Beware The Toys

By Linda Reiche

August 1999 (my first fanfic, originally written for a Shelter contest)

Disclaimer: The Emergency! characters belong to someone else, I’m just bringing them back to life for a little while. No copyright violation is intended.

~ E! ~ E! ~

“Squad 51. Child injured at the playground. Norfolk Public School. 4205 Foothill Drive, 4-2-0-5 Foothill Drive. Cross street Cahill. Time out 0840.”

“Squad 51. KMG-365, ” confirmed Captain Stanley as he noted the information on the response slip.

Johnny took the slip as he ran around the front of the Squad. A call with an injured child made their hearts skip a beat, and lent wings to their feet.

A few minutes later Roy slowed the Squad and turned cautiously into the fenced playground. Sirens tended to make the kids forget what their teachers had told them, and throw away what little caution they possessed. The last thing Roy wanted was to hit a child distracted by the noise and flashing lights of the Squad.

Ahead they could see three adults trying to calm a screaming child. They were sitting on the grass just inside the gate that separated the playground from the driveway. No one else was in sight. They must have taken the other children back into the school. From what Roy could see that was a good thing, the girl’s hands over her face were streaked with red.

Pulling to a stop, Roy and Johnny jumped out and smoothly pulled the trauma box, drug box and biophone from their compartments.

“What happened?” asked Roy as they approached the group.

“She was playing with a clacker when it shattered,” replied one of the adults. Roy nodded, Jennifer had wanted one, but Joanne felt that it was too dangerous.

“What’s a clacker?” asked Johnny as he knelt next to the little girl.

Roy answered, “Two glass balls on strings tied to a ring for your finger. You use your wrist to make the balls swing apart and bang together above and below your hand.”

Johnny grimaced, sounded like a dangerous toy. “What’s her name?”

“Sarah, Sarah McNicholl. She’s nine. I’m Veronica Mayler, school principal.”

Johnny started talking to Sarah as he opened up the Trauma box. “ Hi, Sarah. My name is Johnny. I know you hurt, sweetheart. My friend Roy and I are here to help you. We’re Fireman/Paramedics. Do you know what we do?”

Roy looked up from setting up the biophone and quietly asked, “Have her parents been contacted?”

“We called her mother. It will take her awhile to get here. She said to do what’s necessary for Sarah.”

Johnny had finally managed to calm the little girl down. “Hey Sarah, sweetie. You’re gonna have to move your hands so I can see your face. Will you do that for me?” Johnny’s voice was soft and patient. Children, like horses, picked up emotions very easily. If you were anxious, they would soon be anxious too.

Roy moved to her other side with the pediatric BP cuff. As she dropped her hands they could see blood welling out from numerous lacerations and running down her face. Tears streaked the blood, diluting and spreading it. He could see the three women smothering gasps of shock. As teachers, they also had first hand experience with children’s temperaments.

“Hi Sarah, I’m Roy. I’m going to check your blood pressure while Johnny takes a look at your face. I’m just going to put a band around your arm and pump it up with some air. It won’t hurt. It will just feel like someone is squeezing your arm for a few seconds. Okay?”

“Okay,” came the tearful reply.

Johnny tried to distract her from his gentle swapping of her face. “So, what grade are you in Sarah? If you’re nine, than it must be Grade 4 , right?”

“Yes…ow!” she flinched.

“I’m sorry Sarah, sweetie,” soothed Johnny. “I guess I got a little too close to a sore spot, huh? Well, I’ll try not to do it again. But you’ll let me know if I do, won’t you? No, don’t move your head.” His swabing had revealed about a dozen small cuts on her face. A few gleamed where glass from the toy was embedded.

“There, I’ve finished cleaning up your face a bit. Do your eyes hurt? … No, don’t move your head, let me hear your pretty voice.” Johnny stopped her as she started to nod.

“They feel sort of sandy.”

Roy exchanged a glance with Johnny. The blue fragments that littered her clothes were fairly large, but there were smaller pieces in her hair and in some of the cuts.

Sarah, thinking the silence meant they didn’t understand, explained, ”You know, like when you cry a lot or when you’re really, really tired but don’t want to go to sleep.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I feel that way when I’m reading a really good book and just have to finish it,” agreed Johnny.

Roy had stood up and moved to the principal. “Has she opened her eyes at all since it happened?”

“Not that we could see. She had her hands to her face all the time.”

With a nod, Roy went back to the biophone. “Rampart, this is Squad 51, do you read?”

“Squad 51, this is Rampart. Go ahead,” replied Dr. Early’s voice.

“Rampart, we have a 9 year old female. She has numerous lacerations to her face, caused by fragmenting glass balls. Some of the lacerations have embedded glass. Her eyes are closed, and she says they feel ‘sandy’. Witnesses don’t think she has opened them since the incident occurred. Her pulse is 95 and steady, respirations 20, BP 110 over 81.”

“Squad 51, do you know the source of the glass?”

“10-4 Rampart. She was playing with a clacker when the glass balls fragmented.”

After a moment, Dr. Early’s voice came through the biophone. “ 10-4 Squad 51. Is the victim in any pain?”

“Rampart, she was extremely agitated when we arrived, but has since calmed down. She seems to be in mild pain, nothing severe.”

“10-4 Squad 51. Cover her eyes with moistened 3 x 3 gauze, and transport in an upright position. Do not irrigate.”

Roy acknowledged the instructions and added. “Ambulance has arrived at scene, ETA is approximately 10 minutes.”

