They passed through several major intersections on their way to the accident.... With each one, Roy found himself tensing slightly if the light was red for them. His eyes and concentration were sharp, scanning his side for traffic before they came upon each intersection. “Clear,” he barked, releasing some of the tension each time, thankful that most of the cars stopped to wait. Those that didn’t were well out of the way before the squad entered the intersection.

Okay, maybe I’m being more than a little paranoid here, he thought. But, they should be pulling over for us. Johnny’s right. What is the matter with these drivers? What if it were one of their relatives that we’re rushing to help and we got held up by these people? He knew there were times when they were just a little too late to save someone, and he wondered how many precious seconds could have been saved if they only had a clear road. There has to be a way to get the message across. We shouldn’t have to be afraid to hurry to a call.

As the cross-streets slipped past, Roy became more at ease. He noted Johnny’s driving and was impressed with the way he swerved smoothly around cars that stopped in the middle of the road. He heard Johnny grumble something, but he couldn’t hear what. He could guess, though. Drivers. It had to be.

Roy glanced at Johnny. It was amazing how so much could happen in such a brief moment of time. In slow motion, yet moving at 186,000 feet per second, Roy saw the beams of two sets of headlights through Johnny’s window. The four orbs of light grew bigger and bigger. Roy tensed, waiting for what seemed forever for the impact he knew would come. In his peripheral vision, Roy noted the light on Sepulveda was green while the signal on the cross street was red. Johnny was so intent on going forward, Roy didn’t think he noticed. But he was wrong. Johnny’s head turned a fraction, his attention straying to the nearing lights. He flinched at the glare and began to put up his hand to ward off the brightness. It was as if they were on stage, and the final act was being played out.

Roy’s eyes widened, and he squawked, “Johnny!” But he barely got half a syllable out when the impacts came. Squealing tires, followed quickly by a sickening crash, and the squad was suddenly careening to the right for a blink of an eye. Then the second impact directly on the driver’s door swung the vehicle into an arc. Roy’s side crunched into a telephone pole and the momentum pushed his body toward the door frame. There was no chance of stopping himself, though he made an effort by throwing his arm up. Then, he felt the dull thud of his head making contact with metal....

And, everything went black.

“Holy sh....” Stanley squashed the expletive as he watched the gut-wrenching scene from his seat beside the engineer. Mike Stoker reacted instantly, slamming his foot onto the brake and hoping for the best. With a full engine, they had approximately 38,000 pounds of metal, water, and diesel barreling down on the back end of the squad. The rig was too bulky to try and steer around the obstacle, and if he did, Stoker ran the risk of hitting one, or both, of the vehicles that struck the squad.

The tires screeched in protest, but the engine came to a stop a couple feet from the squad’s rear bumper. Before Stoker could jump out of the cab, he heard Stanley murmur, “Now you know why they make us keep so much distance between the squad and the engine.” Stoker already knew the reason why. Maybe the Cap was just affirming it in his own head. Whatever. They had two men in that twisted metal who needed their help. Now.

Stanley lifted the microphone and barked into it, “LA, Engine 51. Respond a squad, ambulances, and two tow trucks to Sepulveda and Roscoe Boulevard. Repeat, we need a squad, ambulances, and two tow trucks at Sepulveda and Roscoe Boulevard. Squad 51 has been involved in an accident. We have a Code I times two and two more victims.”

Stanley tore open his door and hopped down, racing to the squad’s crumpled passenger side. He shone a flashlight beam into the broken window and got a glimpse of Roy. His head leaned at an angle in a space between the telephone pole and the door frame. Blood flowed freely from a nasty laceration on the side of Roy’s face and dripped on the remnants of the running board.

“How’s Gage?” Stanley called to Chet, who climbed onto the squad’s hood and peered through the crushed windshield. The side of the squad was crumpled and the window frame bent, making the windshield crack and buckle.

“I can’t get to him yet, Cap. I don’t know...,” he paused, the terrible sight choking the words, but he quickly composed himself. “Hey Marco, hand me a pry bar. Cap, can we get them covered up in there? I don’t wanna get any glass on them, any more than they already have.”

Chet reached back and grabbed the bar from Marco. After Stanley covered the two paramedics as best as he could with a blanket, Chet slipped the clawed end into a gap between the glass and frame, levering it. They heard the pop and creak of glass on the edge of its stress level. Chet gave it more pressure, and the whole section of the windshield popped out. There was little room for Chet to work, but he scooted just out of the way of the panel. He moved the pry bar and worked from another weak point, eventually getting the glass out of the frame.

Hands reached for the fragile large pieces of glass and tossed them away. Now Chet could see inside, but the men were covered by the yellow blanket. He lay on his stomach on the hood, leaned in as far as possible, and pulled away the covering. The sight caused his stomach to twist.

“I can’t see much for all the blood,” Chet reported. “It doesn’t look good.” He didn’t dare touch Johnny’s face to assess the injuries. What he could see were lots of tiny cuts from flying glass, and he did not want to aggravate those injuries.

“Don’t worry, Chet,” Stanley tried to assure him. “A squad’ll be here real soon. Can you get a pulse on him?”

“Let me see.”

