Answer to Challenge #11
"SOME THINGS YOU DON’T TALK ABOUT"
They had gone into more burning buildings on search and rescue than they could remember. They had incurred their share of slight injuries -- smoke inhalation, heat exhaustion, minor burns, and plenty of scrapes, and bruises, and sore muscles.
It came with the territory, and they didn't talk about it.
But there were other times involving close calls and near-misses…. The time Johnny was trapped in the warehouse with a bomb about to go off, and Roy had risked his own life to go in and pull him out. The time they had barely managed to pull a man to safety before a homemade still in the man's house blew it sky high. The jet fighter that crashed into the apartment complex, the plane that crashed into the school bus, the fireworks that exploded in a warehouse. The time Johnny was still inside an apartment building when a gas explosion had ripped through it. There were others -- too many others. And yet, somehow, they had managed to come away from these incidents without sustaining serious injury.
It was part of the job. They had been there for each other, and they didn't need to talk about it.
They believed in, but knew better than to rely on, “Lady Luck.” They staked their lives on their training and their skills. They tried not to take unnecessary risks, and trusted each other, and the members of the crew, to watch their backs. All these years, the combination of their training, their skill, their timing, their luck, had kept them just out of harm's reach.
Even though they didn't talk about it, or think about it much, they knew that, in their profession, those things weren't always enough.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The shift got off to a busy start. The squad was toned out on a run at 8:05 for a possible heart attack. As Roy and John were returning to quarters after transporting the patient to Rampart, they were called out to join the engine crew at the scene of a traffic accident. Fortunately for the people involved, there were only minor injuries -- the cars were in worse shape than the drivers. While returning to the station from their second trip of the morning to Rampart, they were summoned to yet another rescue scene. This one turned out to be a simple case of a man who got his hand stuck in a clothes dryer vent.
When Roy and Johnny finally returned to the station, Roy insisted, over John's protests, that they catch up on their logbook -- they still had notes from their previous shift that hadn't been entered. Johnny's tape recorder idea hadn't quite panned out - yet -- so once again they did their version of "Who's On First," trying to sort out the order of their runs, and decipher their cryptic notes. After that, it should have been a simple matter of recording everything into the logbook. But nothing with them was ever really simple -- something about one of their runs always seemed to trigger memories of others, and they would often end up spending more time recounting past rescues than recording the current ones.
Today was no exception. As Roy finally entered this last run, Johnny started to snicker as he recalled other runs for "stuck hands." There was the woman cooking dinner for her boyfriend and his mother, who got her hand stuck in the mixer; the man with his hand caught in his garage door opener when the electricity had gone out; the man with his hand stuck in the garbage disposal, trying to retrieve his wife's diamond ring. But the best one of all had been the time Dixie got her hand stuck in the vending machine. Johnny and Roy were sharing a good laugh over that one, and how mad she had pretended to be at everyone for teasing her.
Passing by his office, Hank Stanley listened to their laughter. His paperwork was never that much fun. He poked his head into the doorway to let them know lunch was ready, apologizing for breaking up their little party. Johnny's stomach had been reminding them it was time to eat anyway, so they put away the logbook and went to join the rest of the crew in the dayroom. Stoker was just putting lunch on the table.
This was the first opportunity they had today to catch up with one another about their days off. Marco's family had a celebration at the park for his niece's birthday. Roy and Joanne had taken the kids to the LA Zoo. Johnny had gone rock climbing with a friend. Chet had gone on an outing, looking for new additions to his barbed wire collection. As soon as Chet started talking about it, Roy and Johnny both formed a mental picture of being called out on a rescue one day, only to find Chet with his hand stuck in a fence. Just one glance at each other sent them into another round of laughter. He didn't know what it was about, but Chet figured their little inside joke was at his expense, and was already plotting revenge.
They almost managed to finish lunch this time.
"Station 51, Truck 127, Station 45, Engine 105, Engine 29, Battalion 14. Structure fire. 4300 Alameda Street. 4300 Alameda Street. Cross Street Vernon Avenue. Time out 13:02."
The fire was in an old brick building, one of the many still found in the older parts of the county. Californians had discovered the hard way that bricks and earthquakes didn't mix. This 3-story structure had been abandoned long ago by its' tenants. Weakened by age and past quakes, and now the fire, the building was extremely unstable.
No one knew for sure if anyone was inside. The homeless who roamed the streets sometimes sought refuge from the cold weather inside the building. The blaze had started on the ground floor, possibly by someone trying to keep warm, and the fire had gotten out of control.
The Battalion Chief and several of the other engines were already on the scene when 51's arrived. The engine was directed to assist the other crews working to contain the fire on the ground level at the rear of the building, while the squad was told to do a sweep. The paramedics pulled on their turnout coats and donned their air tanks and masks, grabbed their gloves and flashlights, and headed into the building. They would be searching the third floor for possible victims, while the paramedic team from Station 45 would do a sweep of the second floor.
Roy and Johnny had conducted this type of search many times, and wordlessly separated when they reached the third floor, each going to check the offices on opposite sides of the hallway. The fire had not reached this floor yet, but the smoke was thick and it was difficult to see. Their search was thorough, but quick. They could feel the intensity of the heat begin to build.