~ E! ~ E! ~

Johnny had just opened the refrigerator for some ice tea, when he stopped and looked at Roy. “I’m glad Sarah’s eyes will be okay. Man, they sure are making dangerous toys these days.”

Before Roy could answer, the tones sounded.

Station 51, man trapped. McKinney Park, 800 block of Olympic. Cross Street Hazelton. Time out 10:05.”

“Station 51, KMG365,” acknowledged Cap as he noted down the location. He pressed the door control and passed one copy of the call slip in through the squad window. The Engine crew had already swung into their seats. They’d put their turnout coats on at the scene if they needed to.

As usual the Squad led the way. It had better braking distances for those times when intersection traffic failed to give right of way. Which happened more often than the public thought. Mike was content to follow in the big Ward Lafrance Engine. Fifty feet long, with a 750 gallon water tank, the engine needed a little more space for maneuvering.

“Clear right,” called Johnny. “Okay, make a left at the next cross street and we’re there.”

Ahead they saw a Sheriff’s cruiser parked beside the curb. Twenty feet in from the curb, under a giant oak tree, the deputy stood with a woman and two small children. A large brightly colored kite dangled from a branch near the top.

“Two guesses where our trapped man is,” commented Roy.

“Yeah,” agreed Johnny. “And the second one doesn’t count.”

Roy parked the Squad in front of the cruiser.

“Three life belts?” questioned Johnny as he pulled out the biophone and trauma kit.

“Yeah, and ropes.”

By the time they’d collected their gear and crossed to the tree, the Cap had the situation assessed.

“Okay guys, as you’ve already guessed, our victim is in the tree, about 50 feet up.” Six faces turned upwards as Cap continued. “The branch he was climbing out on broke and he fell about 10 feet. Vince says he’s conscious and complaining of pain in his side.

Vince took up the story. “His name is Braddock, this is his grandson Matthew. When the branch broke he twisted to try and catch himself. He ended up crashing through a couple of smaller branches before landing on that one.”

“Sounds like he may have some fractured ribs,” stated Roy. “We’re going to need the stokes and maybe a backboard.”

“I think we should minimize the weight on that branch as much as we can,” directed Cap. “Roy, do you think you can reach him from the branch below and to the left?”

“I can reach him, but I won’t be able to move him. It’s too low for any sort of leverage.”

Cap sighed. “Okay. Roy, Marco, set up two pulleys as best you can above him. We’ll lower Roy and the stokes down to him. Johnny, you’re the lightest, secure yourself to the truck and shimmy out onto the branch. Chet, Mike bring the roof ladder over, then Mike, bring the Squad in as an anchor. Chet, get out the stokes.”

Cap looked up and cupped his hand to his mouth. “Mr. Braddock, we’re going to come up and get you down in a few minutes. Try to relax, and stay still.”

Johnny pulled one of the shorter coils of rope out of the pile of equipment. They would need the longer ones for Roy and the stokes. He was putting on his gloves as Mike and Chet set the ladder against the tree. It was 15 feet high and would give them access to a good climbing branch.

He moved aside to let Roy and Marco up first. John shrugged on the little backpack that contained the essential equipment that he would need. Splints would be sent up via the stokes if necessary.

One at a time the three men climbed the ladder and onto the tree. The pulleys over Marco’s and Roy’s shoulder clanked like toy bells as they wiggled around and over branches.

As they passed the fallen man, Roy called out, “ Mr. Braddock, we’re going to set up some pulleys above you so we can lower you down. My partner is right behind us. He’s going to come out along your branch. Just stay still, okay?”

The elderly man lifted his head. “I’ve been here for the last 20 minutes, I guess I can wait a few more.”

A moment later Johnny was even with the victim. “Hi, Mr. Braddock. My name is John Gage. I’m just going to tie off, then I’ll be right out to check you over.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” replied Braddock.

Johnny looped the rope around the trunk and measured off the length he would need before securing the rope. He then edged out onto the branch. The victim was about eight feet out. The limb looked sturdy enough to hold them both, but Johnny wasn’t taking any chances as he inched out.

“How are you feeling?” asked Johnny.

“Other than my ribs, and a few scrapes and bruises, I feel fine.”

“Are you having any problems breathing?”

“Only when I take a deep breath, otherwise it feels okay.”

“Can you move your fingers and toes?”

“Those are about all I’m willing to move while I’m out here. So young man, how are you going to get me down?”

A rustle of leaves overhead warned Johnny that Marco and Roy were attaching the pulleys and would shortly toss the ropes down. He was almost beside the victim.

Braddock was lying sideways across two intertwined branches. His chest and hips were supported by two sturdy branches. Smaller branches bent under his legs and stomach. It would be difficult to log roll him into the stokes, someone would have to hold it on its side, and you needed at least two to log roll properly. With the tangle of branches around them, getting Roy and Marco within reach would be difficult. The backboard would be easier. They could strap him to it and then flip the board.

“Well, before we move you, I’m just going to check you out a little.” Johnny reached out and touched his neck below the jaw. After checking his pulse, Johnny reached out and placed his hand on the man’s chest.

“I’m going to take your blood pressure now.” A minute later, “Looks good.”

Two ropes snaked down from the upper branches. Cap and Chet grabbed the ends and secured them to the rings on the Squad’s bumper. They would use the Squad to move Roy and the victim down to the ground.

“Johnny, we’re all set up here, how is Mr. Braddock?” called Roy.

