By Rona

The world had taken on new and horrifying colours. Things had changed forever. Carnage and destruction were all around. Blood splattered every conceivable surface and the worst thing was that this was no accident. No, this time, someone had deliberately set out to destroy and harm people. And had succeeded beyond their wildest dreams.

The stadium had been packed for the football game. It was a holiday weekend, the weather was perfect and families were there in abundance. The warning call to the police had not allowed time to even begin to evacuate the stadium. As help raced there, sirens blaring, the rescuers could only imagine what they would be facing.

It was worse than they had dreamed. The flames were remarkably few but destructive enough. Bodies and body parts littered the ground. The concrete walls were shattered and lay in heaps of rubble. Dust was thick in the air with the distinctive metallic tang of blood and death.

Every hospital in the entire city was on stand-by, not just the ones in Carson. Los Angeles was shaken to its core by the senseless violence.

For the first rescuers in, it was horrific. There was so much injury, so much death and destruction that it was hard to know where to start. The paramedics set to, concentrating on triage so they could function.

And somewhere in all this mess were some of their own.

***************************

Gardening had taken up quite a large chunk of his day off, but Captain Hank Stanley wasn’t complaining. There was something relaxing about mowing the lawn and weeding the flower beds; it was a mindless task and he could feel the tension of yesterday’s shift slipping away.

After lunch, he settled himself into his armchair in front of the television and switched on the game. With an indulgent sigh, his wife headed into the kitchen to see what she could cook for their evening meal. It was warm and she didn’t fancy slaving over a hot stove all afternoon. She was inventorying the contents of the fridge when Hank let out an incoherent cry.

Alarmed, she shoved the fridge door closed and hurried to look into the sitting room. Somehow, she knew the cry had nothing to do with the excitement of the game; the tone was all wrong for that. She looked at Hank, who was standing, and noticed the colour had drained out of his face. “Hank?”

Her husband didn’t reply; simply pointed to the screen. What she saw made her sink into the nearest seat. After a moment, she glanced up. “Are…?”

“Yes,” Hank replied and left the room.

There was no need to ask where he was going.

******************************

The sports bar was smoky and crowded and the commentary on the game could barely be heard above the wrangling of the opposing sides’ fans as the team choices were ‘analysed’ in minute detail. In the corner, a couple laughed quietly at the arguments raging round about. They both liked football and they both supported the same team. As far as Chet Kelly went, that made them totally compatible. He leaned closer to the girl by his side.

So engrossed in each other, it took several moments for the unnatural silence to penetrate. When it did, a single glance at the screen told the whole story. The patrons were making shocked, disjointed comments to each other, at a loss as to what, if anything, they should do.

There was one man there who knew what he had to do. Without a single word or glance to the lovely lady by his side, he rose to his feet and pushed his way out of the bar.

**********************************

The urgent hammering on his door roused Engineer Mike Stoker from his inadvertent afternoon nap. ‘God I must be getting old,’ Mike thought as he rubbed his face with one hand, using the other to help him negotiate towards the door.

“Mike!” The hammering increased and Mike frowned as he recognised the voice as belonging to his shift-mate, Marco Lopez.

“Marco?” Mike opened the door and blinked at the frantic look on his friend’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been trying to phone you,” Marco panted, “but you didn’t answer.”

“Oh.” Light dawned. “I switched the ringer off when I got home and I must have forgotten to put it back on,” Mike admitted. “I fell asleep again,” he concluded sheepishly.

“So you don’t know?” Marco’s eyes darted to the television set in the corner, which was switched off.

“Know what?” Mike was getting exasperated, but he knew Marco wouldn’t be in this state over nothing. “Marco, what’s wrong?”

“There’s been an explosion at the game,” Marco explained.

“The game…” Mike echoed, the significance of those two words finding immediate resonance. “Oh no! Are…?”

“We don’t know,” Marco interrupted. “Let’s go!”

It took only seconds for Mike to grab his keys and rush after Marco’s retreating back, but it felt as though he was already too late and too slow. Panic fluttered in his gut and he fully understood his friend’s urgency.

The station 51 paramedics, John Gage and Roy DeSoto, were on duty at that game!

******************************

The first difficulty the rescuers encountered was actually entering the stadium. Not built to withstand blasts, the concrete had crumbled and lay in piles at the weakest points – the entrances. Men started clearing the shattered remains by hand as orders were issued for large machinery, which would take valuable time to arrive.

From all over the county and city, off-duty rescue personnel appeared and as Disaster Response took charge, they were issued with identifying armbands so that they weren’t chased away by the police set up to keep the rubber-necking crowds back.

