Attack

of the

Pod Paramedics

 by Elf!

"I know this may be hard to believe, but it happened not too long ago, in a little town in southern California.  I know.  I saw it.  I was there . . . ."

At one in the morning the only light illuminating the day room at Fire Station 51 was the flickering, blue-white glow of the television set.  Chet Kelly lounged on the sofa, a full bowl of popcorn in his lap.  He was dressed in a tee shirt and turnout pants with one suspender fastened to hold them up.  His boots sat beside him on the floor.  He leaned in closer to the TV, turned the sound down just a bit more to keep from waking his sleeping shiftmates, and lost himself in one of the great, all-time classic B horror movies.

The minute hand on the clock circled slowly.  The level of popcorn sank to half a bowl and then to a third.

". . . but sometimes the aliens will put the duplicated souls back into the wrong bodies!"

"Aha!  So when old Mrs. Crabtree started chasing co-eds and the professor took up knitting . . . "

"Yes!  That's when I knew that they had been captured by the pod people!"

"But why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't dare!  If they know you suspect them, soon you'll find there's a pod with your face on it!"

A faint but irritating drone invaded Chet's slumbers.

"Kelly."

He tried to shut it out and go back to sleep, but the drone had acquired a voice and, also, a finger which poked his shoulder insistently.

"Kelly!  Wake up!"

He started suddenly awake on the sofa, flipping the popcorn bowl as he sat up and scattering burnt kernels and odd bits of leftover popcorn in his lap and on the floor.  Captain Stanley was leaning over him.  The light was on.  The television had gone to a test pattern and Cap reached over to click it off.  "Don't you think you'd be more comfortable sleeping in your bunk?"

"Oh, yeah.  Right.  Man!  What time is it?"

"A quarter to four in the morning.  Listen, Chet, I know this situation is hard on everyone and God knows I'm willing to make allowances, but do you really think that sitting up all night watching horror movies is a good idea?"

"It's okay, Cap!  I'm fine.  Honest."

"You're fine," Cap repeated in a dry tone that told Chet he was far from convinced.

"Yeah!  I'm fine.  I went to bed early so I'd be rested.  And, hey!  Maybe we'll get released today.  I heard last night that the fire was sixty percent contained."

Every station in the county was pulling overtime as a big brushfire to the southeast ate up manpower and resources.  Cap sighed.  "It's back down to forty-three percent now," he said.  "I was just listening to an update.  It's broken out again on Yawpahtah Ridge.  Anyway, when it is contained B shift or C shift will get released before we do."

Chet got up, brushing popcorn crumbs off the sofa onto the floor, and went for the broom.  "That's not fair!  We've been on duty longer!"

"Yeah," Cap said.  "We've been on duty -- here!  They've been up there in the middle of the fire the whole time."

Chet sighed but laid off the griping, put away the broom and dustpan and followed his captain back to the dorm.

#-#-#-#-

In spite of his resolve to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, the six a.m. wakeup tones found Chet bleary-eyed and droopy.  He slouched at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee clenched in his fist and his cheek resting in his other hand.  John Gage and Roy DeSoto came into the room together and Johnny glanced over at the drowsy fireman.

"Just can it, Gage," Chet told him before he could open his mouth to speak.  "I already know what you're thinking so you can just save your breath.  I'm in no mood for any of your so-called witticisms this morning anyway."

"Geez, Chet!  Nobody said anything!"  It was Roy who answered.  He was normally the calmest and most easy-going of men, but today there was a surprising amount of heat in his voice.  "Just walk in the room first thing in the morning and somebody's gotta start going off at you!  I mean, whatever happened to camaraderie and the brotherhood of the fire department?  Huh?  It's every man for himself now, pally!  And another thing."  He reached into a cupboard and came out with a candy bar.  "You see this?  It looks like a nice big candy bar doesn't it?  But you know what?  Really it's two little candy bars.  They just package it this way to make it look bigger, to get you to buy it.  It's all a cheat.  That's how it is anymore.  The whole world is out to cheat the little guy!"

"Didn't you know it was two little candy bars when you got it?"  The usually excitable John Gage was being, this morning, the voice of reason.

"Sure."