“Everything is within normal ranges. He looks to be in pretty good shape. I don’t think there are any neck or spinal injuries, but we should take him down on a backboard as a precaution. Besides, a backboard is probably going to be the easiest way to move him.”

“Okay, let Cap know what’s up.”

Johnny pulled the handi-talkie out of the backpack. “HT 51 to Engine 51.”

“Engine 51, we read you. What do you need?”

“It looks like Mr. Braddock has badly bruised or fractured ribs. His vitals are good and there is no sign of spinal injuries, but we’re going to use the backboard anyway. Can you send up the stokes with the backboard in it?”

“10-4 HT 51.” Cap turned to Chet. “Okay Chet, get the backboard and put a rope on the front of the stokes, we’ll need it to control the swing.”

“Engine 51. Cap, we’re going to strap him to the backboard then flip it over – there isn’t enough room up here to get both Roy and Marco down. And I don’t want to put any more weight on this branch. It feels solid enough, but …”

“Yeah, I know,” agreed Cap. “Okay the stokes is ready.”

“10-4.” Johnny looked up and yelled. “Roy, Marco, you can pull the stokes up.”

The rope work would be a little tricky. They would get the stokes up to the correct level, then Chet, Mike and Cap would lower Roy down. The ropes’ attachments to the Squad would be adjusted so that the Squad could be used to lower both Roy and the stokes at the same time. Chet would use the tail line to keep the stokes straight while Cap directed Mike in the Squad.

With Roy tangling in mid-air, and Johnny on the branch, they managed to position the backboard and strap the elderly gentleman to it. Johnny braced his arms on the branch and leaned over to talk to the man.

“Mr. Braddock, we’re just getting ready to flip you over. The we’ll put you in the basket and get you out of here.”

“Okay, young fella, just don’t let me slide off. It’s a long way down.”

Johnny threw him a crooked grin. “Don’t worry, we’re pretty good at high rescues. We get a lot of practice.” Johnny nodded at Roy.

“Okay, on three,” instructed Roy. “One, two, three.”

With Johnny holding the inside edge, Roy slowly lifted the outside edge until the backboard was perpendicular to the tree branch. Johnny moved one hand to the top while Roy moved one to the bottom. Gently, the backboard continued its roll, landing flat on the branch.

“Hey, Mr. Braddock, it’s good to finally see your entire face,” joked Johnny.

“I think I can agree with that, young fella.”

“It won’t be long now. One more lift and then down we go,” explained Roy.

“Young fella, while your partner is taking me down, do you think you can get my grandson’s kite?”

Johnny stared at the man then looked helplessly at Roy. With a shrug, Roy indicated it was up to him.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

A couple of minutes later they were ready to lower Roy and the stokes. “HT 51 to Engine 51, lower away,” radioed Johnny.

“Engine 51. 10-4.”

As Mike slowly inched toward the tree, Chet moved off at an angle, keeping tension on the tail line. Johnny, watching from above stopped them a few times so that Roy could clear away some branches. Five minutes later they were on the ground.

“HT 51 to Engine 51. Do you need me down there Roy?”

“No, I’ll get his vitals. Chet can operate the biophone,” replied Roy. He looked at Cap, “Johnny is going to try to cut the kite loose. Can you send up the mechanical axe?”

Cap looked up at the bright blue and gold kite and considered the request. “Yeah, if we leave it up there, we’ll probably be back to rescue some kid who’s gone up after it. Tell Johnny we’ll tie it to one of the ropes and haul it up.”

By the time the ambulance arrived, Roy had Mr. Braddock all set to go. Marco, Johnny and the kite were all back on the ground. The kite also had a few broken ribs from its sudden release, but that couldn’t be helped. That toy would be fairly easy to repair.

~ E! ~ E! ~

This time, I’m going to be the one to fire the first salvo, decided Johnny. Chet and Marco were going to be hanging hose shortly. He had already rigged the tower with his little surprise a la Star Trek. It had taken some doing, but he’d finally managed to track down what he needed at the Trekcon last month. He had been amazed at the assortment they had.

Now he just had to be somewhere inconspicuous to watch the fun.

Roy, seeing Johnny peering out the backdoor, wandered over. “Johnny, …”

At the sound of the voice, Johnny jumped. “Man, don’t DO that! You almost scared me to death!”

Oh, oh, thought Roy. “What are you up to?”

Johnny tossed his head and tried an innocent grin, “Nothing. Nothing. Just admiring the view.”

Yeah, right. That wasn’t even worth two out of ten. A paved lot and a hose tower were not exactly high on anyone’s must see list. Roy was about to mention this when Johnny put his finger to his lips and jerked his head. “Watch.”

Marco, at the top of the tower, grabbed a coupling and slipped the rope over it. He would lower it to Chet who would load it on the Engine. Marco didn’t notice the fine silk net that was stretched under the hoses.

“Okay, Chet, here it comes.”

A split second later Chet was bombarded by furry squeaking creatures.

“Ahhhgggghhhh!” screamed Chet as he threw his hands over his head and raced away in terror.

Roy was stunned for a second before he realized Johnny was doubled over in laughter. He could hear Johnny’s laughter choked, “I got him! Yeah! I got him!” Then he too broke out in laughter. Johnny had actually pulled a great prank!

“Chet!” roared Cap as he strode out of his office into the vehicle bay. “What the hell is going on?”

Chet babbled incoherently about bats and rats and things falling from the sky, pointing wildly into the back lot.