Surveying the scene, Captain Hank Stanley sent up another prayer for the safety of his paramedics. Much as he wanted to concentrate his efforts solely on finding his missing men, he knew he would have to work where he was ordered to. He stood waiting as patiently as possible for his turn to come and spotted Chet Kelly arriving. He waved to his crewman and before long, Kelly was waiting with him.

“Marco’s on his way with Mike,” Kelly confided. “Or at least, I hope he is. I phoned Marco and he was going to phone Mike and pick him up.”

“Good work,” Cap praised. He wondered vaguely that it hadn’t occurred to him to phone the rest of his crew; he was a captain, he wasn’t meant to lose his head, but he shook the thought off. He’d been off duty.

“Cap, look!” Chet pointed across the lot towards a fire engine that had just arrived. It was completely familiar to both men, as it was engine 51. Without consultation, they both headed over there. Hank greeted his fellow Captain, Hookraider, with a simple nod. Words were unnecessary.

With an answering nod, Hookraider gestured towards the engine. “I thought we’d find you here,” he commented shortly. “Your gear is in the engine.”

“Thanks,” Cap replied. He went to retrieve the familiar turn-out jacket and helmet from their hooks and slid them on. He was aware that Hookraider was talking to someone from Battalion, but his attention was on the two familiar figures that materialised as though from a puff of smoke and were shrugging on their turn out gear. “Marco, Mike,” he greeted them.

“Any news?” Mike asked.

“Not yet,” Cap replied. He tried not to see the winces both men gave. He knew that they both knew it was too soon to have any news about anyone in the stadium, but they couldn’t help hoping.

Moments later, they were issued orders and set to work.          

***********************************

He didn’t know where he was for several long minutes after finally prying his eyes open. The world made no sense. It was dark and hot and smoky and the air was full of stinging particles. His head hurt. From all around came a cacophony of groaning and it took him some time to realise that the building was groaning as much as the unseen people in the vicinity.

Gradually, his bruised brain began to function again. Pain made its unwelcome presence felt as he tried to move. He added his groaning to the other sounds around him wondering if anyone could hear him above the sounds already in the air; wondering if there was anyone close enough to hear him.

Memory came back slowly, but when it did, he was galvanised. He remembered where he was and who he was and what he had been doing when the sky came crashing down on him. Ignoring the pain as best he could, he pushed himself upright and peered through the gloom.

Despite being more with it, Roy DeSoto still had no idea what had happened. He and his partner had been in the first aid room beneath the stands treating a young woman who had fallen down the steps. She hadn’t been badly injured, but they thought her ankle might be broken and were arranging for an ambulance to come to transport her to Rampart hospital. There was no immediate sign of the young woman.

There was no immediate sign of his partner, either.

******************************

The golden hour had become completely irrelevant. All the rescuers knew that anyone who’s chances of survival rested upon being treated in the golden hour following the injury were already beyond saving. Three hours down the line from the explosion and they were still waiting for the first rescue to happen.

Taking a much-needed but unwelcome break, the A shift of Station 51 gathered at the canteen van and gulped down bottles of water. They were all grey with dust and dragging with exhaustion and worry. They had long ago ceased offering comforting platitudes to each other and were now concentrating on holding onto the small, and rapidly diminishing, amount of hope that they would find their colleagues alive.

Suddenly, a shout went up and all heads turned as the first of the victims was pulled from the stadium. For a moment, hope burned more brightly and then they all realised that the victim was already gone. The mood changed dramatically from exultation to despair in a second.

“It’ll be dark in a couple of hours,” Chet offered morosely, glancing at his watch.

“The light trucks are setting up already,” Marco replied wearily.

“The bloody media already have their lights on,” Mike snarled quietly. Of all the things he hated most about disasters, the media attention was probably the worst. “Vultures!” he concluded.

Even while marvelling that the usually silent Mike had offered such a long sentence, for him, they nodded agreement. The cameramen seemed to think they had the right to push their lenses into places they had been expressly told were off-limits and their ghoulish desire to show the dead and injured was incomprehensible to those who fought daily to help prevent such things.

“Let’s get back to work,” Stanley decreed and despite their exhaustion, the other men climbed willingly to their feet and headed back to where they had been working.

*************************************

“Johnny?” Roy didn’t know how many times he had called out for his friend, but he had had no response thus far. He had pushed debris from his legs to free himself and was now crawling over the shattered stone. Walking would have been impossible even if he didn’t think he had a broken leg – the roof space was approximately 12 inches above his head and looked none too stable. Roy had found his penlight, somehow still in his shirt pocket and the narrow light it provided was better than nothing, but he wished he had one of the big powerful flashlights from the engine.