Chet tore off his glove and stretched forward a little more. The side of Johnny’s neck was like a map of a delta with small rivulets of blood rolling down to his collar. Chet hated touching blood, but he had to. What would they do if there was no pulse? He hated to think of that! The hesitation disappeared, and he touched the slick skin. He probed, finding a faint beat thrumming at the carotid. “I’ve got a pulse, Cap, but it’s not too strong.” Under his breath he muttered, “When is that squad getting here?”

“Uh, Cap,” Marco interrupted. “We’ve only got one victim. The other guy’s dead.” He pointed to the driver who impacted first, the body lying half-in, half-out of the car, sprawled on the hood.

Stanley nodded. “LA, Engine 51. We have a correction. Code I times two and one victim, one Code F.”

“Ten-four, 51. Squad 16 responding, ambulances en route.”

Stanley collapsed the antenna of his HT and sighed heavily, jamming the radio into his pocket as he scanned the wreckage.

“Cap, what do we do now?” Marco asked, suddenly and inexplicably feeling lost. He should know what to do. But, the horror of the accident and the sight of Johnny and Roy so bloodied and injured, left them all struggling to work without showing how much it affected them all.

“We do what we can until the squad arrives,” Stanley replied sternly. “And, cover that guy up, will ya, Marco?” He tossed Marco the blanket used to cover Johnny and Roy. He moved to the storage lockers on the squad’s passenger side. “Damn. They’re jammed.”

“I’ll pry it,” said Chet, sliding off the hood and approaching Stanley. As much as he hated to leave the paramedics in the cab, it was too difficult to sit there and wait for help to arrive. This was something more constructive. After the doors were open, Chet jumped out of the way and Stanley grabbed the trauma box from the squad.

Stanley approached Roy. He knew they should probably look at Johnny first, but he couldn’t bear to see the damage Johnny took from the brunt force of the speeding truck. Roy didn’t look too bad, except for that nasty gash. He opened the trauma box and pulled out enough gauze to stop a river of blood. He gently pressed it against Roy’s temple. Roy groaned softly, but Stanley held his ground.

“Mike, give me a hand here,” Stanley barked, and Stoker hurried from tending to the pickup truck’s driver to stand on the opposite side of the telephone pole, reaching around. “Hold this while I secure it.” As Stanley wound more gauze around Roy’s head, he heard sirens in the distance, increasing in volume. Thank, God. It seemed like they’d never arrive!

Craig Brice and his partner Bob Belliveau got out of the squad and surveyed the scene for a moment. Brice was the first to react by unlocking the compartments and pulling out equipment. Belliveau whistled low, releasing some of the shock before he approached the mound of equipment Brice laid on the cement.

Stanley approached them as they neared the squad. “Johnny and Roy are hurt pretty bad, fellas. These two drivers came down Roscoe like they were drag racing, and wham!” Stanley looked back at the mess.

Belliveau assured, “It’s okay, Cap. We’ll take good care of them.”

“What about the drivers?” Brice asked, surveying the other two vehicles. Their front ends turned the side of the squad into an unrecognizable mess.

“That kid in the truck is gonna be okay. Mike says he’s just got a bump. It’s Johnny I’m worried about. We can’t really get to him until the wreckers get here, but from what we can tell, he’s still breathing. Roy’s head is bleeding, but I think we got that under control,” Stanley replied.

Although he knew they had an obligation to care for the instigator of this ‘accident,’ Stanley wished they could just leave the scum to wallow in his misery and die. His men could be dead or dying at this very moment because of an act of stupidity, and he found that hard to forgive. The Captain mentally shook himself for thinking such vengeful thoughts. It was hard to not be human for just a moment. On the outside, he was as calm and cool as with any other run, but inside he was a shaking, nervous wreck.

Stoker added, “Johnny’s pulse is rapid and weak, and his respirations are shallow.”

Brice nodded and headed for the drivers, while Belliveau hopped up on the truck’s hood to peer inside the squad. “I need some light over here! I can’t see a damn thing!” Instantly, Marco focused a high powered light into the squad. “Thanks, Lopez.”

Belliveau settled on the hood, noting that he would have limited access, but it was the best he could get in these circumstances. He saw Johnny lay across the seat, his head in Roy’s lap. With a good stretch, he reached for Johnny and checked his pulse and respiration, ignoring the blood.

“You need any help here?” Mike asked from Roy’s door. He had to stand on what was left of the running board and bend over the window frame at the waist to see anything inside the cab.

Belliveau shook his head silently. “Not yet, but I’ll let you know when.”

“Well?” Stanley asked, trying to temper his impatience. “How is he?”

“He’s in trouble, Cap. That’s all I can tell you right now until we get him out of here.” Belliveau glanced over the captain’s shoulder and noted the number of people standing along the curb watching the drama unfold. A camera flash popped and startled him briefly. Johnny stirred and moaned softly, tearing Belliveau’s attention away from the nosey people.

“Hey, it’s okay, Johnny,” Belliveau assured. “You just relax and don’t move.” He paused. “Mike, hand me that c-collar. Somebody grab a backboard for when we get him out.”

A dull ache ran up and down Johnny’s side and around to his back when he sensed Belliveau applying the collar. Then, his stomach lurched and he felt lightheaded. Oxygen. I need some oxygen. He tried to form the words, but he was too weak. He hoped that Belliveau could read his lips.

“He’s having a little trouble breathing. Let’s get some oxygen on him. Can you handle it from where you are, Mike?”

“Sure,” Stoker answered and pulled the oxygen tank from the squad’s open compartment.