Unable to get an answer, Cap walked out to the hose tower and examined the balls of fur that littered the pavement. He picked one up and it squeaked at him. Startled, he looked closer. Then a grin broke out. The “creatures” were tribbles, furry things from one of the Star Trek episodes. He had no idea where Johnny, and it had to have been Johnny, had found that many of the furry toys. There must be at least 15 of them of all sizes and colors. It was an inspired prank.

Chet, who had cautiously moved closer, saw the grin on the Cap’s face, then heard the laughter of the others. Realization dawned. They were just toys. Gage had pulled a prank on HIM first! No way was he going to let him get away with that. Steely eyed, he glared at Johnny.

Just as he was moving to confront his PIGEON, the tones sounded calling the Engine to a grass fire on the freeway. Don’t worry, thought Chet, I’ll get him.

~ E! ~ E! ~

Captain Stanley had heard the tones call the Squad out to a “man down” incident. The address sounded familiar, but he didn’t know why. They had finished watering down the burnt grass along side the freeway and were rolling up the reel line.

He swung up into the cab and picked up the mic. “LA, Engine 51. The area is secure, returning to quarters.”

“Mike, let’s swing past 1901 Winkler Drive on the way back to the station. Maybe Roy and John need a hand.”

“Okay, Cap,” said Mike. They would only be going a couple of blocks out of their way. Winkler was about half way between here and the station. The Squad, on code R, would beat them there of course. But, hey, if the Cap wanted to check, they would check.

Ten minutes later Mike pulled the Engine up behind the Squad. Sunlight glinted off the windows on the quiet street. The houses along the street were well kept, although the flower beds and lawns were looking a little weary in the late summer drought.

Cap saw an open gate, most likely leading into the back of 1901. Telling the guys to stay put, he headed along the neatly trimmed walk. The address kept turning over in his mind. He knew he hadn’t been here before, it didn’t look familiar, but damn, it certainly sounded familiar.

Peering past the white gate, he could see Roy and John kneeling beside a man dressed in shorts. To their left were the hoops of a croquet course. A portable record player sat on the picnic table. Nothing was playing, although there were records scattered around it. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw the yellow shape of a hula-hoop under the victim’s legs.

A 10 year old girl with a cast on her arm sat on the ground near the victim. “Is Grandad going to be okay?”

Oh, no, thought Cap, not another elderly man forgetting his age and playing with his grandkid’s toys.

Cap entered the yard and walked toward his paramedics. “Roy, John. Do you guys need any help?”

He was startled when they both looked up at him, down at the victim and then at each other without saying a word.

“Ah, er, …” stammered Roy, a flustered look on his face. Johnny just looked at the Cap, his mouth open.

What’s wrong with these guys, wondered Cap as he stopped beside them.

He glanced at the victim and felt time stop.

Oh, jeez. It was a hula-hoop. And it was under the legs of Chief McConickee! What am I gonna do? He’s never going to forgive me for seeing him like this! Visions of the hell his life would be flashed through his mind.

Roy finally gathered his wits and took charge. “We can handle this okay. It looks like he’s pulled some back muscles. We’re going to use a backboard as a precaution. An ambulance will be here any minute. We won’t need any help.”

“Ah, good. We’ll just… ah… head back to the station,” stammered the Cap as he backed away. “Hope you’re okay, ah, Chief. You’re in good hands. “

“I know Hank. I keep an eye on you and your boys.”

With that, Cap knew his career would never be the same. First the burnt hat, now the hula-hoop. In a state of shock he walked back to the Engine.

“What’s up Cap?” asked a concerned Mike. “Do they need some help?”

“Oh, no, THEY don’t need help…” Cap finished the sentence silently, but I will. ”Let’s, ah, head back to the Station.”

~ E! ~ E! ~

“Did you see Cap’s face when he saw McConikee?” asked Roy as he headed back to the Station from Rampart.

“Yeah. I thought he was going to faint on us,” commented Johnny. “You know what this means, don’t you.”

“Yeah, Cap is going to go into paranoid mode.”

“Squad 51, stand by for response,” squawked the radio.

“Engine 51, Squad 51, Station 48, Squad 10, Battalion 8. Explosion with injuries in the Chemistry Lab. Michael Roberts Secondary School. 402 West Tressler. 4-0-2 West Tressler. Cross street Vineland. Ambulances are responding. Time out 14:35”

“Squad 51. 10-4”. Johnny grabbed the map of their district, quickly finding the school. Glancing at the street signs, Johnny directed Roy along the fastest route. School chemistry labs had so many different chemicals that, if accidentally mixed together, could create a never ending nightmare of problems.

Five minutes later Roy pulled the squad into the driveway of the school. The engine was already there, and the sound of sirens in the background, let them know that more help was close at hand. Students milled around in groups as teachers herded them away from the building and into the school’s sports field.

Parking beside the Engine, Roy and Johnny jumped out and grabbed their turnout coats. Broken glass coated the ground.

“No smoke,” noted Johnny as they rushed over to Captain Stanley. “One thing in our favor at least.”

“We’ve got a real mess in there,” briefed Cap “It looks like the explosion broke every glass bottle in the room Aside from the usual acids, caustics and oxidizers, it seems that they also have some nasties – potassium cyanide, magnesium powder.”

Johnny glanced at Roy and rolled his eyes. No fire, but definitely not a good situation. Any victims would be in bad shape.

