left the squad and brought the submarine," Johnny griped, trying to read the street signs as they passed. Rain painted the windshield in front of him, transforming the roadway into a surrealistic underwater landscape, where trees floated in a swift moving current, and the streetlights swam above them in a neat line.

"Well, if the county starts issuing us submarines, I still get to drive."

Johnny stared at his partner. "Why, Roy, I think you made a joke. And it was even funny...to a degree." He turned his attention back to the road, catching a quick glimpse of something moving ahead of them. "Did you see that?"

"Yeah, I did." Roy took his foot off the gas pedal, letting the engine slow them down. In the murky light, they could make out flashes of white in front of the squad, the headlights revealing something running down the side of the road.

"Roy, speed up a bit, it's getting away." Johnny leaned forward in his seat, trying to get a clearer view.

"What the heck is it?" As the squad drew closer, they could make out two long, thin legs supporting a massive, feathered, upper body. The black and white feathered bird had to have been at least seven feet tall, weighing in at 200 pounds, and even though Roy was going 35 miles an hour, the bird wasn't losing much ground. Sticking his face up against the glass like a schoolboy, Johnny watched as the squad caught up to and passed the large bird.

"That was an ostrich." Roy had seen one before in a National Geographic magazine. "I think." Glancing over at his partner, he noted his wisdom fell on deaf ears.

Johnny had turned himself around in the cab, craning his neck to watch the ostrich as it slipped behind them.

"We better keep a lookout for other animals, some must have gotten out." Roy tapped on the brakes, warning the engine trailing behind them to slow down.

Johnny settled himself back in his seat, staring out the windshield. He could just make out the large vehicles from the accident blocking the intersection ahead of them. "Man, what exactly were they hauling?"

Back in the engine, the crew was running into a strange problem of their own.

"I tell you, Cap," Marco complained, "it's coming from Chet!" He had positioned himself with his head as far out of the crew compartment as he could without getting drenched.

Mike drove the engine, his window was wide open and he had the air vents blowing at their maximum capacity. Cap sat, breathing through his mouth, glaring back at Kelly.

"Cap, it's not me!" Chet had taken off his turnout coat, holding it out at arm's length behind him in the rain. "Somebody put something in my coat, Cap, I swear!"

"Well, whatever it is, you twit, try to stay as far away from me as possible." Captain Stanley faced forward, in time to watch the ostrich clear the back of the squad and keep pace with the engine. "What the heck is that?"

"I've heard of foul weather before, but not fowl weather." Chet ignored the groans from the other men as he watched the bird cut away from the road, heading for the nearby houses. "Man, imagine the drumstick off that thing."

Momentarily forgetting himself, Cap nodded in agreement, sucking in a quick breath. "Jeez, Kelly," he coughed.

Two large trucks had collided in the middle of the intersection, the rig of one having smashed into the other's trailer, splitting open the side rail and knocking open the rear doors. Metal cages and wooden crates were spilled out the back and side, most lying open and empty on the roadway.

Mike pulled the engine in behind the squad, mentally taking notes of the hydrant locations, listening as the Cap gave his orders.

"Lopez, Kelly, go check for any gas leaks, and watch out, it looks like some of the cargo is on the loose." Cap jumped out his door, grabbing Chet as he hurried by. "Kelly, put on your turnout coat, will ya. I don't need you coming down with pneumonia." Letting go of his arm, Cap felt something slimy transfer itself onto his hand from Chet's sleeve.

Chet stopped, glancing back at his coat on the truck's running board, turning pleading eyes to the Cap. Whatever was in the coat had smeared all over his shirt, and the idea of that smell baking under the heavy material made pneumonia a not so bad alternative.

"Coat, Kelly, on the double." Watching Chet struggle into his coat as he ran to the vehicles, Cap shook his head, scrubbing at his hand in a nearby puddle. Chet Kelly was, at times, worse than all his kids combined.

Hopping out of the squad as it rolled to a stop, Johnny landed with both feet firmly planted in the middle of a large puddle, splashing water in all directions.

"Damn!"

Roy raced around the front of the squad, heading for the accident scene. He paused, hearing Johnny's muttered oath, noticing his partner ankle deep in the water, glaring at him.

"Nice parking job, Roy." Johnny waded through the puddle, grabbing a prybar from a side compartment.

"Hey, can't win 'em all." Roy skirted the puddle, heading for the damaged rig, Johnny squishing along behind him.

As they passed the undamaged trailer, both men stopped, hearing a strange rustling noise coming from underneath.

"They never said if there were dangerous animals on that thing, did they?" Johnny tightened his grip on the prybar, listening as the rustling noise increased.

"I think they'd have to move them separately if they were dangerous. That ostrich didn't look like he would car pool with a tiger without putting up a fuss." Roy scanned the shadows, reaching for the prybar in his partner's hands when the noise grew louder, getting his hands slapped in the process.

Slowly moving up toward the rig, Johnny stuck his arm in front of Roy, stopping him. "Do you smell that?" Johnny wrinkled his nose at the stench.

"Yeah." Roy peered into the shadows, wondering what kind of animal was hiding in there.

As one of the shadows separated itself from under the rig, Johnny raised the prybar.

"Hey, guys." As Chet crawled from under the truck on his hands and knees, Roy quickly grabbed the prybar before Johnny had a chance to swing. "Good news. The gas tank wasn't breached." Chet straightened up, pulling his helmet lower over his face, hunching his shoulders against the rain. "If you're looking for the driver, he's not here. I saw him arguing with the other guy about who's going to catch his cargo."