"Well, then, what did you buy it for?"

Roy stopped at the doorway, glanced over his shoulder and gave his partner a crooked grin.  "I like this kind of candy bar."  He took a big bite of candy and left the room.

Johnny looked at Chet, his expression one of tolerance and amused affection, eyes crinkled with merriment, mouth twisted in a small grin.  Then he went after his partner.

Chet blinked and sat up straight.  "Okay," he said to himself, "that was weird . . . ."

#-#-#-#-

The tones sounded.  "Squad 51.  Man down.  Corner of Hobart and Rudabaugh Lane.  Time out 9:53."

Since he was closest to the radio, Chet ran to answer it, scribbling the information down on a call sheet as he replied.  "Squad 51.  KMG-365."  He tore off the sheet, stepped over to the squad and handed it in the window to . . .

John Gage?

Johnny took the sheet with his left hand as he tightened his helmet strap with his right.  He passed it across the cab to Roy DeSoto.

"Hey!" Chet exclaimed.  "How come Gage is driving?"

The bay doors stood open and Johnny was already pulling out.  Chet watched them leave, ignored and befuddled.  Marco Lopez came up beside Chet and Chet repeated his question.  "How come Gage is driving?"

Marco shrugged, unconcerned.  "We've been on duty for four straight days now.  Maybe they just decided to mix things up a bit."

"Yeah," Chet said softly, almost speaking to himself, "or maybe someone else decided to mix things up for them!"

Marco went and got a rag and a can of car wax from the cleaning closet and began to polish the engine.  "What are you talking about?"

Chet shook himself.  "What?  Oh.  Nothing."  He got another rag and moved to help his friend.  For several minutes they worked in silence, Chet chewing on his mustache and thinking hard.  When he spoke again it was in the carefully off-hand tone that people use when they want to broach an important subject without anyone else realizing that it's important.  "Watched a good movie last night," he said.

"Oh, yeah?  What was it?"

"Attack of the Pod People.  Classic B horror flick.  It was filmed right around here.  The guy who made it even claimed that it really happened.  Not that anybody really believed that, of course," Chet said hastily.  "It was just part of the advertising, you know?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah.  It was about these aliens, see?  The way they'd take over a planet was, they'd have these plants with these big pods on them, kind of like oversized limes.  They'd get a sample of someone's DNA and then they could use the plant to grow a sort of duplicate soul.  When the soul was ready they'd get the person back and suck out their real soul and imprison it in . . . well . . . in a sort of . . . ."

"In a what?" Marco asked.

"In, well, an old Tupperware container, actually."  It had been a really low budget film.  "Then they'd put the duplicated alien souls back in the bodies.  When somebody got kidnapped by the aliens, the only way to save them was to force-feed them something with limes in it.  The molecular composition of limes, you see, was similar enough to the molecular composition of the pods that it broke the connection between the bodies and the duplicate souls.  Then you had to get the . . . container that had the real soul in it and, well, pop the seal so they could get out and get back to their bodies."

"Sounds wild," Marco said.  He fell silent, concentrating on buffing out a spot on the chrome.  "I bet I know where the guy got the idea," he added after a couple of minutes.

"Oh yeah?  Where?"

"Probably he saw those weird plants growing up there above Taunipau Canyon."

Chet stopped polishing.  "What weird plants?"

"You remember?" Marco stopped suddenly and shook his head.  "That's right.  You were out sick that day.  Last week we got called to a little ranch house up in the hills above Taunipau Canyon.  Guy got stung by something.  There were all these big, funny looking plants growing in his yard and on the hill across the road from his house.  Great big plants with green pods and thorns on them."

"Thorns?"  Chet swallowed hard.  He hadn't even mentioned the thorns.

"Yeah.  Sharp ones.  Roy and Johnny both got stuck while we were there.  They had to go to Rampart after the call and get blood work done to see if the plants were toxic, but they weren't."

"Oh.  Huh."  Chet digested this in silence for a minute.  "Good thing they weren't toxic."  They were just stealing their DNA is all!  "But they haven't been back again, right?"  He considered the question himself and didn't like the answer he came up with.  "Didn't they have a call up to Taunipau Canyon yesterday afternoon?"