“The explosion was in the Prep room. It runs along the back of the center classroom and along the sides of the other two. Mr. Graydon says that only one class was occupied – the one to the west. Chet, Marco, Mike concentrate on that one first. I’ll have 48’s follow you ... Roy, John, we’ve got a teacher and a student who were supposed to be in the Prep room doing an inventory. There is an entrance into it from each classroom. Air tanks, everyone, and use only dry powder extinguishers if necessary. We don’t want to add water to that chemical brew. ”

“You got that right,” agreed Chet as they retrieved tanks and pry bars, then headed for the nearest door.

Cap lifted his handie-talkie. “LA. Engine 51. Respond a Hazmat team to this location. We’ve got a mixture of several dozen chemicals including potassium cyanide. No fire at this time.”

“LA. 10-4 Engine 51.”

“Engine 48. Squad 48. This is Engine 51. Assist my men with search and rescue on the second floor. We may have 20 to 25 students still in the west classroom. Have a couple of men check the other two classrooms. They are supposed to be unoccupied. Use air tanks. Do not use water. Squad 10, establish a triage area.” As first in, it was Captain Stanley’s job to co-ordinate the effort. Until the Battalion Chief arrived, he had to monitor the 14 men who were now under his command. Satisfied that everyone was at work, Cap turned back to the principal.

“Can you get us a list of the chemicals that are in there?”

“We know what was brought in for the school term. Unfortunately, there’s also at least 10 years worth of left over chemicals. Once we completed the inventory, we were going to arrange to dispose of them. That explosion in the school out east made the school board very uneasy. Mr. Gregory thought that he’d seen a bottle of picric acid in one of the cabinets.”

“Picric acid!! If we’re lucky, it caused the explosion. Otherwise, we’re sitting on a time bomb - picric acid mixed with plaster dust can take out the entire building!”

“Engine 51 to all units. There is a report of picric acid in the explosion area. Evacuate the students as quickly as possible. Avoid disturbing any cabinets or bottles.”

“LA, Engine51. Requesting a second alarm to this assignment.”

~ E! ~ E! ~

The second floor hallway was misty with plaster dust and vapors from the reacting chemicals. The men from 51 wormed their way past tumbled lockers and books. One door to the west classroom was missing its window. The door at the front of the class was intact. Students could be seen coughing and pushing at desks.

Mike, Chet and Marco quickly moved into the room to help. More men would be with them in a minute or two. Roy and Johnny glanced at the door that connected the class to the Prep room. It hung on one hinge, partially blocked by a wall cabinet of glassware that had been shaken loose from the wall.

They paused as Captain Stanley’s voice notified them of the picric acid hazard.

“Damn! This one’s definitely turning into a nightmare! Let’s check the other entrances. Maybe one will be clearer,” suggested Roy. “I’ll take the one on the east.”

Johnny nodded as he moved down the hall.

More voices could be heard as the men from Engine 48 reached the top of the stairs. Their captain directed a man each to follow Roy and Johnny. The remaining four began moving the students out of their shattered classroom. Time was a critical factor. No one wanted to be in the building if, or when, the picric acid was disturbed.

Roy and Wilkes from 48 checked through the window of the center class. Nothing blocked this door. Roy pulled it open and they stepped through cautiously.

The room was a mess. Its back wall sagged forward in places. There was no wall in other places, just piles of rubble. If they had no other choice, they could make it through one of the gaps, but it would be risky.

Johnny and Maxwell had better luck with the last classroom. The side wall was a mess, but, in the center of the room they saw two figures in lab coats lying under some desks. They carefully moved forward. One figure was an adult, the other a teenager. Hopefully, they were the two who were supposed to be in the Prep room.

Maxwell pulled out his handi-talkie and held it close to the side of his mask. “HT 48 to HT Squad 51. We have two victims in the east classroom – one adult, one teenager. They might be who we’re looking for.”

Roy replied, his voice as muffled as Maxwell’s had been, “10-4, HT 48. We’re on the way. The instructor’s name was Gregory.”

“HT 48 to Engine 51. We have two victims. We’ll need backboards.”

“HT 48, this is Battalion 8. We’ll send the backboards up now. Move them out as fast as possible.”

“Battalion 8, 10-4 HT 48.”

~ E! ~ E! ~

Captain Stanley and Mittler from Battalion 8 grabbed backboards and soft collars from the squads, and headed into the school. At intervals they passed men from 51 and 48 leading or carrying teenagers down the stairs. These would be the students from the west classroom. Cap hoped that they could get them all out quickly. The chemical vapors could damage lung tissue, and, with more victims to rescue, the firefighters could not afford to give up their air masks.

He and Mittler moved down the hall to the third door. They could see six figures in the center of the room, four crouching, two lying. At the sound of footsteps one figure turned.

“All right!“ called Roy. “The lab coat says this is Mr. Gregory, so we’ve got them. Let’s package them and get them out of here.”

With three pairs of hands working on each victim, they had them immobilized and strapped to backboards within minutes.

“Get’em out of here,” ordered Cap. Mittler and Roy picked up one backboard, Wilkes and Maxwell the other. “Johnny, you and I will check how the evacuation is going in the other classroom.”

Cap and Johnny waited for the others to exit before following them down the hall to the first classroom.

Marco met them at the door. He pointed to the fireman in front of Roy, “That’s the last of them.“

“Good. Let’s get out of here.”

“How are they?” asked Johnny as they moved toward the stairs.