Squad 45 radioed the command post that their search of the second floor was complete and that they were headed out of the building. They hadn't found any victims. A few seconds later, Roy pulled the HT from his pocket and notified the command post that their sweep was also complete, and that there were no victims on their floor either. They were going to exit using the stairs at the back of the building. The smoke was really thick and visibility was becoming nonexistent. The heat was getting intense, and there was no time to lose. Coming up behind a kneeling Johnny, Roy grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him a push down the hallway toward the small landing at the top of the stairwell.
Roy and Johnny were side-by-side at the moment it happened.
Flashover. Windows blew out from the heat. Mortar crumbled from the heat. The old building's roof, already weak, now had little support and partially collapsed into the third floor.... Ironically, the building had vented itself, so the fire crews could renew their attack to quickly extinguish dying flames. A quick survey by the Battalion Chief revealed there were two men unaccounted for, and they weren't responding to calls over their handi-talkie.
It didn't take long for the word to pass that Gage and DeSoto hadn't made it out of the building.
A new search and rescue was quickly organized. This one would be much more difficult due to the damage and increased instability caused by the explosion. Squad 51's last radioed location put them on the third floor still, or perhaps they had made it to the stairs between the second and third floors. The rescue teams found the stairway blocked at the ground floor. The roof cave-in made it impossible to access them from above. Without talking, the men went to work, removing debris from the stairway as quickly and carefully as possible. They knew it could take a long time to shore up the walls and dig them out. But these were two of their own, trapped and probably hurt. They would do whatever it would take to find them, even if it took all night.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Johnny awoke in the darkness and felt an incredible crushing, shooting pain flaring through his chest. It was hard for him to draw a breath. He struggled to remember what had happened and where he was. God, nothing before had ever hurt so much.
He had to find Roy. He had been right beside him a minute ago, but now he was gone. Johnny tried to move, but his ribs screamed in protest. He was gasping for air. As he tried to calm down and slow his rapid breathing, he thought he heard a groan. Shifting ever so slightly, Johnny thought he spotted a movement in the pile of debris in front of him. It had to be Roy. Johnny couldn't even call out to him, it hurt so much just to breathe.
In spite of the painful agony every movement created, he tried to get to Roy... he knew Roy was hurt and needed his help. Shutting his eyes tightly against the pain, Johnny slowly dragged himself forward and found Roy, lying on his side, with chunks of brick and mortar, lathe and plaster, all around. His helmet had been knocked off and his air mask pushed aside.... It didn't matter… their tanks were empty now anyway. There was a small pool of blood under the side of Roy's head, where it rested on the floor.
Willing himself to stay conscious, Johnny did his best to examine him. Roy's breathing was labored, and his pulse was slow and thready. John could feel some swelling at the back of his head, and there was bleeding from his right ear. Damn! Skull fracture. Johnny didn't want to try to move him. It was better anyway to leave Roy on his right side, but he needed to elevate his head and shoulders.
Johnny could barely get his own breath now. He began to cough, a deep, wracking cough that seemed to go on forever. He thought his chest was going to explode. When the coughing finally subsided some, he reached over to his partner. Roy wasn't breathing any more.
He knew that Roy's only chance was for him to do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, only Johnny wasn't sure he could even continue to breathe for himself much longer. It didn't matter, he would do whatever it would take to see that Roy made it out alive, and if that meant Johnny giving Roy his last breath, that's what he would do. John inhaled as much air as his damaged lungs would permit. Two rescue breaths -- then John checked for a carotid pulse. It was there, but weak. And that was all he could do, as he was once again consumed by the coughing. This time there was the taste of blood in his mouth.
John tried to fight off the darkness that was closing in. Roy needed him, he needed to breathe for his friend. He couldn't pass out now. Gasping for air, the pain overwhelmed him.
He lost the battle.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The rescue effort below them was progressing faster than any had dared to hope. The crews worked in shifts in the confined quarters of the old stairwell. As they were preparing to clear the final path to the third floor, 51s crew gave way to the paramedics and crew of Station 45. It would be better that way.
As they solemnly made their way out of the building to await word on the fate of their friends, Hank Stanley's thoughts were of his two men. It had only been a few hours ago that he had heard them laughing in his office. Despite the gravity of the current situation, a tiny smile crossed his face as he thought about what an unlikely pair of friends and partners those two were. DeSoto was calm, thoughtful, dependable. The “Rock of Gibraltar.” Gage was unpredictable, spontaneous, adventurous. Lived life a little closer to the edge. But they didn't conflict, they complemented each other. Hank knew what connected them, beneath the surface. They both loved being firefighters, and both shared an intense passion for their job as paramedics.
He thought about how many times he had sent his men to face danger. They all knew the risks of their job, but fighting fires was in their blood, and there was a certain thrill to the challenge and conquest that they all felt. They lived for it, and some died for it. Not once had John or Roy ever hesitated to go where he sent them. He wasn't sure if they ever talked to each other about it. Hank remembered how much trouble John had verbalizing his obvious anguish when his friend Drew had been killed, and Roy had admitted he didn't like to think about it much. Hank remembered overhearing their playful banter one time over who had saved who's life. Maybe it was better if they didn't really talk about it, maybe it was better he had never asked them.