"I don't know.  Did they?  I haven't been keeping track of them."  Marco stopped polishing and gave his friend a long, hard look.  "You're not going to try to convince me that Roy and Johnny have been replaced by pod people, are you?  'Cause it was just a movie, Chet.  Just a cheap B horror movie!"

"Well, sure!  I know that!  Sheesh!" Chet bristled.  "Give me credit for a little intelligence, would you?"

"Sure, if you exhibit some!"

The tones sounded, interrupting their discussion.

"Engine 51.  Structure fire.  1421 Longfall Road.  Cross street Talbott.  Time out 10:20."

B horror movies and pod paramedics forgotten, the two men tossed aside the polish and rags, grabbed their turnouts and went to work.

#-#-#-#-

In the early afternoon Chet lounged in the dayroom, drowsy and half asleep.  He was cooking but lunch was over and it was too soon to start dinner.  In fact, he still had to decide what to make and get to the store to shop.  He yawned hugely and his eyes began to close, but then they snapped open again as he listened in on one half of a phone conversation that was taking place behind him.

"Hi, sweetheart! . . . Good, you? . . . I miss you though.  Kids get home from school okay? . . . Yeah? . . . well, what did he get on his math test?  That's great!  Tell him I'm proud of him."

It was a typical Roy DeSoto phone call to his wife -- the same gentle tone, the same casual endearments, the same subject matter.  The only thing that was different was that it was John Gage who was speaking.  Even as Chet sat up and turned to look at the younger paramedic in shock, a horrendous caterwauling erupted from the vehicle bay.  It sounded like a bull seal trying to mate with an opera singer.  Mike Stoker came in holding his ears.

"Good grief!  When and why did Roy decide to start playing the trombone?"

"Limes," Chet Kelly said to himself.  "Absolutely, positively got to get some limes!"

#-#-#-#-

"Station 51!  Construction accident.  1717 North Faulkner.  1717 North Faulkner.  Cross street Murdoch.  Time out 15:23."

The squad pulled up first, followed closely by the engine.  The paramedics jumped out -- Gage was still driving -- and started pulling rescue gear from the compartments.  The scene was a high-rise in the early stages of construction, all beams and girders.  A construction elevator rode up and down one corner, but most of the structure was accessible via long metal ladders rising inside circular metal cages.

Cap and the engine crew climbed down and went to join their paramedics as a man in a hardhat ran over to meet them.  He was talking before he even got there and they had to slow him down and get him to start over.

"Miller," he said, gesturing up into the tangle of steel.  "He lost his grip and his safety line broke.  He isn't hurt, but he's stuck and he's terrified.  Someone's going to have to crawl out there with a new line and find a way to get him down."

"Right," Cap said, quickly analyzing the situation.  "Roy, John, you're going to have to go up after him.  Marco, take the elevator to the top and drop them a line.  Once they get a safety line on him, they can rappel down."

Marco grabbed a line and headed for the elevator and the two rescue men ran over to the ladder and started climbing fast, Roy in the lead.  The stranded worker was about fifteen floors up.  The paramedics had cleared probably eight of them when Roy's foot slipped and he fell hard into the ladder.

The engine crew could only watch in horror as Roy slumped forward and then toppled back, falling within the confines of the ladder cage.  Johnny barely had time to brace himself before he was hit by his partner's body.  Still he latched on, hanging onto the ladder with one hand and Roy with the other.

"Kelly!" Cap snapped, "get up there and get Roy.  Bring him back down.  Johnny'll have to finish the rescue solo."

As Chet pulled on his gloves and ran for the ladder he could hear Mike Stoker, behind him, saying, "that's a switch!  Usually it's Johnny getting hurt and Roy finishing the rescue alone."

Chet climbed as fast as he could and still make any pretense at being careful.  Still, by the time he reached the two paramedics he could see that Johnny's arms were trembling under the strain.  Edging to one side, he climbed up and took DeSoto's weight.

"Have you got him?" Johnny asked, shaking his arm and flexing his fingers to get the cramps out.  "Are you sure you've got him?  Be careful!  He's not totally out of it, but he's not going to be a whole lot of help.  Get him on oxygen.  I'll check him out in a few minutes when I get back down."