“A few broken bones and contusions, but nothing serious in this room, they were moving to the front of the class to hand in test papers, ” replied Marco. “They’re all having a little trouble breathing, but, with these vapors, that’s to be expected.”

Waving his men forward, Captain Stanley took one last look behind him before closing the stairwell door. Plaster dust still hung in the air as they moved quickly down the stairs and out the exit door. He was just about to breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of blue sky, when the world dissolved into darkness.

~ E! ~ E! ~

Roy was just glancing over his shoulder, looking for Johnny, Marco and the Cap when he saw the upper part of the wing disappear in a cloud of wood and brick. Three figures flew through the air and crash landed in a tangle on the lawn. He couldn’t leave his patient, but there were plenty of other people available to rush to the downed firemen. He silently prayed that they had been far enough away to avoid serious injury.

~ E! ~ E! ~

Chet and Mike were among the first to reach their downed friends. Cap and Marco were already stirring, coughing as their lungs gasped for air. Johnny was ominously still. His helmet had tumbled off and was now lying beside one of the decorative stones that surrounded the flagpole.

Hands helped Cap and Marco sit up. More hands held air masks to their faces and unbuttoned their coats. Mike reached out and touched Johnny’s neck. A pulse confirmed that he was at least alive and breathing. Chet checked Johnny for broken bones. They’d have to get Roy or one of the other paramedics to check for neck injuries.

Mike, looking across at his recovering Captain was about order Chet to find a paramedic when Johnny started moaning and moving around. He quickly put a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Hey Johnny, take it easy, lie still. Can you hear me? Lie still.”

With a groan, Johnny pulled his knees under him and rolled up onto them. “I’m okay. I just hit my head,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, I can see that,” agreed Mike. “You’ve got a cut and a bump on your forehead. Just relax, you’re not needed right now. Roy, 48s and 10s have got everything under control. I bet you’ve got a headache starting. Just lie back for a minute.”

Distracted, Johnny agreed. It was nice to lie on the grass. The trees on the edge of the school threw their shadows across the lawn. It was pleasantly warm in the shade. He could wait here all afternoon.

~ E! ~ E! ~

Marco reached over and patted Henry’s sleeping head as he sank wearily onto the couch. Henry pried open his eyes and yawned a greeting before sinking his head back down in slumber. Silently Marco agreed. He leaned back into the corner and closed his eyes. He was sore from his tumble across the grass. But he didn’t mind. If they had been 30 seconds slower leaving the school, they’d have had more than just bruises.

The slam of the Squad door jolted Marco. Inevitably Johnny’s voice filled the bay. He almost always had something to say. A little knock on the head wouldn’t stop him.

“Can you believe this? The driest summer in years , no rain for weeks, and what happens? We find the only mud puddle in LA. Look at it. It’s going to take at least an hour to clean the Squad.”

Cap poked his head out of his office and surveyed the squad. Mud splatters coated the front and sides of the vehicle, altering its red to a streaky pattern of red and dusty brown.

“What in the world did you guys do?”

“Water main break” Roy said quickly. He had been listening to Johnny’s tirade for the past ten minutes and hoped to prevent a recap of the high, or was it low, points. “Right in front of Rampart. They were tearing the road apart and miscalculated. Water and mud everywhere.”

“Well, let’s hope they either get it fixed or you don’t have another run into Rampart. Otherwise fellas, you just might use up our allotment of cleaning supplies,” commented Cap.

“Use up the supplies!” squawked Johnny. “What about all the time we’re gonna waste cleaning it?”

“Gage, maintaining a presentable image is never a waste of time. Besides it will keep you from stiffening up.”

Johnny instantly froze at the tone. “Right, Cap. I’ll go get the washing supplies.”

Roy smirked as he got climbed into the Squad to pull it into the back area. Johnny always ended up talking before thinking during his tirades. The headache that resulted from his tumble across the school lawn had made him even more incautious.

Cap just shook his head and walked back to his office. It was rare when Gage didn’t amuse him at least once per shift. Irritate, too.

“Johnny, can you hold up a minute,” called Mike from the squad room. “I’ve almost finished the waxing. Just have to buff outside the supply closet. Then I’m done.”

“Hey, no problem, Mike. I’ll just grab some water. I’m dry as a bone.”

Marco, still resting on the couch, thought ‘not for long Gage’. He had seen the Phantom set an ice water trap as revenge for the falling tribble prank. This one was in the supply closet.

Supply closet!

I hope Mike doesn’t have to open the door. I better warn him before he springs the trap!

Marco tried to look nonchalant as he sat up and stretched. Glancing at Johnny gulping down a glass of water, he strolled towards the door. He could hear the hum of the buffer.

“AHHHH!” The vehicle bay crackled with the snap of released energy as the ice water trap soaked Mike and the buffer. Sparks of blue light danced across its metal surface. Mike, blue eyes wide with pain, shook uncontrollably as the electricity coursed through his body.

Roy raced for the fuse box at the back of the bay. In one fluid movement he yanked down the main power bar, then raced back towards Mike.

Sounds that were heard, but never consciously acknowledged - the hum of the air conditioner, the tick of the clock – abruptly ceased. The thud of Roy’s running feet echoed eerily in the sudden quiet. Then the buffer clattered to the floor, followed closely by the sound of Mike’s body, bonelessly hitting the concrete.

“Johnny – get our gear! Cap, we need an ambulance!” Roy yelled as he reached Mike’s motionless form.

