Alternate Ending: Honest
By Caressa
Burning in the sooty black smoke, Johnny’s eyes were useless. Murky tears poured
down his face. He stepped blindly, feeling the banister pressed to his right
hip, guiding him toward safe ground. Leaning over, he drew a burning breath. He
adjusted the seal of his mask over the nose and mouth of the infant in his arms,
hoping her chest would continue to rise. Johnny stumbled on the next step, his
feet tripped up by worsening dizziness. The banister strained and he heard a
loud crack. Johnny instinctively pulled the infant to his chest and turned his
back on the insistent pull of gravity.
When he landed, the air was driven from his lungs in a great whoosh, and for a
few seconds he didn’t think he’d ever draw another breath. Were the stars he saw
from slamming into the ground? Or the smoke? He shook off his confusion when he
heard someone shouting his name. Laying the child on the floor, Johnny drew
another choked breath, forcing himself to focus. He squinted thru the inky
clouds and continued to administer the lifesaving air. In seconds, two
firefighters descended from the smoke, one scooping up the child, and the other
pulling Johnny to his feet, dragging him out of the crackling air.
When the firefighter let him go, Johnny staggered on the lawn, finally falling
to his knees. Exhausted, and quickly weakening, he toppled to the ground. Cheek
to the cool grass, he watched a firefighter work on the baby. Johnny let his
eyes slide closed. He didn’t open them again until the screaming started.
He could feel the fists pounding his back and blinked to clear his blurry mind.
He heard heavy boots approaching, and suddenly the frantic pummeling stopped.
“Johnny,” the voice called. “The old man? Where was he? Did you see him?”
Johnny felt someone roughly shake his shoulder. The voice was urgent now.
“Gage! Johnny! Where’s the old man!”
Johnny struggled to see the hazy figure hovering over him. When he finally
answered, his voice was a rough whisper. “Behind me...on...on... stairs.” His
chest tightened, and a wheezing cough led to a paroxysmal fit.
Roy laid a steadying hand on Johnny’ s shoulder when the coughing continued. He
shouted to his Captain, “Cap! He should be on the second floor landing! Johnny
needs oxygen, I’m going in!”
At that, Johnny tried to raise himself up, but Roy’s hand easily pushed him back
to the ground.
“Stay put, Johnny. I’ll get him. Don’t worry!” He stood and shrugged on the air
tank Marco held up for him. Roy took off for the house, calling back to Marco.
“Put him on 100%, and call another squad! He needs a line!”
Johnny could feel the cool grass on his cheek as his head dropped back to the
ground. Upset that he left behind a victim, his throat tightened in anguish.
Nausea burned his gut. He clamped his eyes shut. He was spinning, and his
thoughts thankfully greyed to black.
*******
“Gage! Gage! Come on man! Wake up!”
Johnny’s brow wrinkled and he turned away. A firm hand was shaking his shoulder.
He heard the shout again.
“ComeonGage!”
He felt a tight squeeze over his left upper arm, followed by slow release of
pressure and the sound of a quick ‘rip’ of velcro. Deke looked up at the other
medic.
“106/74.”
“Wow, he’s dry.”
“Not surprising,” Deke replied. “Lets get it going, running at 100. Gimmie a
pipe, Charlie, he needs it.”
Johnny winced at the sharp stick in his arm, instinctively pulling away.
“Whoa! Whoa! Gage! I just got that line in man! Stay still! Shhh, Shhh, it’s
okay Johnny. It’s okay.” Deke taped down the IV and for the fourth time, pushed
down Johnny’s arm.
“Hold still, Gage!”
Johnny weakly pulled his arm back, which was easily stilled by Deke.
“John, Johnny, look at me.” Deke waited until Johnny quieted and attempted to
focus.
“You’re dehydrated from the heat. You got smoke inhalation. You understand?”
Johnny nodded weakly.
“I’m running the IV fast, so you should feel better soon. Okay? Is your chest
tight?”
Johnny again nodded. “Yeah,” he answered breathlessly.
“Okay, I’m going to pack you up in a minute, and I’ll make sure you’re pampered
by some lovely ladies at Rampart.”
Deke’s partner pulled the stethoscope from his ears, and tapped Deke’s arm,
motioning him away from Johnny.
“Heart’s a little irregular and he’s tachy. Wheezing’s worse, and I think I hear
some congestion. We better get moving.”
Deke’s brow wrinkled in concern. He grabbed the biophone and walked a few feet
away, out of earshot of the injured medic.
“Rampart, Squad 26.” Deke waited for a response, tapping impatiently on the
bright orange case. “Rampart Squad 26, come in please.”
“This is Rampart, go ahead 26.”
Deke let out a sigh of relief. Brackett was a pain in the as-, but just the doc
he hoped for.
“Squad 26 with an update. Patient is awake, variably coherent. BP 106/74, HR
110, slightly irregular, RR 30, wheezing throughout, with accessory muscle use.
He’s more congested. Skin is pale, cool, and diaphoretic.”
“Squad 26, continue O2 100% non-rebreather, open IV wide for 500 cc and recheck
BP in five minutes. I’d like you to send a strip, but do not delay transport.
Transport as soon as possible. Update with new set of vital signs. What’s your
ETA?”
“Rampart, we copy, patient is already on 100% O2, IV in place, running wide,
will update vitals in five. I’ll send the strip en route. ETA approximately 10.”
Deke dropped the phone without waiting for the confirmation.