Roy pulled the prybar from Johnny's grasp, half expecting him to swing anyway. His heart was still racing, but he forced himself not to breathe in too deeply.

Johnny looked under the truck for the smelly animal before realizing the stink was coming from Chet. "Chet, what did you do?" Johnny brought his hand up to his face, plugging his nose.

"Oh, like you don't know." Chet wagged his finger at the paramedic. "That's two I owe you, Gage, and I owe you big."

Johnny stared open mouthed as Chet slunk away, the firefighter's odour lingering.

Roy shook his head at his partner. "Remind me not to be anywhere near you for the next few shifts, will you? Chet's gonna have it in for you, but good." He walked up to the passenger door, confirming the driver's absence.

"Have it in for me?" Johnny gaped at Roy, totally confused. "I certainly had nothing to do with this morning, and whatever's got him...smelling...now, wasn't me."

"Uh huh." Roy gave his partner a knowing look. "Let's go find the drivers and check them out." Roy headed for the two men arguing on the side of the street, Johnny following, protesting his innocence.

"Who's gonna help me find my animals? That's what I want to know." The squat, balding driver pointed toward his trailer and all the open cages. "I've got a show to do tomorrow, and let me tell you, if those kids don't get to see the petting zoo at that birthday party, I'm out 50 bucks."

"Help you! You ran the light, almost killing me, and all you can think about is your animals?" The other driver poked his beefy finger at the smaller man, the rain adding to his temper.

Captain Stanley forced himself in between the two men, hoping to stop the argument before it came to blows. He was sure he could restrain the smaller man, but the other had three inches and fifty pounds on him. "I've got my men looking for the animals, so you just relax." Seeing Roy and Johnny approach, Cap sighed in relief.

"Are these the drivers?" Roy could see no obvious injuries on either man, both seemed more upset than hurt.

"Yeah. Roy, John, each of you take one." Cap stepped from between the men, grateful when they didn't reach for each other's throats.

"We're paramedics." Roy pulled the smaller man to the side, leaving the larger man to Johnny. "What's your name?"

"Noah, Noah Oliveira. As in 'Noah's Travelling Arc'." The man pointed to the colourful sign that adorned the driver's door of his truck.

"Are you hurt anywhere, Noah?"

"No, but I have to get my animals, or I'm outta business." The man watched as a pig scurried from behind the firetruck, Marco hot on its tail.

"Do you know what animals got loose?" Roy finished his quick assessment satisfied the man was uninjured. He jumped as the pig, squealing, darted past the two men, Marco oinking after it. Roy hoped the pig spoke Spanish.

"Your Captain already asked me that," the man sighed, resigned to answering the question again. "From what I can tell, I've lost two goats, one pig, four ducks, one goose, three rabbits, and a large turtle." Hearing loud honking noises, both men looked behind them, to where Johnny was treating the other patient.

The other driver, all three hundred pounds of him, suddenly planted two massive hands firmly on Johnny's shoulders, trying to keep the paramedic between himself and a vocal, angry goose.

"Keep it away from me!" The goose flapped its wings, advancing on the hysterical man and his unwilling protector.

"Armando! You stop that right now!" Noah caught the goose up under his arm, stroking its long neck, listening as Armando's honks turned into derisive barks, aimed at the other driver.

"Hey, you okay?" Roy questioned his partner, who was still being held as a human shield.

Johnny shrugged off the man's hands, rubbing his sore shoulders, nodding. "Big man, afraid of a goose," he whispered to Roy, peeking over his shoulder to make sure the goose was still firmly in his owner's grasp.

"Roy! Johnny!" Captain Stanley waved over the paramedics. "If they're okay, how 'bout helping us wrangle up the animals, huh?" Cap slapped Roy on the shoulder, moving away as he spied a rabbit munching grass by a fire hydrant.

"Come on, par'ner, let's rustle us up some critters."

"If that was supposed to be John Wayne, I'd keep working on it, pardner." Johnny hitched his thumbs on his belt under his coat, emulating the Duke's famous walk as he headed for the trucks, spotting what looked to be a slow moving rock trying to make its way to a fast-flowing culvert. "Let's move it, pilgrim."

Roy chuckled; Joanne had always liked his John Wayne impression. Following Johnny, he stopped to pick up a baby bunny shivering in the rain. Turning towards the trucks, Roy froze, watching Marco who was stalking his prey.

Creeping up to the front of the squad, Marco pressed himself against the right headlight, sneaking a quick peek around the corner. The pig stood, mid hock deep in Johnny's puddle, drinking deeply. Crouching low, Marco sprung at the pig, tackling it from behind. He wrestled it to the ground, both squealing at the indignity of the situation.

Mike and Cap were helping Noah with the cages, stopping their work to watch the surreal spectacle. Johnny stood over the turtle, blocking its path, totally engrossed with the wrestling match, silently rooting for the pig. Meanwhile, further down the street, Chet was doing his Daniel Boone imitation, poking through bushes, looking for the wayward beasts.

Chet searched along the houses, smiling briefly at a heavyset, bathrobed man who stood, staring at him from the protection of his living room window. "Yeah, yeah, keep staring. Don't come out to help, you might have to get dressed." Chet opened the top of his turnout coat, letting the cool water wash down into his shirt, swearing at Johnny under his breath. He noticed Marco heading for the truck, a large pig squirming in his arms.