Quickly turning Mike onto his back, Roy put a hand to his throat. Damn, no pulse. No respiration either. A quick thump to Mike’s chest signaled the start of CPR.

Marco had reached Mike’s head and opened an airway for AR, listening for Roy’s count of five before blowing air into Mike’s lungs. In the background he could hear the Cap radio the Code I to headquarters. He was using the Engine’s radio. The station’s radio had died when Roy had cut the power. Johnny and a very shaky Chet were pulling equipment out of the Squad.

“One, two, three, four, five.” Blow. “One, two, three, four, five.” Blow.

Latches rattled as Johnny threw open the lid to the defibrillator. Roy stopped compressions for an instant to rip open Mike’s blue shirt and cut his t-shirt. Seconds later Johnny had EKG patches stuck on Mike’s chest and the scope hooked up. Flat-line.

Roy went back to the rhythm of compressions. Chet finished attaching the antenna to the biophone. Johnny grabbed the handset and called Rampart.

“Rampart, this is Squad 51, how do you read?” Johnny bounced slightly as he waited for a reply. “Rampart, this is Squad 51, do you read?” He released the button and waited again. “Come on, where are you?” he muttered.

“Squad calling in, please repeat,” requested Dixie.

“Rampart. This is Squad 51. We have a male, 32 years of age, victim of an electrocution. There is no pulse and no respiration. We have started CPR. Monitor shows asystole. We’ve got him patched in and can send a strip on lead 2”

“Squad 51, go ahead with the strip.”

Time slowed to a stand still. It seemed like an eternity before the firm voice of Dr. Brackett came over the air. “Squad 51, one amp adrenaline, IC, then defibrillate 400 watt-sec.” Johnny already had the syringe out. “10-4 Rampart. 1 amp adrenaline, IC.” Roy stopped compressions again as Johnny jabbed the syringe into Mike’s chest. As soon as the needle was withdrawn Roy went back to the rhythm that would keep the blood circulating until Mike’s own heart came back.

Johnny grabbed the paddles, while Cap hit the charge button and Chet dabbed the gel on to the flat surfaces. Cap counted. “ 100, 200, 300, 400!”

Johnny positioned the paddles, yelled Clear and hit the discharge buttons. Mike’s body arched with the electric current. A current that would bring him back, they hoped.

A small blip showed on the monitor, followed by several more in an irregular pattern. “Rampart, we have conversion. Scope is showing bradycardia with frequent PVC’s.”

“Squad 51 insert esophageal airway, IV with ringers wide-open. 0.5 mL lidocaine bolus. Check vitals and send us another strip.”

Roy and Johnny followed the instructions, working smoothly and quickly to stabilize their friend.

“Squad 51, he’s in sinus rhythm now. Continue to monitor vitals and transport as soon as possible.”

“10-4 Rampart. Ambulance has not arrived yet. Will advise on e.t.a.”

Marco sat back and tried to still his own racing heart. This was turning into one very bad day. He looked across at Chet. Definitely a bad day.

~ E! ~ E! ~

They waited silently for word on Mike. Roy and John had been gone for almost two hours already. The Chief had taken them off active status until a new engineer could be called in. He’d also sent someone to take a look at the buffer. They weren’t really surprised when the guy had shown them the loose wire. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Marco patted Henry’s sleeping head. He fought to keep his eyes open, but the day had taken its toll. Marco let his head drop forward onto his chest.

The slam of the Squad door jolted Marco awake.

“How could they have lost him?” asked Johnny.

“I don’t know,” answered Roy. “It happens sometimes. You know, hospital bureaucracy. One person doesn’t put the file back in the right spot, and then the patient’s gone. They’ll have to find out what went wrong and correct it.”

In a panic Marco leapt off the couch, yelling, “He can’t be dead. He can’t be dead.” He raced past the two men sitting at the table peeling potatoes and preparing salad ingredients. He didn’t see them; all he could think about was getting to Johnny and Roy.

“What’s with him?” asked Mike as he sliced up some tomatoes.

“Beats me,” answered Chet. “He was so zonked out, I’m surprised he even heard the squad.” He put the potato back into the pile. “I’ll go find out what gives.”

“Just don’t take all day,” said Mike getting up to follow. “No potatoes, no dinner.”

In the vehicle bay Johnny and Roy were startled by the wild look on Marco’s face. Roy grabbed Marco’s wrist. “Marco, calm down, calm down. What’s wrong?”

Marco stared at the sight. Roy didn’t look grief stricken, neither did Johnny. He half registered the mud streaked mud-streaked squad. Chet’s voice called out from behind him. Marco turned, not sure about anything anymore. Mike was standing in the doorway behind Chet wiping his hands on a towel. For a second, Marco thought he was going to faint.

“Hey, Marco. What’s the matter, buddy? You look like you just saw a ghost,” asked Chet.

Roy, still holding onto Marco’s wrist, could feel the racing pulse. He looked at Johnny, confused. What’s going on here?

Marco gazed at Mike. “I…I…” Taking a deep breath, he made an effort to pull himself together. He could feel Roy holding his wrist. It was real. And if that was real, then Mike was real too. He was alive. “I’m okay. I thought…. It was so….” He shook his hand loose from Roy and straightened up. “It’s okay, guys. I…I didn’t realize I was so tired. I…just had a really horrible nightmare. One that I never want to go through ever again, and no, I don’t think I can talk about it.” Marco headed back to the Dayroom, stopping beside Mike’s tall form. “Just do me a favor, Mike. Check the buffer before you use it.”