Something caught his eye and Roy turned aside and flashed his light in that direction. Something liquid gleamed back at him and for a moment, he thought he would be sick.

It was an eye.

*************************************

Death was no stranger to him, but Roy still felt sadness at the waste of a young life. The woman – girl – they had been treating had not survived the collapse. It had been her eye that Roy had seen. While sorrowing over her loss, Roy was grateful that it wasn’t Johnny. He resumed his slow, painful crawl over the rubble, hunting for his partner and friend.

A groan caught his attention and Roy changed direction slightly peering into the shadows and praying that the battery in his penlight would hold out. He saw movement and moved closer, calling, “Johnny?”

It wasn’t his partner. The middle-aged man he found partially buried had a serious head injury. Roy checked him out as best he could, cursing himself for not having picked up some supplies. He ripped the sleeve from his shirt and used that as a dressing, binding it in place with a sleeve from the man’s shirt. It took some effort, but he finally managed to dig the man free, knowing that he could be risking making injuries worse but also knowing that the weight of the debris was causing him problems. It was a catch-22 situation.

Hunting around that area some more, Roy was unable to find the man’s teenaged son. There was simply too much rubble for a single person to move alone. Roy felt bad leaving the other man alone as he sobbed out his grief, but he still had to look for other survivors – and he could only pray that his partner was amongst them.

Four more people were trapped in the space that had once been the first aid room. One of them was already dead and one other looked as though they would not survive without urgent medical care. By then, pain and shock were taking its toll on Roy.

Moving into an area that was less filled with rubble, he leaned back to take a much-needed breather. He had no idea what time it was or how long he had been looking for Johnny, for his watch was smashed. His body noticed that the surface he was leaning on was slightly softer than anything he had so far encountered and began to relax.

He got the fright of his life when it moved!

**************************************

“I thought you were dead,” Roy told Johnny again.

“I thought… we both were,” Johnny agreed. Dried blood had streamed down his face from several cuts on his head and his right arm had a compound fracture. He blinked wearily at Roy. “Roy, please, stop,” he pleaded. “I’m all right.”

“You’re trapped,” Roy replied stubbornly, scrabbling away at the debris pinning his partner’s legs.

“Roy!” Johnny reached out his good arm and grabbed his partner’s hands. They were dusty and dirty, the fingers and palms cut from his efforts to help people since the collapse. “There’s nothing you can do,” Johnny chided gently. “I can feel my legs and we’ll… deal with everything else when…we get out of here.” Johnny tried to sound matter of fact, but he could hear his voice quiver. He could feel his legs, but he knew too much about the dangers of pressure. But he also knew there was nothing short of a crane that could get him free and they just didn’t have one handy. It would do Roy no good to waste his strength on trying to free him.

Finally acknowledging that Johnny was right, Roy sank to the ground. His leg was on fire and his head was pounding. He had no doubts that he looked every bit as bad as Johnny did right now. “I wish we had some supplies,” he mused.

“I wish we had the biophone or an HT,” Johnny agreed. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he knew he had to stay awake to make sure Roy didn’t go to sleep with a head injury. It was frustrating to him that he wasn’t able to properly assess his partner’s condition. “What do you think happened?”

Sighing, Roy looked at the remains of … well, neither of them were sure what the remains actually were. They had lost all sense of where they were in relation to where they had been. Perhaps their enclosed area was the first aid room and perhaps they were now out in the corridor or perhaps both were true. There was no way to tell. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I ought to check on those other people…”

“You need to rest that leg,” Johnny protested.

“I know, but they need help,” Roy insisted. “That’s our job.”

Sagging back, Johnny admitted defeat. “Maybe they could come over here?” he suggested. “Then we aren’t using up all the oxygen going back and forth.”

“Good idea,” Roy agreed, sounding slightly surprised. He wasn’t surprised that Johnny had had a good idea – his partner was one smart cookie under the playful exterior – he was just surprised he hadn’t thought of it himself. It was the obvious solution after all.

“I’ve been known to have them,” Johnny replied modestly and a grin lit his tired face. Roy grinned back, feeling better for a moment.

It slipped away the second he started to move though. Johnny winced in sympathy as he saw the pain that moving caused Roy and he felt bad that he could do nothing to help. It was far easier to move with a broken arm than a broken leg. He sagged back and felt something underneath him that he hadn’t been aware of before. “Roy?” He reached out to stop the older man moving. “There’s something sharp under me. It might be the drug box or biophone.”