“Fifteen liters,” Belliveau added.

“Belliveau, what’ve you got?” Brice asked.

“It’s not good. What about your guy?”

“Just a superficial bruise,” Brice answered with disgust. “The police are taking him in to Rampart, and from there, jail.” Brice climbed onto the truck hood and looked inside the squad cab. Belliveau saw him flinch briefly, and then the old Brice stoicism was back. Brice stood on the hood and addressed Stanley. “Captain Stanley!”

“Yeah?” Stanley asked, hoping he could be of help. It was killing him and his crew to just stand there doing nothing, waiting.

“Can we get these vehicles out of here?” Brice asked. “We need this door open to extricate Gage and DeSoto.”

Stanley nodded. “The tow trucks just arrived. We’ll get them cleared out right away.”

“Good.” Brice jumped off the truck and grabbed the trauma box from where it sat. “Belliveau, let’s see what we can do for DeSoto until they finish moving these wrecks.”

In the time it took to pull both the car and truck away from the squad, Brice had assessed most of Roy’s injuries and reported them to Rampart. From what little access they had, it seemed that the worst he sustained was a head injury and a broken arm, along with a lot of cuts from the glass. There might be some internal injuries, but until they got him out, there was no way to tell. Dr. Morton ordered an IV with Ringer’s and told them to transport as soon as possible. Brice started the IV and waited for the others to get the door open. It was taking too long, he thought. In order to keep his mind focused, Brice dabbed at the cuts on Roy’s face and wherever he could reach, cleaning them and stopping additional blood loss.

Chet and Marco had to work on the squad door with the jaws before it would open. They bent back the stressed metal, grinding their teeth with the effort, the sound of groaning metal echoing the sentiment in their hearts. Both men thought about what Johnny said, that one of these days someone would run a light and hit either the squad or the engine. It looked like this was that "one day."

Brice and Belliveau took up position between the men of 51 and the injured paramedics as soon as the door was open. Johnny was a mess, and neither Brice nor Belliveau wanted them to see. It seemed like blood was spattered everywhere in the cab and ran freely down Johnny’s face and neck.

“He’s stuck,” Brice declared as he tried to get inside the cab. “We have to get his ankle free down here.” Belliveau snaked his hands into the confined space and together they worked. “Careful, it’s a good bet that ankle is fractured.” It took time, and finesse, to free Johnny’s foot from between the brake pedal and the sidewall, and once he was clear, Brice assessed the injuries while Belliveau took notes. Brice nodded, his suspicions confirmed. “Fractured left ankle and foot, laceration on the left forearm, possible separated shoulder....”

“No break to the humerus?”

Brice carefully moved Johnny’s arm, searching for more injuries, the injured paramedic groaning in protest. “He’s in a lot of pain, but no.” He moved on, running his hands inside Johnny’s open turnout coat, palpating him from abdomen to collarbone. “Guarding in upper right quadrant -- could be internal bleeding. Probable ribs fractured both sides, clavicle is okay.” Brice pulled out his penlight and shone it in Johnny’s eyes. “Pupils sluggish, unequal. Definite concussion.” Belliveau nodded and stepped back to crouch beside the biophone. “I’ll have new vitals in a moment. I want to get this head injury taken care of first.” Once Brice applied a pressure bandage to the now seeping laceration on Johnny’s head, he rechecked his vitals.

Belliveau scribbled down the numbers Brice gave him and picked up the receiver. “Rampart, this is Squad 16. Rampart, Squad 16, please respond.”

“Ten-four, Squad 16, we read you loud and clear,” Dr. Morton answered.

“Ten-four, Rampart. We have vitals on the second victim. His BP is 100 over 70, pulse is 120 and weak, respirations are uneven and shallow. Victim is in extreme pain, with multiple fractures and contusions.” Belliveau repeated the list of injuries Brice assessed. He glanced up at the scene in the cab. “We’ve already administered oxygen, fifteen liters.”

“Squad 16, is this the driver?”

“Ten-four, Rampart. He was on the side of initial impact.”

A silence followed, then Morton broke it. “Ten-four, 16. Administer two IVs with Ringer’s, and transport as soon as possible.”

“Ten-four, Rampart,” Belliveau answered.

“Belliveau,” Brice called coolly but in control, “His BP is dropping. It’s 80 by palpation.”

“Rampart, victim 2’s BP has dropped to 80 by palpation.” Worry lines furrowed Belliveau’s brow.

“Sixteen, extricate immediately and administer shock trousers. Then get him in here.”

“Ten-four, Rampart.” Belliveau dropped the receiver and called to Marco, “We need that backboard and the shock trousers, now!”

Like lightning, Marco was there with the equipment. Brice and Belliveau expertly moved Johnny onto the backboard and slid him out of the squad. They set him on the ground, quickly wrapped the shock trousers around Johnny’s lower extremities, and Belliveau inflated them.

“Stoker,” Belliveau ordered, and 51’s engineer came forward instantly. “Help me here. Get another BP on Johnny.” Stoker nodded and crouched beside Johnny.

Brice returned to the crushed squad and forced himself to crawl over Johnny’s blood in the cab in order to check on Roy. His pants slipped on the wet seat. As he closed the distance, he ignored thoughts of the difficulty of getting dry blood out of pants and focused on what he was doing. “He’s stable,” Brice reported, yelling to Belliveau. “I need another backboard here!”