Seeing movement in a stand of trees at the edge of the property, Chet slowly approached, coming up on two billy-goats taking shelter from the rain. Both looked up, noses twitching wildly as they caught scent of Chet, the foul odour spurring them into flight.

The two goats bolted from the shelter of the trees, cutting across the street towards the trucks, heading for the two paramedics. The first goat veered to the left around Roy, who stood holding the small white rabbit, while the other ran full speed into Johnny, head-butting him as he bent over to pick up the turtle.

"Heyyy!" Johnny, reaching for the turtle, missed it as the full force of the charging goat pushed him face first into the culvert, the turtle safely hiding in its shell tucked in between Johnny's feet.

"Sorry, John!" Chet crossed the street, smiling with relief, and a hint of self-satisfaction, when he saw Johnny pick himself out of the ditch, brushing off the wet leaves and grass that coated him from head to toe.

"Chet!" Captain Stanley, relieved of his rabbit, marched up, shaking his head. He stopped ten feet from Chet, allowing a smell buffer zone. "You twit, you're scaring the animals!"

"Cap, I didn't mean to scare them. They must have heard me coming and..."

"Heard you coming? Kelly, they could SMELL you coming!" Cap pointed down the street, where four ducks played in the rain. "Do us a favour. Go and get the ducks, I don't think they can smell."

Dejected, Chet wandered down the street, kicking at the puddles like a grounded ten-year-old.

"Hey, Cap. How do you know ducks can't smell?" Johnny tried to coax the turtle out from his shell.

"I don't, but I know I can smell, and that's all that really matters." Watching Chet's slow progress, Cap cupped his hands around his mouth. "And don't take all day!"

With the Cap's last admonishment ringing in his ears, Chet upped his pace to a trot, slowing when he neared the ducks.

"Here, ducky-duckies. Here ducky-duckies." Chet had no idea how to get the birds attention, all of whom had stopped quacking and splashing, staring at him like he was mental.

"Give me a break, will ya? I've had a hard day." One of the ducks quacked at him, answering back with a question of its own.

"Yeah, well, I'd like to go home, too." Chet glanced down the road, watching the others gather up the animals.

Looking down at the foursome, Chet had an idea.

"You hungry?"

The largest duck quacked at Chet, watching him warily. The others joined in.

"Good. Let's go." Chet started down the street, stopping when he realized the ducks weren't following. They just stood, watching him, occasionally scratching themselves with their webbed feet.

"Come on. Follow me." Chet turned away, taking a few hesitant steps. He looked back over his shoulder and saw that none of the ducks were moving. Soaking wet, reeking and miserable, Chet was desperate. "QUACK." He felt like an idiot.

All four ducks quacked back.

"QUACK, QUACK." Chet started for the trucks again. The ducks chattered amongst themselves, but stayed put.

"QUACK, QUACK, QUACK." Chet hoped that was a close translation of 'walk this way'. Squatting, his hands under his arms, Chet duck-walked down the street, hearing the four ducks fall in line behind him.

"QUACK." Chet smiled as the four ducks quacked back.

Mike, chatting with Noah, turned, mouth dropping open as he saw the ragtag line making its way towards them. He punched Marco in the chest, getting his attention, who in turn, got Roy and Johnny's attention. Cap, heading for the patrol car that had just pulled up, stopped, not believing his eyes.

The five firemen and two truck drivers stared as Chet led the quacking bunch up to the truck.

The burly truck driver, catching wind of Chet, waved his hand in front of his face. "Well, it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, but it sure as heck don't smell like a duck."

"Ha ha, very funny." Chet rose to his full height, challenging the man who towered over him.

"You want to say something to me, duckman?" The truck driver cracked his knuckles, smiling.

"No, nothing." Chet turned, leading the ducks to Noah and the last open crate, mumbling, "It's not like I could count on you four in a fight."

Roy, watching Cap talk to a police officer over by the engine, waited for Chet to leave before approaching Noah. Something had been nagging at him since the start of the rescue, and Noah held the answer - he hoped.

"Sir, can I ask you something?" Roy tugged at his chinstrap, slightly embarrassed.

Tying off the last of the crates, Noah jumped from the back of the truck. "Sure. What's on your mind."

Johnny hovered behind Roy, curious to see what was troubling his partner.

"On our way here, we passed, well, umm, an ostrich running down the side of the road." Roy hoped he didn't sound crazy. "You never mentioned that you lost an ostrich."

"Ostrich? I'm lucky I can afford the goats. Sorry."

Nodding his thanks, Roy headed for the squad. Johnny tagged along behind him, assuring Roy that he had also seen the big bird.

"Excuse me, sirs."

Both paramedics turned, looking for the source of that small voice.

"Excuse me." A little girl, wearing a bright yellow and white raincoat and carrying a pink polka-dotted umbrella, stepped up to the men, taking both by surprise. "Have you seen a rather large bird come by here?"

Speechless, Roy and Johnny pointed down the street, to where they had last seen the ostrich.

"Oh, thank you so much!" The little girl skipped off in the rain, disappearing behind the neatly trimmed hedge of a nearby house.

"I didn't see that if you didn't see it."

"See what, Roy?" Johnny reached for his door handle, telling himself not to look back.

"Exactly." Climbing into the squad, Roy mumbled under his breath, "I just hope her name wasn't Alice."

At the engine, Chet hovered near the rear of the truck as Cap, Mike and Marco talked with Officer Vince Howard. Marco was sending Vince into fits of laughter as he told him about Chet's smell scaring off the animals.