"Are you sure you can handle Miller alone?"

"Yeah, I got it," Johnny said.  "Don't worry.  Just take care of my partner."

"Will do."  Chet backed down the ladder slowly, supporting Roy's weight, while Johnny went on up to the trapped construction worker.  All Chet's hair was standing on end, and he was a man with a lot of hair.  Chills ran up and down his spine.  The conversation he'd just had with Johnny was an almost word-for-word replay of the one he'd had with Roy the last time he'd gone up to take a barely-conscious John Gage from him.

#-#-#-#-

In the squad, returning from Rampart, a furious argument was taking place in total silence.  Johnny was still driving, Roy slouching in the passenger seat with a knot on his jaw, favoring bruised ribs.  Every few minutes Johnny shot his partner a hurt, betrayed look.  Occasionally he'd turn his head away and sigh deeply.

"Okay, fine," Roy said finally.  "Will you at least tell  me what it is I'm supposed to have done?"

Johnny glared at him.  "Oh," he said scornfully, "you know perfectly well what you've done!"

"No!" Roy said, his own voice rising in a rare show of temper.  "No, I don't!  And since I don't make a habit of lying to you, I'd appreciate it if just this once you'd take me at my word that I don't know and tell me!"

Johnny drew his mouth into a tight line and frowned over at Roy, then let out a little huff of breath.  "Okay, fine.  So I tend to have a little mishap every once in a while.  It's not like I'm the only guy who ever gets hurt on the job you know!"

"Yeah, and?"

"And, well . . . it's bad enough the other guys making fun of me for it and calling me a klutz and a disaster magnet and whatnot.  I just didn't expect it from my partner, that's all."

Roy thought about this for a minute, running the words through his head as he tried to figure out what Johnny was getting at.  "Hey," he said finally.  "Wait a minute!  Are you saying you think I slipped on that ladder on purpose?!?"

"Well . . . ."  Johnny glanced over dubiously.  "Are you saying you didn't?"

"Are you NUTS?  I could have been killed!  We could have both been killed!  Besides which, this hurts!  Why would you think I'd do a thing like that?"

"I dunno."  Johnny was coming out of his hurt and angry mode and slipping into sulking instead.  "I mean, it just seems like an awful coincidence.  Here you are supposed to be acting like me and what do you do but fall off a ladder?  What was I supposed to think?"

"Gee, I don't know?   That it was an accident, maybe?  Anyway, you're sure not acting like me right now!"

"Whaddya mean?" Johnny demanded, incensed.

"I'm nice to you when you get hurt!"

"Oh."  They rode along for several seconds in silence before Johnny shot his partner another look, a somewhat ashamed look that crept out from under lowered lashes.  "Hurt bad?"

Now it was Roy's turn to sigh and look away.

"Ah," Johnny said.  "So now you're not speaking to me."

"Turnabout's fair play."

Johnny let a couple more seconds go by.  "Sorry," he said finally.  He waited for Roy to respond and when Roy didn't he rolled his eyes.  "You know, when I get mad at you and make you feel guilty for something stupid, I always forgive you when you apologize.  Anyway, it was really scary up there, trying to get that guy down by myself and all the time I'm thinking you might have really hurt yourself and I couldn't do anything for you until I had the victim taken care of.  You have no idea!"

Now Roy did look over.  "You think?"

"Oh.  Yeah, I guess you do, don't you?"  Johnny sighed.  "Sorry," he said again, and this time there was feeling in it.

Roy shrugged.  "It's okay.  To be honest, I don't know why I'm acting like this myself."

"It's 'cause we got kidnapped by the pod people and they switched our souls," Johnny reminded him with a faint grin and got a faint grin in return.

"Oh, yeah.  I almost forgot.  You think maybe we should scrap this bit?  It sure doesn't seem to be going anywhere.  We're only making ourselves nuts."

"Yeah, probably.  Though I have to admit it was fun sweet talking your wife.  She couldn't stop giggling over the phone, you know.  She said I sounded just like you.  Aw, heck.  I don't even know what we expected Chet to do, do you?  I thought we'd get some kind of rise out of him by now, though!"