“Roy’s all set with the Grandfather. See you at Rampart, I’ll be right behind
you!” Charlie slammed the doors shut, and tapped them twice.
Deke nodded to his partner, then called to the driver. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”
********
Dixie was waiting when the doors opened and the stretcher was pulled forward.
“How is he?”
“Holding. BP up to 116/72, HR 100, lungs same. Tachypneic at 30. He’s looking
rough.”
“Brackett’s waiting in Treatment 2, lets go.” Dixie led the stretcher to the
treatment room and held the door for the medics. Once the stretcher was locked
in place and Johnny was transferred to the bed, she switched over the oxygen and
hooked up the leads.
Brackett’s brow furrowed as he quickly assessed his patient.
“Deke, has his breathing improved?” he asked, as he pressed his scope to
Johnny’s chest.
“Still fast, but the accessory use decreased a bit during the ride.”
“Dix, is X-ray here? Are you getting an EKG? Do you have the kit for the blood
gas?”
“Yes to all Kel. Want the blood gas first?”
At Brackett’s acknowledgement, Dixie placed the kit on tray, opened it, and
swiftly arranged the components. “All set Doctor,” she said, pulling back
Johnny’s hand. She noted that Johnny weakly resisted.
“I know you hate this, Johnny, but its necessary. It will be over in a moment.”
She held his arm steady, watching Dr. Brackett guide the needle into the radial
artery. She could feel Johnny’s arm tense under her hand, but he didn’t pull
away. Brackett collected the specimen and pulled the needle out. Dixie held
pressure and raised Johnny’s arm.
“All set, Johnny. I’m just going to hold this for a few minutes.”
Johnny made no reply, other than a slight nod of his head. His eyes blinked
heavily, becoming unfocused.
She brushed a gentle hand over his cheek. Dixie could see his growing fatigue
and grew concerned.
“Hey,” she asked softly, “You doing okay Tiger?”
His red, teary eyes slowly slid to meet hers. They shut briefly with a slight
shake of his head. He grimaced suddenly, then shifted in the bed.
“You okay?” she asked, leaning in close. “Are you in pain?”
“Chest.”
It was a breathless whisper. Alarmed, Dixie reached for his other hand to take a
pulse.
“Kel, chest pain, pulse rapid and weak, he’s out!”
Brackett called sharply, “Pull over the defibrillator! I need a second line!”
*******
An hour later, Dixie and Brackett sat silently at the base station. Coffee in
hand, cold and untouched, each stared at the door of Treatment Room Three.
Dixie hung her head, breaking the silence with a whispered plea. “God, Kel, I
hope he’ll be okay. What the hell just happened?” She shut her eyes, and the
moisture collected, threatening to spill over.
“There must have been a lot of carbon monoxide in the air. Maybe from the
furniture or something else that was burning. Roy said he gave his mask to the
baby.”
“Is he going to be okay? He had ST depressions. He was hypoxic. He’s still
disoriented. His lungs sound like crap.”
Brackett sat quietly, considering her question. He offered the only answer he
honestly could provide.
“I really don’t know.”
****
“Johnny? It’s me, Dixie. Can you hear me?” Dixie grasped his hand and squeezed
lightly. “John? Johnny?”
Dixie continued to watch the young man struggled to awaken. She leaned forward,
whispering in his ear. “Johnny, it’s Dix. You were in a fire, you’re going to be
okay.” She hesitated, the sinking feeling in her chest making her wonder if she
had just lied.
His brow wrinkled and he coughed lightly, taking a deep draw of air from the
non-rebreather covering his nose and mouth. His eyes slid toward her voice,
finally fixing on her face.
“Dix?”
She smiled in relief. At least he recognized her. “Hey Tiger. How are you
feeling?”
“Roy?”
“Roy and your crew are fine. Chet got an ember in his eye, but he’s okay. Well,
other than looking like a Pirate for a few days, which I think he honestly
enjoyed.” She smiled lightly.
Johnny finally focused on her face. He shook his head, and she could see his
eyes wander.
“You okay? How do you feel?” She gently placed a steadying hand on his chest,
and took his pulse with the other. Regular, slow and steady. She let out the
breath she was unconsciously holding.
“Fuzzy. Headache. Chest a little tight. Otherwise, okay.”
She saw a flicker of a smile on his lips, and while fleeting, she was comforted.
“Do you have any pain in your chest?”
“No, just feel … like … need a good cough.”
“Respiratory therapy’s due any minute, so don’t worry about that, they’ll fix
you up.”
“Did the baby die?”
That came out of nowhere, she thought.
“The baby was transferred to Children’s downtown. I don’t know how she is
doing.”
He eyed her closely, and Dixie knew he was reading her expression for veracity.
He finally nodded, apparently accepting her reply. She didn’t make an offer to
check on the child’s welfare. She really didn’t want to hear the bad news.
Johnny’s eyes fluttered, and she straightened his covers, laying a soothing hand
on his chest. “Sleep Johnny. I’ll be back to check on you. If you want
something, ring for Jennifer,” she whispered, placing the call button in his
hand. “She knows enough to come and get me if you need me.”
His eyes were closed and his head sagged to the side, but she could detect a
brief nod of acknowledgement. She squeezed his hand and held it for a moment,
her throat tightening with the thought that 24 hours ago, she never thought
she’d hear his voice again.
********
Disclaimer: All medical references in this story are complete bunk, so gosh,
don't rely on anything in the world of make-believe! ;-))
*Click above to send Caressa feedback