Caught by the surge of unexpected hope, Roy tried to shine his light past Johnny. He couldn’t see a thing. “Think you can move enough to let me get it?” he asked doubtfully. Johnny was pretty tightly pinned in.

“If you help me sit up, I can,” Johnny answered. He wasn’t sure of it at all, but he didn’t want Roy to notice. He reached out his good hand and gritted his teeth.

It wasn’t easy to get Johnny to a position where he could support his own weight while still allowing Roy room to reach behind him. Their first attempt resulted in Johnny slipping from Roy’s grasp and crashing back onto the ground. He let out a cry of anguish as his broken arm hit the ground and the world went grey around him. When he finally had the pain under control again and could focus on his surroundings, he found Roy – looking much paler – bending anxiously over him, calling his name.

“I’m… okay,” Johnny panted.

“You’re not,” Roy objected. “Just forget whatever it is.”

“I can do it,” Johnny insisted stubbornly. “It could be the bio phone and we could let someone know we’re still alive!”

“Yes, but your health is more important,” Roy argued. “That’s a compound fracture!”

“Believe me, Roy, I know,” Johnny ground out between gritted teeth. “And let’s be honest – if doesn’t matter if we find the drug box, trauma box and biophone; I’m still gonna need surgery and I’ve probably got an infection started already from all the dust and stuff and it’ll be a miracle if the infection doesn’t set into the bone. But at least if we have the chance to contact someone, perhaps we might get out of here an hour or two sooner.”

Unable to argue with Johnny’s logic and courage, Roy simply nodded. “Wait for a minute and we’ll try again,” Roy mumbled.

“Can… I…help?” offered a voice and both the paramedics jumped. It was the man Roy had found first. “My son… is… gone,” he whispered. “But I… want to help… if I can.”

“Yes, thanks,” Roy replied. “I’m Roy, this is Johnny.”

“I’m Jim Fraser.” The man blinked back some tears; the tracks on his cheeks told the paramedics that these were not the first tears the man had shed but neither of them mentioned it. They appreciated the help. Roy showed Jim the best way to support Johnny and they prepared to retrieve the object behind Johnny once again.

With the other pair of hands, this attempt went more smoothly. It was excruciating for Johnny to lean forward, twisting away from the concrete trapping his legs, but he bit his lip while Roy delved behind his back. He felt something sharp scraping across his back and Roy murmuring “sorry” as it did so, but he didn’t care. Whatever it was, they had it and as Jim helped him lie back, Johnny just hoped it was something that would help them all.

Lying with his eyes closed while he fought to get his breath back, Johnny was aware that Roy was silent. Despair seized his heart – perhaps it wasn’t a bit of their equipment; perhaps it was a box from the concession stand or something. Perhaps he had raised their hopes for no reason. Slowly, reluctantly, he opened his eyes and looked at the box on the floor.

********************************

Six hours in and the men were beyond exhaustion. Station 51’s A shift were on another enforced break, this one longer than the previous one. They had been ordered to eat something and rest for at least 30 minutes or they would be removed from the scene. Knowing that the Battalion chief was more than capable of issuing such orders, they were currently forcing soup and sandwiches down although none of them really felt like eating.

The grimness of the situation was etched on all their faces. There had been a few people plucked from the rubble alive, but none in the last three hours. Body retrieval was harrowing for everyone involved owing to the nature of the injuries. Although none of the men working there knew it, they would never know why a bomber would chose to blow up a stadium full of families. No one ever would claim responsibility for the homemade bomb and they would surmise that the bomber was one of the fatalities.

Looking at the discouraged faces around him, Hank knew he ought to say something to give them hope, but he was finding that hope was in short supply right now. It was twilight and the light trucks had been placed and were now shedding a bright glow over everything. If anything, it made the destruction more horrific to see it so clearly, without the softer edges that the growing darkness had cloaked it with.

“The dogs have arrived,” Chet commented suddenly.

The others all turned to peer into the gloom beyond the light trucks. Sure enough, they could see the dogs being unloaded from the vans. “I suppose that’s a good thing,” Marco mused but he didn’t sound convinced.

“It is,” Hank declared, deciding that this was his chance to raise their spirits slightly. “The dogs will smell people and the Kennedy probes will allow us to hear anyone in that area.” He surveyed their gloomy faces and saw that his words hadn’t helped. “It will speed things up and that’s what we need,” he reminded them. “I expect Roy and John are beginning to be a bit hungry by this time.” He gestured at the paper bowls and plates they had been using. “I’m sure they’d love to have some soup.”