Soon Roy lay on a board beside Johnny. They loaded Johnny first, and Belliveau climbed aboard with him. Roy was next. It was times like this that they were grateful for the larger ambulances that had recently come into use. The manufacturer touted their ability to hold five men in the back, and now they were about to put it to the test with the two injured men, Brice, Belliveau and the attendant. They heard Stoker bang on the door twice, and a second later, the ambulance was racing away with lights flashing and sirens screaming. Briefly, Belliveau hoped that whoever was out there driving saw the lights, heard the wailing, and got out of their way. They didn’t need any more injured medical personnel tonight.

“Kel, Joe, we’ve got two Code I’s coming in,” Dr. Morton reported to Dr. Brackett and Dr. Early as they stepped off the elevator, talking casually. “They sound pretty bad. The driver is the worse of the two. Just before they transported, his BP dropped and he was shocky.”

“Do we know who?” Dr. Brackett asked, concerned.

“Sorry. All 16's said was that there was an accident, and the victims are Code I. Two racing vehicles broad sided another. Could have been a cruiser, or a fire vehicle....” His voice trailed off as they heard the distinctive hum of the automatic doors opening and the sound of feet moving quickly on the tile. The three doctors turned as one of the gurneys appeared around the corner. Belliveau balanced on the gurney’s struts, doing chest compressions on the victim as the ambulance attendants rolled the gurney forward.

“Treatment four,” Brackett ordered, the number sticking in his throat as he saw who occupied the gurney. “Johnny?” Just as quickly, the bloodied t-shirt was gone as they entered the treatment room. Brackett shored himself up mentally and followed them inside.

Roy was not far behind. He was conscious and talking, asking for Johnny. Dr. Early and Dr. Morton stopped the gurney in the hall.

“Roy, it’s me, Joe Early,” the doctor addressed him. “How are you feeling?”

“Hurt... hurt like hell,” Roy answered slowly. “John... Johnny.... You gotta he... help... Johnny.”

“Don’t worry, Roy. He’s in the best hands. Kel’s in with him right now.”

“Bob... ...doing CPR....”

“Shh, I know, Roy. Don’t worry about Johnny. Let’s be concerned about you right now.” The gurney moved, the doctors followed it into the treatment room across the hall from Johnny.

Dixie, who should have been going off duty, saw the carnage brought on her two favorite paramedics. There was no way in hell anyone was making her leave until she was certain they were okay! She would see what assistance she could give with Roy, leaving Kel to take care of Johnny’s most pressing crises without too many people being in the way.

********

Stanley had to force his emotions to the back of his mind until he and his men had the scene cleaned up. There were puddles of radiator fluid to rinse away and some gas that leaked from the squad. As Chet and Marco stowed the hoses, Stanley surveyed the twisted mess that was once a fine piece of life-saving gear. Tonight it may have cost the lives of two of his men. Stop thinking that way, he chided himself. You know Roy’s okay. He was coming to when the ambulance pulled out. But Johnny was another story. The younger paramedic looked so pale in the headlights, at least the parts of him that weren’t covered in blood. He cringed when he remembered Brice cutting off Johnny’s turnout quickly. That had to hurt, yet Johnny seemed oblivious. With the coat off, Stanley could see the barely visible rise and fall of his chest. Keep it up, pal. Keep breathing, he silently coached.

A heavy-duty tow truck came to load up the corpse that used to be the squad. Stanley could only imagine what Charlie would say when he saw it. No doubt he would be able to hear the crusty man’s blistering language all the way to the station.

The squad was the final remnant of the accident to be cleared. Stanley watched it sway slightly under the tie-chains as the tow truck pulled away from the scene. He sighed. There was nothing left to do except go back to the station and wait for the shift to end, hopefully without another run. He wasn’t sure his men could handle it right now.

“Engine 51 returning to station,” he reported to dispatch. He closed the connection, waved his arm, ushering his men to the engine. “We’re going back to the station, fellas, and then we’ll carpool to Rampart after the shift.” He glanced at his watch solemnly. Two hours to go.

Everyone agreed with silent nods and climbed aboard the engine. Stoker carefully pulled the rig forward and took a turnaround lane to return to base. They were tired and numb, and in spirit they were in the ambulance that had taken Johnny and Roy to Rampart.

At the station, they made a half-hearted effort to clean up. Stanley retreated to his office. He ran a hand through his damp hair and stared at the phone, thinking, then picked it up and dialed.

“Torres,” a male voice answered.

“Tim, it’s Hank.”

“Hank,” Tim swallowed. “What happened?”

“How’d you know?” Stanley choked back a laugh.

“We’ve been friends a long time,” Tim answered. “I can tell when something’s wrong. That, and you’d never call me this close to next shift if you didn’t need something.”

“You’re good, Tim. You should have been a detective,” Stanley allowed himself a small chuckle but quickly sobered. He told Torres about the accident and ended, “I don’t think we can stand sitting here staring at the walls, Tim. Can you and your boys get in here a little early?”

Without hesitation, Tim assured, “I’ll call them. You know they’ll be there early. Expect us at 7.”

Stanley let out a relieved breath. “Thanks, Tim. I, I mean, we, really owe you.”

“No problem, Hank. See you at 7.”

True to Captain Torres’ word, the next shift filed in one-by-one and was assembled by 7 a.m. Stanley greeted the other captain in the apparatus bay. Captain Torres asked gravely, “Any word?”