"Oh, hello, Chet." Vince wiped at his face, chuckling. He caught a quick whiff of Chet as the firefighter headed for the crew compartment. The stench sent him back into hysterics.

"Hold it." Cap stopped Chet before he could crawl into the truck. "Where do you think you're going?"

"In there." Chet pointed to his seat. "Getting ready to head back, Cap."

"Oh, no you don't." Vince bowed out, still laughing as he headed over to talk to the truck drivers.

"But, Cap..."

"No, buts." Cap pointed to the back of the engine. "Until you have a shower and change those clothes, you're riding with the hoses."

Banished to the back, Chet climbed onto the rear platform, grabbing hold of the upper railing. Rain stinging his face as the engine returned to quarters, Chet vowed revenge on The Phantom's menace, and to never eat duck-ala-orange, again.

******************************

Johnny and Roy hung their turnout coats on the outside mirrors of the squad to dry, watching as the engine slowly backed into the bay. Neither of them was surprised to see Chet standing on the back, an odorous outcast from the rest of the station crew, suffering through a forced Mother Nature wash and rinse cycle.

Without a word, Chet hopped off the engine, ignoring both Johnny and Roy, as he stomped off to a cleaning closet by the small back-bay door. Pulling off his turnout coat, he grabbed a bottle of a heavy-duty disinfecting detergent from the closet, tossed the coat out the door, and poured half of the bottle on top of it, letting the rain do the rest.

Leveling a damning look at Johnny, Chet marched himself to the showers, scenting the bay with a sour mix of stink and ammonia.

"Well, John, I don't think I'd want to be in your shoes for a million dollars." Slapping Johnny on the back, Marco shook his head. "You really did it this time."

"ME? What do you mean, me?" Johnny tore his eyes away from the foaming coat, looking at the remainder of his crewmates, confused. "You think I did that?" The sound of the shower blended with the falling rain.

"The water bombs were one thing, John, but the stuff on his coat was way over the top." Captain Stanley pursed his lips, his shoulders rolling forward in a shrug. Heading for the kitchen, the rest of the men followed, leaving Johnny sputtering behind the squad.

"Cap, you gotta believe me. I didn't do anything to Chet." Johnny stopped in the doorway, pleading his case. "I was late this morning, and barely had time enough to get changed, let alone..."

Hearing Johnny's inadvertent confession, the Cap looked up from his coffee, arching an eyebrow. "Did you say you were late?"

"Well, I..ummh..I didn't exactly mean..."

Before Johnny could manage to piece together another defense, let alone a coherent thought, a thunderous roar reverberated through the bay from the locker room.

"ARGHHHHH!"

Tossing their coffee cups on the table, the men rushed through the door, scrambling to the other side of the station. The Cap, Roy and Marco headed straight for the lockers, while Johnny and Mike ran in through the dorm.

Standing in front of the mirror, fresh from his shower, Chet stared at himself in horror.

"My God, Chet," the Cap whispered, the sight robbing him of his breath. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened. Gage happened!"

Chester B. Kelly was a lovely shade of pale emerald green from the top of his curly-haired head down to his toes, the towel around his waist hiding whatever else may have turned green. His face burned bright red underneath his new hue, and his moustache, his pride and joy, looked like a small, yet well kept patch of grass on his upper lip.

"That's one way to show your Irish pride, Chet."

"Shut up, Gage." Chet leveled his brown eyes at the paramedic as little trickles of green slipped from his scalp to drip off the tip of his nose. "You're a dead man. I hope you know that."

Roy stuck his head in the shower, carrying out a bar of soap wrapped in a wash cloth. "Prank soap and shampoo. The dye is supposed to wash off in a day or so." Looking up to see the glare he was getting from Chet, and the looks of surprise on the other faces, Roy quickly added, "my kids are always dragging me into those joke shops."

"A day or so!" Chet fingered his moustache, trying to arrange it so it didn't look so green, failing to make a visible difference.

"Hey, Chet, even though I would love to take credit for this, it wasn't me." Johnny peered closely at Chet, realizing the firefighter was the exact shade of green he wanted to paint his bathroom.

"Right, Gage. Why should I believe you?" Chet brushed past Johnny as he headed for his locker, leaving a set of green footprints by the counter.

"You know, Chet, I believe him. I don't think Johnny's responsible." Roy set the soap on the counter, rubbing at the stains on his hands.

"Roy, you always stand up for him." Chet pulled on a clean undershirt, the whiteness of it highlighting the greenness of his skin.

"No, think about it, Chet, Roy's right." Marco looked around the room, spotting the dirty pile of clothes in the garbage bin, and the broken airhorn on the floor near Chet's feet. "You always pull pranks, right, and most of them are on Johnny."

"Yeah, and that makes him the number one suspect in my book." Chet pulled on his clean pants.

"But he always tries to get you back, doesn't he?" Mike was quickly catching onto Marco's point.

"And how many times does Johnny actually succeed in getting you back?" Marco pointed to the defunct horn and the garbage can, watching as the light slowly dawned in Chet's eyes.

"Almost never." Chet bobbed his head in agreement as he buttoned his shirt.

"Hey, I got Chet plenty of times." Johnny was glad Roy, Marco and Mike were standing up for him, but he did not like the way the conversation was turning out.

"Quiet, you twit, they're getting you off the hook." Cap was enjoying this almost as much as an episode of Perry Mason.