He had no doubt that they would all put their lives on the line to protect each other, and knew neither Roy nor John would hesitate for a second to lie down his life for the other. Hank only hoped that hadn't happened here today.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The paramedics from 45 took in the scene before them, and swiftly moved to the men lying in the hallway. They exchanged looks, and nodded at one another in momentary relief. The other men brought up the stokes, as the captain was radioed the news that Gage and DeSoto had been found. There was no time for a lengthy assessment of their condition; parts of the hallway walls had already collapsed, who knew when the rest would come down. After quickly applying c-collars, and removing the empty air tanks, the two injured paramedics were loaded into the stokes, and carried down the stairs. Luck had been with them once again. No sooner had they exited the building, than the walls came crashing down.
The equipment had already been laid out and the biophone line opened to Rampart. Their injuries were critical, and the paramedics and doctors rapidly exchanged information and orders for treatment. Even though they suffered different injuries, both were in severe respiratory failure; Roy's brain wasn't able to send a steady signal to breathe, Johnny's lungs just couldn't get the oxygen they needed. When their conditions were as stable as they could get at the scene, their friends, their crew mates, loaded them into the waiting ambulance, and watched it race off for the hospital. The crews that had remained, including 51s, now packed up to return to their stations for duty. Replacements for John and Roy would be called in.
No one would talk about it. But they would think about it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Johnny and Roy were both rushed to operating rooms upon arrival at Rampart. Johnny's surgery was lengthy, but everything went well. Roy was in critical condition, and the doctors had to work quickly to reduce an epidural hematoma. They almost lost him twice on the operating table, but they were able to bring him back and complete the surgery successfully. Johnny had already been transferred to a bed in the ICU when Roy was brought to the recovery room.
Joanne had spent a sleepless night between the waiting room, and Roy's bedside for a few minutes every hour, then at Johnny's side, too. Dixie had kept her company most of the night, and Dr. Brackett and Dr. Early made frequent appearances, checking on the guys and keeping Joanne informed of their condition. The next morning, the other men from the station joined her when they got off duty. Johnny's condition had improved overnight, and he had been awake once for just a few minutes. Roy hadn't regained consciousness yet, but his vital signs were improving and he was breathing unassisted.
There were several touch-and-go days before Roy was pronounced on the road to recovery. The doctor’s eventual prognosis for complete recovery for both of them was good; it would just take time. Johnny was transferred to a regular room first; they moved Roy in with him a few days later.
Their room was filled with cards and flowers from well-wishers; visiting hours were filled with a steady stream of friends and family. Firefighters and paramedics from all over the county stopped by or called. Even those who didn't know them well felt an unusual connection to them, seeking reassurance in Johnny's and Roy's strength and courage in beating the odds. Between the visitors, and the doctors and nurses constantly checking on them, they slept. It seemed that they were never alone or awake long enough to talk to each other much.
After two weeks, Johnny was well enough to be discharged to finish recuperating at home. Roy would be in the hospital for at least another week. He still sported a bandage on his head, and was only just being allowed to get out of bed, with assistance, for short periods of time. Normally, Johnny would be in a rush to get out of there, but visitors noticed he seemed distracted and acted as though he didn't want to leave.
Roy had a pretty good idea of what was bothering Johnny.
The sound of the door opening and closing woke Roy. The hallways were still relatively quiet in the early morning hours, and he could tell it wasn't quite daylight yet, but the dim light of dawn was slipping in through the blinds. He instinctively looked over at the bed next to him, and wasn't surprised to find it empty.
As his mobility had returned, Johnny had become increasingly restless, and could no longer deal with the confinement of the four walls of the small hospital room. No longer in need of pain medication or sedatives, sleep hadn't come easily for Johnny the past few nights. And, when it did, it was filled with vivid memories of what had happened, of what had almost happened. Roy's close call weighed heavily on his mind. He had passed out in that hallway when Roy had needed him most.
He wouldn't leave him again, not until he knew Roy was really going to be okay.
Roy was pretty sure he knew where John had gone on his early morning sojourns these last few days. He slowly got out of bed and put on his robe and slippers. Roy was not supposed to walking on his own yet, but he had to make sure Johnny was all right, and that Johnny knew that he would be all right, too. The nurses would have heart failure if they came in and found them both gone. He carefully made his way to the elevator undetected, and pushed the button for the top floor. From there, he found the stairs leading to the roof of the hospital.
Johnny was sitting there, his knees drawn up under his chin. Waiting for the sunrise. Waiting for the new day. Waiting for his partner. Johnny helped Roy sit down beside him, and together in silence, they watched the sun come up.
Roy rested his right hand lightly on his friend's shoulder.
"Johnny...."
They began to talk about it.
Don't forget to email the writer!
Nan M.
Editor's Note: This is Nan's third story. Wasn't it great?! She thought writing that first story would get it out of her system. It's just like potato chips, you can't only write just one! Don't forget to email her and let her know what you think.