Stanley sighed and picked up his jacket. “Nothing. We’re going to Rampart to wait it out.”

“Well, if you see them, tell Johnny and Roy we all wish them luck,” Torres declared empathetically. It had to be real hell to watch two of your guys get whacked like that. Other than a broken bone or two and smoke inhalation, nothing this serious ever happened under his command. Torres couldn’t even begin to understand what Stanley was going through.

“I think they need more than luck, Tim,” Stanley declared sadly and headed for his car, followed by his men. Torres noted they all still wore their uniforms. Apparently none of them could find the motivation to change, and he couldn’t fault them for that.

Stoker, Chet, and Marco fell in behind Stanley and wordlessly got into his car. Stanley didn’t suggest they take separate vehicles. If he’d been thinking, he might have. No sense in the rest of them being injured if some other idiots decided to race their cars down a busy thoroughfare. But all they could think of at this moment was Johnny and Roy injured and in pain, needing their presence at the hospital.

The four sat in the waiting room, quiet, the shock and frustration of the situation sinking in deeper. Joanne arrived with Chris and Jennifer in tow just as Roy was being taken to a room. Brackett was talking with the men from 51, but he saw Joanne and intercepted her.

“Joanne,” Brackett greeted and nodded at the kids. Chris nodded lamely, and Jennifer intently sucked on her thumb as she clung to her mother’s dress.

“Oh, Doctor, where’s Roy? Is he okay?” She held the two children close to her for strength as much as to comfort them in case they heard bad news.

“Roy is going to be just fine, Joanne,” he answered smiling wider. “He has a concussion and a laceration that required 15 stitches, and a broken arm, but he’ll be okay. He had his seatbelt on, which helped. Also, not being on the receiving end of most of the force saved his life.”

A breath caught in Joanne’s throat. Indicating the two men behind her, she said, "Chief McConnikee and Captain Murphy came to the house and told me what happened. I... I don’t get it. Why wasn’t Roy driving? He almost always drives!”

“Earlier in the day, he was stung on the hand by a wasp, and in order to avoid aggravating it, I ordered him to not use that hand if possible. That meant no driving.”

“John was only too happy to take over,” Stanley added.

“I bet he won’t be so eager next time,” Chet muttered at Stanley’s elbow. The captain gave him a dark look, and Chet backed up a step and stared at the floor.

“Anyway, that’s why Roy wasn’t driving,” Brackett finished.

Joanne nodded. “Johnny saved his life without his knowing. I hope he gets the chance to find out.” Her eyes blinked rapidly. “How is Johnny?”

“They’re prepping him for surgery right now. I have to get up there soon.” He paused, always hating this part, but it was necessary to tell them. “The concussion will heal on its own, and we put his arm back in its socket, but his ankle and foot were badly broken, as well as some ribs. Those ribs chewed him up inside, so we have to go in and fix things. I have to be honest with you, this won’t be easy. But I’ll do everything I can, and then some.”

“We know, Dr. Brackett. Take good care of him.” Joanne reached out and took his hand in hers, briefly squeezing it, and released him to hold her children again.

“I will. And you can see Roy in about a half-hour or so. Let the nurses have a chance to settle him into his room.” Brackett smiled reassuringly, then turned toward the elevator.

"Captain Stanley," Murphy addressed the captain and sat beside him. "My sympathies are with you and your men. If there's anything we can do...." He glanced up at McConnikee, who nodded in agreement. "or, if you'd like to talk about this, we're here."

"Not now," Stanley whispered, his voice barely auidible. "Please. Not now."

Murphy nodded in understanding. "Perhaps later."

"If you need anything, Hank...," began McConnikee.

"All I have to do is call. Thanks," nodded Stanley. "All we can do now is wait."

Joanne sat with the kids on either side of her and watched the minutes slowly pass on the overhead clock. Before the half hour was up, Dixie approached.

“Hi, Joanne.”

“Hi, Dixie. Is... is Roy in his room now?”

Dixie nodded. “Tucked him in myself. He’s awake and pretty eager to see you and the kids.”

Joanne stood, grinning with relief. The expression faded when she glanced at the four firemen around her looking glum. “I’ll be back in a little while.... I have to go. I have to see Roy.”

“It’s okay,” Stanley assured her. “He’s probably just as worried about Johnny as we are. Seeing you might get his mind off him for awhile.”

“You’re right. Thanks.” Joanne nudged Chris, startling him. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go see your Dad.”

The three rose and followed Dixie to the elevator, while the others watched them leave. Chet let out a deep sigh and shifted his position, uncrossing one leg in favor of the other. Marco switched from leaning an elbow on one knee to the arm rest. His free hand tapped on the other armrest. Stoker was the most active of all. He stood near the window looking out, but not really looking. For a few minutes he paced around the center bay of seats and returned to the window.

Stanley sat frozen, staring vacantly at the shoes of the female stranger sitting across from him. Once he looked up and caught her watching him. She tried to hide behind a magazine, but her eyes still watched. Stanley broke the contact, unable to take the look of pity he saw there. He was developing a headache, and it pounded against his skull uncomfortably, but he was reluctant to say anything about it. Like he really had any license to complain! His mind went back to the accident and the sight of those two vehicles crumpling into the side of the squad. He tried to imagine how it felt to be in the squad at the time of impact. Stanley had been in a car accident once, but nothing this serious. A fender bender could not be compared to what happened that night.