Mike looked around the room, mentally measuring up each man. "Who ever is doing this is resourceful, cunning, clever, and imaginative."

"In other words, it's not Johnny." Chet held his hand out, ready to make peace. "Sorry, Johnny, I should've known better."

"Now, wait a minute. I could've done the soap thing if I wanted, I just didn't think of it in time, that's all." Johnny ignored the outstretched hand, realizing too late that it would have been better for his reputation if he had kept his mouth shut.

"Give it up, Gage."

Chet, uniform on, turned to the mirror to check himself out. The blue of the shirt only emphasized the green of his hair and skin, making him look like some kind of alien. Or Leprechaun.

"Chet, look at it this way; at least you smell better."

"Shut up, Marco." Chet looked around the room for his badge, his eyes falling on the uniform in the trash. "Oh, man."

"Kelly, when you're done in here, take that garbage outside will ya?" Cap headed back to his office, amazed at the ingenuity of the pranks. As he reached his door, he stopped, a new thought leaping into his brain. 'There was another practical joker in the station, and he was even better than The Phantom.' Groaning, the Cap sat at his desk, eyeing the drawers, looking for any signs of tampering. Firefighting was getting to be a very dangerous profession, and that was just at the station.

******************************

Station 51's crew kept themselves busy doing chores most of the afternoon, taking advantage of the lack of calls. Every inch of the station got polished twice, and with the rear door raised, the smell of wax was quickly being replaced with the scent of drying grass and car exhaust.

Taking a well-deserved break, the guys all settled comfortably in the kitchen, lounging on the couch, or sipping coffee around the freshly scrubbed table. The blinds were pulled back, revealing a blazing sun, all the morning's storm clouds banished from the sky.

"So, Chet, did you finally get your coat clean?" Replenishing his glass of milk and grabbing two cookies from the cookie jar, Johnny pushed Roy's feet off the chair he had been sitting in, scattering crumbs over the seat and Roy's pant legs.

"Yeah, I did." Chet rescued his arm from under Henry's head, turning a page in his magazine. "It's drying out back."

Roy laced his fingers behind his head, stretching. "Did you figure out what that smell was?"

Chet tossed aside his reading, any conversation proving more interesting than a month old copy of Fishing Today. "Near as I can figure, somebody slopped a whole whack of Limburger cheese all over the inside, and then filled my pockets with mushed up garlic and cheese." Moving the dog into a more comfortable position on his lap, Chet noticed his fingernails had turned back to their natural shade, the bleach he had used on his coat having done double duty.

"Limburger cheese?" Marco frowned at Chet. "What the heck is Limburger cheese?"

"It's a very strong smelling soft cheese from Germany. It's not known for its use in chili, Marco, so I wouldn't worry." Noticing the stares of the other men, Cap quickly added; "My mother-in-law loves the stuff. She smells up the whole house for a week when she comes." He grimaced at the memory. "I'm sorta surprised I didn't recognize it, but then, her visits are something I would rather forget."

"Chet, what I don't get, is why somebody's so hell-bent to get you today. I mean, I'd have every reason to, but no one else really does." Johnny looked on the table for his second cookie, finally spotting it as it disappeared into his partner's mouth.

"That's a good question." Roy wiped crumbs off his shirt, ignoring Johnny's scowl. "Unless Johnny here has hired a vigilante prankster."

"Hey, I can take care of myself." Johnny took the last two cookies from the jar, smirking at Roy as he pulled his chair closer to Mike,.

"Maybe someone's taken pity on you, John. After all, Chet's been on your case for as long as I can remember." Cap ignored the protests from both Johnny and Chet. "I'm just saying, maybe, someone thought Chet might like a taste of his own medicine."

"Maybe Chet's even doing this to himself, to confuse things," Mike said between bites of cookie.

"Chet wouldn't be crazy enough to do that. Or would he?" Johnny watched as Mike ate his last cookie, washing it down with coffee.

"Hey, I'm not having a fun time being green, you know."

"No, Kermit, you're supposed to say, 'It's not easy being green'." The confused faces around him convinced Roy he spent far too much time watching TV with his kids.

"I just hope this is all over, okay, guys? I think I've learned my lesson." Chet studied the crew, wondering which of them was the guilty party. When he figured it out, they'd never know what hit them.

"Chet, if I were you, I'd be hoping we don't get another call today."

"Station 51, engine 23, construction accident, 63 Forest Avenue, cross street John. Time out 17:25"

"Way to jinx it, Marco."

*****************************

The construction site was a large parking garage, three of the five floors nearly completed. A group of men huddled around a large trench in front of the structure. Directly above them, a concrete sewer pipe swung thirty-five feet in the air.

As the squad and engine arrived, the horde of gawkers on the street ignored the lights and sirens, blocking the way. Mike gave a quick blast on his airhorn, scattering most of the crowd.

A man in a tattered gray cloak and wearing a hat made up of tin foil, stood firm in the middle of the street, forcing the vehicles to swerve around him as they pulled up. He screamed at the firemen, yelling at the top of his lungs: "THEY ARE AMONG US! BEWARE THE ONES THAT WALK AMONGST US, BUT ARE NOT US!" He carried a placard that read: THE END IS NEAR – THEY ARE ALREADY HERE.

"Get a load of that guy." Roy pointed his chin at the man as he grabbed the biophone and drugbox from the squad.

Johnny glanced at the tin foil hat, frowning. "I hope he doesn't give us any trouble."

Roy nodded, watching Johnny take out the oxygen tank and trauma box. "He does seem a little freaked out."