"Me too.  Oh, well.  File it under pranks that didn't work.  Maybe we'll have better luck with tonight's movie."

"Yeah?  What is it, did you find out?"

"Yeah, it's called The Drowned Girl.  I called Jo from the hospital.  She saw it a couple of years ago.  It's about a man who's being stalked by the ghost of a child that was drowned by a man who looked like him.  Jo's gonna bring Jenny over about four in the morning wearing toe socks.  I figure if we spray her feet with cooking spray I can set her down in the middle of the dorm, have her walk over to Chet's bunk and then pick her up and give her back to Jo."

"Ah-ha!"  Johnny grinned his crooked grin as he nodded in comprehension.  "And then, in the morning, it'll look like there's a line of child-sized wet footprints starting in the middle of the floor and ending by Chet.  He'll go nuts thinking the ghost was standing there watching him sleep.  I like it!"

"Great!"  Roy sighed.  "Too bad the pod thing didn't pan out."

"Yeah."  Johnny stopped in front of the station, beeped his horn and backed into place.  "Too bad."

Cap was waiting for them.  He wasn't smiling.  "Roy?  You okay?"

"Sure, Cap!  Just a bit banged up is all."

"Good.  I'm glad to hear it."

Johnny scratched his jaw.  "Something wrong, Cap?"

"Oh, no!  No, nothing's wrong.  Well, I did have to spend forty-five minutes convincing Chet that there was no need to go search the foothills for the Tupperware containers with your souls in them."

The paramedics grinned at one another in surprise and delight.  "Really?" Roy asked.

"Really.  You fellows should be touched.  I think he was really worried about you.  Now dinner's on the table and it's all your fault, so I expect you both to eat lots of everything."

"Limes?" Johnny asked, grinning his crooked grin.

"Oooooh, yeah!"

They got out of the squad and followed Cap into the day room.  There were two places already set for them on opposite sides of the table.  Roy dropped into the nearest one, between Mike and Marco, and Cap led Johnny around to the other.  Chet was standing at the stove with his back to them and he turned with a manic grin.  "Gentlemen," he said, "we've been waiting dinner for you.  I hope you're hungry!"

Marco leaned over and spoke quietly to Roy.  "We had to agree to help force-feed you guys if necessary."

Johnny patted his stomach.  "Starved," he said.  "What are we having?"

Chet came over and set one last dish on the table.  Watching the two paramedics closely, he said, "you've heard of duck a l'orange?  Well, you're in for a treat.  I've made something similar.  I call it 'chicken ala lime!"  He pulled the cover off with a flourish, revealing a pile of roasted chicken topped with lime slices.  "For a hot dish, I have green beans in a citrus sauce --"

"Lime?" Roy guessed.  Mike rolled his eyes.

"It's a hot day," Chet continued, "so for a salad I've fixed a nice cool side dish of mixed fruit set in Jell-O."

"Oh boy!" Johnny grinned.  "Lime Jell-O!"

"And for dessert," Chet concluded, "there's key lime pie.  But first," he leaned in close to Johnny and held up a glass full of green liquid, "how about a nice long drink of limeade?"

"Sounds great!" Johnny said.  He took the limeade.  Across the table Roy lifted his own.  They reached across to clink glasses and drank deeply.  Chet, watching them, deflated like a balloon and dropped into a seat next to Johnny as they began passing the food around.  "So, Chester," Johnny said casually, "it seems to me there's a theme to this meal.  What's with all the limes in everything, anyway?"

"Oh . . . nothing really," Chet said lamely.  "I got a good buy at the supermarket's all."

They finished the meal in relative silence, then played a hand of cards to see who had to do the dishes.  For once it was Mike who lost.  Chet yawned and stretched and headed for the showers.  Half an hour later he stopped in to call good-night.

"You going to bed already?" Marco asked.

"Yeah, well, I want to get up later and --"

"Chet!" Cap protested.  "Not another late movie!"

"Oh, but Cap!  I gotta see it!  It's one of the all-time classic B horror movies!  You know, the guy who made it claimed it really happened -- and right around here somewhere!  Not that anybody actually believes that, of course . . . ."

The End.

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