Stanley happened to look up and saw an officer walking toward the exit with a young man in handcuffs. The young man’s feet dragged, and the officer tugged on him. Then he noticed where the man’s gaze fell, directly at the four men in blue. The young man said something Stanley couldn’t hear from his vantage point. The officer nodded and they moved toward the firemen.

“Captain Stanley, Officer Klein,” the officer introduced himself. “This is Bill Peterson. He was one of the drivers who ran the light and smashed into the squad.”

Being face to face with the kid who might very well have murdered one of his men caused Stanley’s blood to boil. He couldn’t trust himself to speak, for fear he’d say something he would regret later. Instead, he nodded stonily at the offender.

“Captain Stanley,” Bill addressed Stanley tentatively, holding his head up to look the man in the eye. It was an almost impossible task, but he knew if the injured men’s leader didn’t see the sincerity in his eyes when he spoke, he’d never believe him. “What Frankie and I did, it... it was really stupid. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say, except I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard. “I... I hope those two guys make it.”

“Roy is going to be fine,” Stanley replied, finally trusting himself to temper his anger. “They’re not so sure about John. If you’re not the praying kind, now might be a good time to start.”

Bill’s eyes stung and he hung his head a moment. Then he looked directly at Stanley. “I will. I promise. I’d do anything to change what happened. Anything.”

“Tell it to the judge,” Stanley spat, letting some of his emotion get the better of him. He sank lower in his seat and allowed his silence to speak for him.

Bill nodded to Officer Klein and he was led from the hospital. All he got out of the incident were some bruises and a cut above his eye. Those men might suffer from something more because of what he and Frankie did. He wasn’t sure he could live with himself if those paramedics died. Paramedic, he reminded himself. The other one was going to be okay. Still, if even the one died…Bill tried not to think about it and instead focused on what would happen at the police station.

The men watched the officer haul the young driver out of the hospital, their personal thoughts held close. If they had voiced them, no doubt they would come to the same conclusion; they wanted this kid to suffer the full penalty of the law, and then some, for what he did to Johnny and Roy. These weren’t just co-workers to the other men of station 51. They were friends, and almost as close as family.

Everyone sat silent, wrapped in his own thoughts. To his left, Stanley heard Marco whispering softly in Spanish. He looked at him, and the younger man’s hands were clasped across his chest tightly, belying the attempt to appear casually sprawled in the chair. Marco’s eyes were open and staring at the floor, concentrating. He stopped speaking and met the captain’s eyes, looking embarrassed.

“I take it that was some kind of prayer,” Stanley said, leaning his head against the wall and staring up at the ceiling.

“Yes, it was,” said Marco, smiling sheepishly. “My mother told me it’s something she prays to St. Florian each night before I go on a shift. She swears it keeps me safe, and when I get injured, it helps to heal me faster.”

“Well, let’s hope it works for John and Roy,” Stanley said and fell silent again, staring up at the ceiling, offering his own silent prayers. He glanced at the chaplain and saw his head bent, silent. No doubt he was putting in a good word for Stanley's men as well.

Joanne, Chris, and Jennifer stood outside the door to Roy’s room, waiting for the nurse to leave. She checked the drip on his IV, spoke softly to him, and patted his arm before turning away. She saw the trio and smiled.

“Your family is here, Roy,” the nurse informed him over her shoulder and continued on her way. “Hello.” She nodded in a friendly gesture and passed through the door.

“Jo,” Roy called to her, and she and the children moved to the side of his bed.

“Roy... I... we... we were so scared,” Joanne stammered. She stood hanging onto the railing as if it were a lifeline. “When the Chief and the chaplain came and told me about the accident, I didn’t know what to do. I rushed right over here, didn’t even make the kids change out of their pajamas.”

Roy noticed his children’s attire and smiled. “That’s okay. I’d be happy to see ‘em with nothing on.”

“Daddy,” Jenny said simply, with a grin. She held her arms out to him.

“Sweetheart, it’s probably not a good idea for you to....”

“No, it’s okay, Jo. Give her a boost up here,” Roy corrected her while making eye contact with Jenny.

Joanne picked up her daughter and deposited her on the bed. She immediately crawled into Roy’s open arms, being careful of the new cast. He slowly rocked her while she cried.

“Oh, honey, it’s okay. I’m gonna be fine,” Roy soothed.

“I know,” she said finally. “But, Uncle Johnny....”

Roy looked over Jenny’s head at Joanne. “Have you heard anything about Johnny yet?”

Joanne shook her head. “Just that he’s in surgery.” Her voice deteriorated to a hoarse whisper. “The way Dr. Brackett said it, it doesn’t look good.”

Roy’s eyes closed and he hugged Jenny just a little tighter. “You know that could have been me, Jo? A... a damn wasp wound up saving my life by stinging me earlier today. I was going to drive on this run, but Johnny was there already. I don’t think he would have let me.”

“Roy, I feel like such a heel for saying this, but, I’m glad that Johnny insisted you not drive.” She buried her face in a hand for a moment. “I know that sounds so terrible. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s only natural to think that. Don’t you know I’ve been thinking the same thing? All that time I had to wait for the tests to come back, then wait to get casted,” he sighed, “I was thinking about what happened and how lucky I was that things were not business as usual.” A corner of his mouth quirked up. “So, if anyone has a corner on the guilt market here, I think it’s me.”