The confused silence in the bay was deafening.

~ E! ~ E! ~

“Hey, Mike,” called Chet. “Can you give Marco and me a ride to the Oak Tree?”

“Sure thing, but I have to make a stop on the way.”

“Hey, no problem pal. We’ve got plenty of time, eh, Marco?”

“We’re in no hurry. Thanks Mike,” agreed Marco.

They piled into Mike’s pickup truck, throwing a good-bye wave at Roy and Johnny.

Roy waved back. “Are you sure you want to take the kids to the show tonight? Hundreds of screaming kids won’t help that headache of yours.”

Johnny touched the bandage on his temple. “I’m sure. The doc said ‘no concussion’. My head just hurts a little. I’ll grab a couple of aspirin and a nap when I get home and I’ll be ready for anything. Besides, I’m bringing these along.” Johnny rummaged in the back of the Land Rover and pulled out a pair of industrial strength ear muffs. “I won’t hear a thing!”

Roy shook his head and laughed. Trust Johnny to figure out a way to go to the H.R. Puff’n Stuff Show without going crazy.

“I wonder what Johnny’s going to do with those ear muffs,” asked Chet as he turned back to the front.

“Don’t worry Chet,” offered Mike. “I don’t think he can pull a prank with a pair of ear muffs.”

“Yeah, Chet. Why don’t you let Johnny win for a change?”

“Win? The Phantom never allows a pigeon to win!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” muttered Marco.

“I still don’t understand why the waterbomb in the supply closet didn’t work. I’ll have to check the spring next shift,” complained Chet. “So, Mike, where’s this place you gotta go to?”

“Samuels Sports. They’ve got a sale on tennis equipment. I need a new racket.”

“Tennis? When did you start playing tennis?” wondered Marco.

“Oh, at the beginning of the summer. My sister introduced me to a really good instructor. She’s helping me learn the moves.”

“I’ll bet!” chortled Chet. “On or off the courts?”

“On the courts, of course,” answered Mike with innocent eyes. “I already know the off court stuff.” He chuckled silently at Chet’s expression.

~ E! ~ E! ~

Ten minutes later they were in Samuels sports. It carried practically everything that you’d need for sports – winter or summer. They had exercise bikes, golf clubs, surfboards and every type of ball imaginable.

Mike headed to the racket display and collared a salesman. It wasn’t busy at 9 am, so finding the racket that Beth recommended wouldn’t take long.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chet and Marco wander to the large display of summer equipment. A giant stuffed octopus, wading pool and dummies dressed in swimsuits were at the center. Chet picked up a skateboard and spun the wheels. It looked like Chet was about to show Marco the finer points of skateboarding.

Knowing Chet, he probably didn’t know anything, but would pretend anyway. Just like the time he bought Charlie’s damaged skis for $80. He’d never been on skis in his life, but he thought it would be a snap to learn. Mike recalled the outcome of that fad. Chet was lucky that the skis burned. Mike had had visions of Chet in a body cast after his first “run” downhill.

He tuned back into what the salesman was saying. “No, I don’t want a –“

He stopped mid-sentence as a yell split the quiet of the store.

Chet was sailing across the floor on the skateboard, balancing wildly. His flailing arm knocking against a pyramid of fuzzy tennis balls that dissolved into a river of green as the balls cascaded to the floor, rolling in every direction. Marco, trying to grab Chet, stepped on one and fell backward into the surfboards.

It was like watching a giant set of dominoes as the boards fell sideways into the “ocean” wading pool. The pool’s air-filled walls were never meant to hold that much weight, and collapsed under the onslaught. Warm water flowed across the floor, pushing the tennis balls in its path.

Desperately trying to stop himself from falling, Chet grabbed at the stuffed octopus, pulling it down on top of him. He didn’t notice the rope that attached the octopus to an overhead net. At that point he wasn’t noticing much as the eight legs of the octopus seemed to wrap themselves around his body. They were actually really soft. Wonder where I can get one?

The thought was bounced out of his head an instant later. The rope was the ‘key-stone’ holding the overhead net closed. Once the tension was released, the net opened up, dropping 178 beach balls to the floor.

The store manager knew exactly how many. That was the answer to the “Guess the Number of Beach Balls in the Net” contest. The contest would have been over in two days, on the last day of summer.

Now, 178 red, yellow, white and blue beach balls bounced off Chet, the octopus and a half-dozen displays in the immediate vicinity.

Mike couldn’t believe his eyes. The store that had been so neat and clean five minutes ago, now looked as if it had been hit by a tornado.

The summer fun scene was gone. Oh, all the pieces were still there, a little wet in some places, and there were a couple of extra pieces – Chet and Marco – but the scene itself was gone.

I hope they aren’t hurt, thought Mike as he carefully picked his way across the disaster area. I wouldn’t want to explain this to B-Shift!

“Marco! Chet! Are you guys okay?”

Marco sat up rubbing his elbow and looking around in shock. “Yeah. But I don’t think the store is.”

Chet, comfortably ensconced among the soft legs of the stuffed octopus, looked at them with round eyes and muttered, “I didn’t mean to do it. It just sort of happened!”

Mike smirked. Too bad Johnny wasn’t here to see this. He would have loved to see the Phantom taken down for the second time in 24 hours, by beach balls no less. The Phantom might have to change his tune from “Beware the Phantom” to “Beware the toys!”