"Freaked out? How 'bout 'out of this world'. He's one of those alien crazies, thinks we've been invaded." Johnny hoisted the equipment, heading over to the trench.

Roy followed his partner, muttering, "Who'd be crazy enough to invade this place?"

The Cap stood at the edge of the pit, talking to the men, Chet at his side.

"What exactly happened?"

"We were doing some work up on the fourth floor, when suddenly the sewer pipe they're laying in here comes crashing through the barrier, knocking poor Al here flying." The man pulled off his construction hat, revealing a mass of red, curly hair, the same hair that matted his arms and poked though his undershirt. "He fell into the hole and some of the wood came down on top of him." He wiped the sweat on his brow. "We were afraid to go down in there, figuring the walls could collapse on us."

"Well, you did the right thing, calling us. Are you the foreman?"

The man shook his head 'no', watching as Mike and Marco lowered a ladder into the trench, the shouts from the 'crazy alien man' echoing through the structure behind them.

Cap looked up from the unconscious man to the concrete pipe dangling over their heads. All he needed was for that thing to come crashing down on top of them. "Can you get that out of the way?"

"Yeah, no problem." The man punched the arm of the small man beside him. "Frisco, go swing that thing out of here, will ya? And don't go putting it over the road, either."

Grabbing his HT, Cap turned to Chet. "See if you can find the foreman, we may need to shore up this trench."

"Right, Cap."

Cap watched his paramedics climb down into the pit, carefully moving through the debris. "LA, this is engine 51, cancel other units and dispatch an ambulance to our location. Approximate time out, one hour."

"10-4, 51..."

Chet walked over to the red-haired man, tapping him on the shoulder. "Hey, I need to find your foreman."

Looking down at the fireman, the man's eyes widened in surprise, taking in his unusual colouring. "Aren't you supposed to say 'take me to your leader'?"

"Excuse me?" Chet momentarily forgot he was green.

"That's what little green men are supposed to say; 'Take me to your leader'." The man laughed at his own joke, slapping Chet on the back in jest. "Come on, little fella, laugh!"

Chet was not amused. "Listen, Eric the Red, your pal is trapped in the bottom of that hole, and you want to make jokes?"

Sobering quickly, the man cleared his throat. "Uhmm, sorry. The foreman's over by his office, talking to the insurance company guy or somethin' on the phone."

"Thanks." Chet turned his back on the guy and headed for the office, fuming.

"I TOLD YOU THEY ARE HERE AMONG US!"

Chet, angry with the construction worker, did not notice as the foil-hatted, placard-carrying crazy man ran up beside him.

"LOOK, JUST AS I'VE BEEN TELLING YOU...A LITTLE GREEN MAN!" Stopping a few feet from Chet, the man looked both imperious and terrified at the same time. He stood, pointing his sign at Chet's chest, screaming at the crowd. "BEHOLD THE ALIEN THAT PRETENDS TO BE A MAN!"

Chet, too angry to be frightened, took one look at the sign-wielding nut and decided a confrontation was his best defense.

Taking a deep breath, Chet ran for the man, arms flailing, screaming for all he was worth: "OOGA BOOGA BOOGA! OOOOGA BOOGA BOOGA!"

The man froze for a moment, then throwing his sign into the air, he let out an almighty shriek and bolted across the street, hands holding onto his tin-foil hat, the tattered cloak flapping behind him. The crowd parted for the fleeing man, dividing their attention between the two, trying to decide who was the crazier one.

Satisfied, Chet headed back for the construction office, humming.

Momentarily distracted by Chet's dramatic performance, Cap turned his attention back to the paramedics. "How's it going down there?"

"Fine, Cap, we should have him clear in a minute." Johnny, face streaked with dirt and grime, helped Roy raise the last large wooden timber from the man. The victim lay on his side, partially covered by the damp earth; the oxygen mask the paramedics had strapped securely to his face helping him breathe, the O2 tank hissing softly beside him.

Both paramedics eyed the crumbling walls, working quickly as small trickles of dirt cascaded down the sides. The morning rains had made the floor of the trench slippery and the earth unstable.

Shadows fell across the two men as workers milled above, impatient with the slow progress.

"Keep back from the sides, please." Cap pushed back some of the men hovering over the trench, receiving angry stares and grumbles from some. "Please, we're trying to work here."

"Cap, he's free. Send down the stokes." Roy stood in the trench, his chest level with the ground; Johnny knelt beside the victim getting vitals. Watching as the workers pushed forward for a closer look, Roy saw the earth shift from all the weight, the top of the wall bulging toward him.

"GET BACK!"

Roy threw himself to the opposite side of the trench, as the earth started its downward slide, slipping when the heavy soil caught his legs. Johnny, his right hand clutching his helmet to his head, leaned over the victim, grabbing Roy's leg with his left hand, trying to support his partner.

With a low rumble, the side of the wall caved in, burying the three men.

Roy, trapped on his knees, covered his head and leaned against the opposite bank as the dirt rolled over him in a large wave, leaving his head and shoulders just above the surface. The pressure of the dirt on his chest was making it difficult for him to breathe, but he felt uninjured, otherwise. He could feel Johnny's hand gripped tightly on his ankle, his fingers pressing on the small bone.

"SHOVELS! WE NEED SHOVELS!" Cap and Marco jumped into the trench, using their hands to frantically dig at the earth around Roy.

"Johnny...Johnny is..." Roy fought desperately for breath.