Joanne snorted at his attempt at humor. “Yeah, well, I just hope that Johnny survives this. Every time he gets hurt, I worry myself sick. Sometimes I feel like I have two husbands, not one!” She smiled and took Roy’s hand.

“No, Johnny’s more like the third kid,” Roy grinned and they chuckled briefly. Joanne sat in the chair beside the bed, still holding onto Roy’s hand. Jenny, safe in her father’s secure warmth, fell asleep. Chris hopped over the railing and curled up at the foot of the bed, his arm making contact with the blanket covering Roy’s legs.

“I’ll get them up in a little while, when the nurses shoo us out,” Joanne whispered.

“That’s okay. I could stay like this all day.” Roy sighed with contentment and lay back against the raised pillows. After a long silence, he whispered, “When those vehicles came at us, and the squad crashed into a telephone pole, I thought that was it. I was never going to see you all again. I was scared, really scared. And, angry. There’s too much we have to do yet. I can’t die now.”

Joanne smiled. “If we had to wait until we accomplished everything before we died, well, I don’t know about you, but I’d live forever.”

Roy softly chuckled. “You’re probably right. But then, you know what they say, only the good die young. That must mean you’re pretty bad.”

“Oh yeah? Well, you’re not such an angel either, mister,” she retorted playfully and squeezed his arm. Then she leaned over him and kissed his lips. It was a tentative, chaste kiss, mindful of their daughter resting just below their chins. But the girl slept, oblivious to their actions. The kiss deepened until they were both breathing heavily.

“Ohhh, yeah, you’re terrible,” Roy declared with a grin.

“You just wait until you’re ready to go home. We’ll finish where we left off,” Joanne countered, winking at him and sitting in the chair again.

Roy looked like the cat that ate the canary. “You just gave me a really good reason to get well fast. Not that I didn’t have one before, but now....” The expression on his face caused Joanne to blush, and it deepened when Dixie entered the room.

Dixie noticed, but thought better than to bring attention to it. “I’m sorry, Joanne. I have to kick you out of here now.”

Joanne looked disappointed, but she nodded in resignation and kissed Roy’s cheek with less passion than she’d displayed earlier. The emotions in her eyes said so much more than the kiss. “I’ll be back later, Roy.”

Roy's hand still grasped Joanne's as he looked at Dixie intently.

"How's Johnny? Joanne told me what Brackett said, but...."

Dixie shook her head. "No news yet. He's still in surgery. But, as soon as I know, you'll know. I promise." She smiled wanly. "Now you try and get some rest. Johnhy will be fine. You know how he is."

Roy mirrored Dixie's expression with less confidence. "Yeah."

"Joanne, I really do have to get you out of here."

Joanne nodded. Turning to Roy, she whispered, "I'll be back later."

“I’ll be here,” he replied, kissing her lips quickly. He didn’t really care if Dixie saw it. They were married, for crying out loud, and he had every right to kiss his wife any way he wanted.

Joanne carefully woke Chris and Jenny, helped them down from the bed, and ushered them from the room. At the door, she turned and said, “I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Dixie waited until Joanne and the kids were gone before speaking. “You know, it’s a good thing I stuck around here, or she never would have gotten up here with the kids. Hardnose Harrigan is on staff today, and she’s an even bigger stickler for rules than Craig Brice!”

Roy’s eyes widened. “Can’t imagine anyone worse than Brice. Well, thanks a lot, Dix. You know how much it meant... to all of us.” He sighed. “Joanne gets so worried sometimes.”

“And she has every right to,” Dixie added emphatically, then her voice softened. “I sure wish Johnny had someone who felt that way about him. Stanley and the rest of the guys are downstairs looking like something the cat dragged in. I mean, they really care, but it’s not the same as family.” Her mouth twisted. “That’s not what I meant. I know you all act like you’re family, but what I meant was a biological kind. There’s something about having parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, etcetera, when you’re hurt or ill.”

“I know what you mean,” Roy agreed. “I love my wife dearly, and when something like this happens, it seems like everything just magnifies in importance. Especially the trivial every day stuff that you take for granted.”

“Exactly.” Dixie’s shoulders slumped. “Well, Johnny isn’t so lucky, so we’ll have to take up the slack and do the best we can." Dixie paused to fight a yawn. "I have to get out of here and get some sleep.” She patted Roy’s hand. “And, you do the same. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Roy saluted with his left hand and grinned.

“I’ll see you later, Roy.” Dixie left the room with one last look to make sure Roy at least had his eyes closed and looked as if he would make an effort to rest. Dixie knew better, though. Roy would not really have a good rest until he knew Johnny was okay. Truth be told, neither would she. Dixie could not bring herself to leave the hospital, but she had to get some sleep, so she shuffled into the doctor’s lounge, turned off the lights, and curled up on the couch.

After watching the men for some time, the woman seated across from Stanley stood. He noted her legs standing still a foot from him, and he looked up. She was old enough to be his daughter, he’d guessed. She smiled at him in sympathy and leaned over to make better eye contact.

“I hope that fireman is going to be okay.”

“Thanks.”