Cap looked up at Roy as he struggled with the dirt, hoping to reassure the paramedic. "He'll be fine, Roy. We'll get him out, don't worry."

Mike ran back from the engine carrying three shovels, Chet running up behind him from the office. Frisco and the red-haired construction worker quickly gathered two other shovels, joining the firefighters madly digging at the dirt.

Roy felt the pressure on his lungs ease, finally leaving him able to talk. "Johnny's alive. I can feel him squeezing my leg."

Cap nodded at Roy, picking up the shovel Mike set beside him. "We'll have you out in a second. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Roy shook his head as the grip that Johnny held on his ankle loosened. "Cap, I'm fine!" Roy pulled his arms free of the dirt and started digging. "We've got to get Johnny!"

"Hang on." Cap called two construction workers over, getting each of them to reach down and grab one of Roy's arms.

Roy felt Johnny give his leg a final squeeze as the workers pulled him free, setting him down next to the hole.

Cap watched as Roy crawled back towards the edge. "Stop right there!" Cap could see the worry plain on Roy's face, but he couldn't afford to have his one uninjured paramedic go down. "You're more useful to us up there right now, pal. We'll bring them up to you."

Roy acknowledged the Cap and headed to the squad for the spare oxygen tanks.

Time was ticking away too slowly for Roy and too quickly for Johnny.

Chet shoveled at the dirt furiously, sending clods of earth high into the air. His helmet lay buried behind him in the dirt as sweat streamed down his face.

Roy set up his equipment, most of his attention focused on the men in the trench. The foreman stood beside him, rubbing his hands through what little hair he had left, chewing on a mouthful of antacids.

"This is gonna cost me."

Roy looked over at the foreman in utter disbelief. "My partner and your employee are buried under all that dirt, and all you can think of is money?" Roy shook his head, watching as the man's face changed from crimson to ghostly white.

Roy turned his attention back to the trench as the man slunk back to his office.

"Hold it!" Cap tossed aside his shovel, spotting something glistening in the soil.

Shovels at the ready, the diggers paused at the Captain's command.

Reaching through the dirt, Cap felt something under his hand. Pulling with all his might, Johnny's belt and the attached medical holster broke through the surface followed by the blue of his uniform shirt.

"Move it!" Marco and Chet quickly uncovered Johnny's legs as Cap gently lifted out his head and shoulders, Johnny's helmet still in place.

Chet and Marco carefully turned Johnny over, the paramedic limp in their arms. They moved him further down the trench, allowing room for the others to dig for the first victim.

Roy peered anxiously over the edge, looking for signs of injury from above. "Is he breathing?"

Chet put his hand on Johnny's chest, noting a very slow and shallow respiration. "Yes, slow and shallow."

Roy made his way over to the ladder, stopping on the top rung as Chet waved him off.

"Roy, there's too many of us down here already." Chet eyed the remaining walls of dirt, watching fresh cascades slip down the sides. "Get me the stokes and we'll bring him up to you."

"Hey, Chet. Johnny's coming around." Marco grabbed the stokes from Roy as Chet moved over to Johnny.

Taking short, gasping breaths, Johnny struggled to sit up, Chet gently settling him down.

"Johnny. Hey, buddy, can you hear me?" Chet loosened the chinstrap and slid Johnny's helmet off his head. "Johnny?"

Keeping his eyes squeezed shut, Johnny coughed, drawing oxygen deep into his lungs.

"Easy there, take it nice and slow. How are you feeling? Where are you hurt?"

Opening his eyes, Johnny looked up at Chet and the concern clearly etched on his face.

Clearing his throat, Johnny blinked his eyes a few times. "I'm fine, Chet, nothing hurts, except..."

"Except?" Chet leaned in close to Johnny, fearing the paramedic may have serious injuries.

"Except I'm dying to know if there really is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow." Johnny broke into a wide grin, coughing and chuckling simultaneously.

"Serves you right, Gage." Chet turned and looked up at Roy. "Other than a severe mental deficiency that there is no cure for, he's all right."

Roy nodded his head, relieved. He turned his attention back to the first victim.

Mike and the red-haired construction worker finished uncovering the man as Cap rushed back from the squad with the backboard, setting it on the edge as he jumped in, landing in the soft dirt.

"He's alive, Cap." Mike Stoker brushed the dirt off the oxygen tank that lay buried beside the man, the hissing noise still issuing from it.

"Marco, help us roll him onto the backboard." Cap noticed Johnny standing under his own power, coughing, but able-bodied. "Chet, bring over the stokes if Johnny doesn't need it. We'll carry the victim out in that."

Roy set up the biophone as he watched the man being placed in the stokes below.

"Rampart, this is County 51. Do you read?"

"10-4, 51. We read you." Dixie's voice filtered through the biophone.

"Rampart, we have a male victim of a three story fall and dirt cave in. We are in the process of extracting the victim. Please stand by."

"10-4, 51. Standing by."

Johnny climbed slowly up the ladder, coughing and wheezing slightly as he reached the top, clumps of dirt falling from him with every step. Marco and Mike carried the stokes up behind him, the oxygen mask still on the man's face, which probably saved his life.

Watching as Johnny squatted beside the drugbox, Roy listened to him breathe, growing concerned when his partner coughed violently taking a deep breath.

"You okay?"

Johnny looked across at his partner and grinned, his white teeth standing out sharply against his dirty face. "Yeah," Johnny tried to do his best Chet impersonation, "except for a 'severe mental deficiency'."

"Non-curable I hear." Roy smiled back at his partner.

"Terminal."

Mike and Marco lowered the stokes between the two paramedics, stepping back out of the way to allow them to work.

"Rampart, this is County 51, we now have the victim...

**************************

Chet met the squad as it returned from Rampart. "What took you guys so long, supper was two hours ago?"

"What's the matter, Chet, miss us?" Johnny passed by Chet, heading straight for the kitchen, his stomach rumbling up a storm.

"When I mentioned we were caught up in the collapse, Dr. Early wanted to look us over. He kept us there a few hours because he didn't like the sound of Johnny's cough." Roy threw his uniform jacket through the window of the squad, turning to head after his partner.

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine." Roy maneuvered his way past Chet, heading for the kitchen. "He's just hungry. We both are."

Johnny had his head buried in the fridge, digging through the leftovers. "Meatloaf?" Clutching a small tin foiled brick, Johnny groaned louder than his stomach. "Who made meatloaf?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." Cap folded the top of his paper down, watching Gage's disapproving look quickly disappear.

"Oh, sorry." Johnny pulled out the mayonnaise and mustard, while Roy grabbed some knives and bread.

Sticking his head back in the fridge, Johnny combed through the vegetable drawer for lettuce and tomatoes. Roy got two glasses and poured out some milk. "Hey, Chet, could you get us a couple of plates?"

"Sure, Roy." Chet reached over the sink, opening the cupboard door.

A cream pie sailed through the air, landing square in the middle of Chet's face.

SPLAT!

Everyone in the kitchen froze, slowly turning to look at Chet.

His face and hair were covered in whipped cream; little droplets fell from the tip of his nose onto his shirt. The tin plate caught on his badge, hanging motionless before falling to the floor as he turned around.

"I don't believe it." Roy stood with his glass of milk raised halfway to his lips, not sure whether he should laugh or cry.

"How in the heck did you do it, Chet? We've been at the station most of the night, and you find another booby trap." Cap put aside his paper, looking at the mess dripping onto the floor.

"That's it!" Chet through his hands in the air, surrendering to the menace. "I'm beat. I admit it! YOU WIN!" Chet left, defeated, leaving tiny droplets of white in his wake. His voice echoed back from the bay into the kitchen, "I'll be in bed if you need me."

****************************

The morning tones reverberated through the station, waking up the crew.

Chet rolled out of bed, forgoing his turnout pants and ignoring the morning greetings, heading straight for the washroom. The sound of bare feet on cold concrete faded as Chet pushed through the locker room door.

"Boy, he's not in a good mood this morning," Johnny observed as he pulled his suspenders up over his shoulders, the Cap's meatloaf still sitting heavy in his stomach.

"Well, you're always grumpy when Chet's pulling pranks on you. Now you know how we feel." Roy slipped on his watch, heading for the washroom.

"I'M BLEEDING!"

Hearing Chet's cry, the crew became instantly on alert, racing for the lockers, where one of the toilet stall doors was closed.

"Chet, what is it?" All five men hovered outside the stall door, mildly panicked.

Opening the door, Chet looked embarrassed, hiding his hands behind his back.

"Nothing. False alarm. Just half asleep, that's all." Chet tried to get by the wall of firemen.

"Chet. You were screaming bloody murder, scaring us half to death." Cap could see Chet was trying to hide something. "What is it, Chet? What's wrong with your hands? Don't make me make it an order."

"Yes, sir." Chet held out his hands. Each fingernail was painted the brightest colour of red that any of them had ever seen. Looking down at Chet's feet, the men could see that all of his toenails had been painted the exact same colour.

Johnny burst out laughing. "Got a hot date tonight, Chet? Hope you have the lipstick to match."

Relieved, the others joined in the laughter. They quickly headed out for the morning's first cup of coffee, talking about the menace's latest feat.

Chet looked at himself in the mirror, taking in the green hair, red fingernails and green skin. This was just not his day. What he couldn't figure out was how the menace did it without waking him up. Heading back to the dorm, Chet just wanted this shift to end as soon as possible.

****************************

"So, you coming over for dinner tonight?" Roy pulled off his uniform shirt, removing the badge and nametag before stuffing it in his bag.

Johnny, already changed and heading out the door, turned back to Roy. "Sure, as long as it's not meatloaf."

"Guaranteed. See you around five."

With a wave, Johnny was out the door, racing for the parking lot, Marco and Chet already in their cars and on the road.

Mike closed up his locker door, tossing his jacket over his shoulder. "See you, Roy. Have a good one." As he headed for the door, something fell out of his pocket, bouncing to the floor.

"Hey, Mike. You dropped something." Roy bent over and picked up the small glass container. Looking closely at the bottle, Roy could clearly see the words 'Nail Polish' printed on the glass, just below the label saying 'Fire Engine Red'.

Mike reached over and carefully took the bottle from Roy's hands. The paramedic's jaw dropped on his chest as he stared at the fire fighter.

"Thanks, Roy. Wouldn't want this laying around where just anyone could find it." Mike smiled at the stunned look on Roy's face.

Pushing open the door, Mike turned back, hearing a faint 'You?' whispered behind him.

Putting the bottle back in his pocket, Mike slowly let the door fall shut, leaning in close to Roy's ear.

"They never expect the quiet ones, Roy. You should always watch out for the quiet ones."

********************************************

Author's note: A special thank you to Gwen for all her help, and to Wendy for her fantastic graphic work!

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