“What happened?” She saw the pained look cross his face and quickly added, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“It’ll be on the morning news, anyway,” Stanley muttered. He remembered seeing at least two TV news crews at the scene and several flashes going off during the extraction and triage. He shuddered to think what would wind up on television right about the time most people were enjoying their morning coffee and a bowl of cereal. Dragging himself away from his thoughts, he replied, “Two kids racing, a car and a pickup, ran through the intersection just as we were there. We had sirens and lights going, on our way to a call, and they just blasted into the squad like it was made of cardboard, not metal.”

The shocked woman had no words of comfort. After a few moments, she spoke softly. “Well, you can be sure I’ll be praying extra hard for your man. I lost a brother because someone blew a stop sign. I know how you’re feeling.” She patted Stanley’s knee. “I have to go. My sister had a baby, and they just told me I can see her now.”

Stanley looked up at her again and gave her a weak smile. “Tell her congratulations.”

“I will.” The woman smiled.

After the woman left, Stanley stared at her empty chair. Interwoven into the fabric, multicolored splotches created a haphazard subtle pattern. Stanley took to counting the colored speckles. It was a dumb thing to do, but better than thinking about Johnny lying on that operating table bleeding and dying.

“Hey, Cap,” Marco spoke softly, shaking Stanley’s shoulder gently. “Cap, wake up.”

“Huh?” Stanley looked around blearily at his men. “I wasn’t asleep, just resting my eyes.”

“Uh, huh,” Marco replied. “Dr. Brackett’s coming.”

“He is?” Stanley sat up straight in his chair. “How does he look? Happy, sad, what?”

“We’ll find out in a second,” Chet answered and stood.

Stanley, Marco, and Mike followed. They all looked quite rumpled from spending several hours in the chairs. Dr. Brackett wished someone had told them to go home. Maybe they stubbornly decided to stick it out until news came. These men certainly earned a good report, and Dr. Brackett was only too happy to oblige.

“Captain Stanley,” he acknowledged the captain and nodded at the others.

“Well, Doc, what’s the word,” Stanley asked as he released a bated breath.

“It wasn’t easy, like I said. We’ve set the ankle and foot and fixed up his injuries. I’m most worried about the damage to his organs. We tried to save his kidney, but we won’t know yet about that. We had to remove part of his liver, too. That’s not as big a deal, though.” He paused. “We may have to go back in later and remove the kidney if it doesn’t improve. For now, we wait for him to stabilize and start healing.”

“Is he in ICU?” Stanley asked.

“They’ll be moving him very soon, yes,” Brackett replied, folding his arms. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re allowed to see him. I do want to keep up sterile conditions, though. We don’t need some virus or bacteria taking him down, not after all that’s been done so far.”

“That’s fair, Doc. When can we see him?”

“Soon. I want to make sure he’s settled first. Why don’t you fellas go home, get freshened up and come back later? How about later this afternoon you can go up and see him?”

Stanley nodded reluctantly. “Okay, men. Let’s meet back here at three.”

Everyone nodded wordlessly. “That good for you, Doc?”

Brackett nodded. “Make it five and it’ll be perfect.”

“Great. See you later.”

Before Stanley and his men could leave, Murphy placed himself in front of Stanley and said, "Captain, I'd like to meet with you and your men after your visit with Gage and DeSoto this afternoon. Would that be all right?"

Stanley hesitated, glancing at the expressions on his men's faces. They didn't look thrilled with the idea, but maybe it would do them some good.

"Yeah, sure."

"Wonderful," Murphy acknowledged with a smile and shook Stanley's hand.

"I'll arrange for a quiet, private place for us to meet."

Stanley only nodded then turned to leave, closely followed by his men.

The four men emerged from the emergency department to find the sun was already high in the sky. None of them said much on the way to the station to collect their cars, but it was more than a little disorienting. It seemed like just a short time ago the accident happened. Yet it also felt like years since they last saw Johnny.

Stanley pulled into the space next to Chet’s car and the others got out. “See you guys at the hospital.”

“See ya, Cap.”

“Bye, Cap.”

“I’ll beat you there, Cap.”

“Just watch it, Chet. We don’t need another one of those days.” As Stanley drove home, he thought about the past 24 hours. The only details that came to mind were those involving the horrific wreck and its aftermath. They were so lucky that Johnny was pulled out alive. Stanley was even more grateful that the squad was a truck and not a car. When the paramedic program began, he recalled talk of equipping the paramedics with station wagons that could double as an ambulance in a pinch. But some clear-thinking committee member nixed that, saying a truck would be more visible and hold more equipment, since the squad team would also be responsible for rescues. The squad had to be a mini-fire truck without the water capacity. And so one little debate snowballed into saving the life of his paramedic. Now if only those damn drivers would obey the traffic laws and stay the hell out of our way....

Stanley pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine. He looked up at the front door and saw the shadow of a woman standing there. The pink bathrobe was unmistakable. Strange that she wasn’t dressed yet. Every time he came home from a shift, she was impeccably dressed and waiting in the kitchen with a nice breakfast. It was almost noon now. Stanley got out of the car and was even more surprised when she opened the screen door and came to meet him, flying into his open arms.

“I heard the news. I saw it on TV. Oh, Hank....” She cried softly into his shoulder.

“The doctor thinks Johnny’s going to be okay. Roy’s fine.”

“Thank, God. I couldn’t help but think if that had been you…. If it had been your day....”

“Well, it wasn’t. I wish it hadn’t been anybody’s day.” He sighed and held her close. “It shouldn’t ever have to be one of those days.”

The End