“Anything’s better than those hamburgers Gage made last night,” Chet agreed mournfully. “Even Henry wouldn’t eat them!”

A hint of a smile tugged at Mike’s mouth. “No,” he agreed. “But you had three.” He rose swiftly and walked away, heading to the portapotty. Chet spluttered indignantly and ineffectively. Hank and Marco smiled and Hank thanked God that Mike had managed what he had not.

*********************************

Sadly, the box wasn’t the biophone. However, on the plus side, it was the trauma box, which Johnny had vague memories of stashing under a table that had housed a phone. That recall soon had him twisted forward again while Roy delved behind him in an unsuccessful bid to find the said phone. Twisted like a pretzel – a not uncommon occurrence when he was working – Johnny thought that it would have been far too easy if the phone had been there. Life was seldom that tidy.

Having his arm immobilised was unpleasant to say the least. Johnny bit his lip till it was bleeding while Roy gently treated him and he would have happily sold his soul to the devil for some MS. By the time he felt that he wasn’t going to puke and the pain had gone from excruciating to merely agonising, Roy had organised the few survivors they had found to the small clear area where they were and had treated them.

Watching Roy deal with his own injuries brought a thought to mind. “Roy? Why didn’t you immobilise your leg before?” he asked, wishing he could help. Roy’s face was paler under its coating of dust and dirt.

“I would have,” Roy panted, finishing what he was doing and leaning back on his elbows. He swallowed hard and looked at Johnny. “But what do you suggest I used?”

“Huh?” Johnny’s brain still felt a bit foggy. He was pretty sure they both had a least a mild concussion but he didn’t think he was so badly injured that he couldn’t follow a simple conversation.

“When I came to, there was nothing near me except rubble,” Roy clarified. “Believe me, Junior, I would have loved to have immobilised my leg but I had nothing I could use.”

Awed, Johnny just stared at his partner. He couldn’t imagine the pain Roy must have felt dragging a broken leg around. “You should’ve stayed put,” he finally chided his friend. “Waited for me to find you.”

A dusty chuckle broke from Roy’s lips and he choked. Alarmed, Johnny started to sit up, but Roy waved him back and after a moment, Johnny could see that Roy was laughing. “What’s so funny?” he demanded indignantly.

“You,” Roy spluttered. “Wait for you to find me? Junior, you’re stuck! I’d still be waiting for you to find me!” Abruptly, Roy sobered as his words struck home. Yes, Johnny was stuck, trapped in the rubble and none of them knew when – or even if – they would be rescued.  Jim had helped their fellow survivors to come over and Roy had treated them as best he could, but the other person who had been so badly injured had died before Jim had reached them. They had no water and no food and they didn’t know if there was air getting into their small space or not. Roy was suddenly terrified.

A hand on his arm drew him from his musings. “They’ll find us, Roy,” Johnny insisted. “We just need to be patient.”

In the face of his partner’s courage, Roy couldn’t disagree. “Yes, they’ll find us.”

*************************************

Having the dogs was a big help. Unfortunately, they were finding mostly bodies and it was disheartening work, as many of the victims were children. No more survivors had been pulled from the rubble and as dawn approached, hope of finding anyone alive was diminishing.

The firefighters were due to go off shift in a few short hours, but everyone was well aware that they wouldn’t be going willingly. Most would snatch a hot meal and a few hours of sleep before they came back to help out.

There was an unspoken understanding that A shift from Station 51 wouldn’t be going anywhere. Cots had been set up to triage victims, but it was now being suggested that A shift could utilise them for a few hours of rest. So far, no one had had the courage to suggest to the exhausted firemen that they should do this, but everyone agreed that someone had to do it before the men started collapsing.

‘Someone’ turned out to be Captain Hookraider. “Hank, you and the men need to catch 40 winks over there,” he told his counterpart in his blunt way. “You’ll be on hand should anything happen and you can do some more work when you’ve had a rest.”

“But…” Hank protested automatically.

“Roy and John are going to need you when they are found,” Hookraider reminded him. “So rest.”

Grateful that Hookraider said when and not if, Hank gave in and shepherded his men to get some rest.

****************************

The rest of A shift were not the only ones keeping vigil for the lost firemen. At the home she shared with her husband Roy, Joanne DeSoto struggled to hide her growing worry from their two young children, Chris and Jennifer. She forced herself to carry on as normal as much as was possible, but she was well aware that the lack of sleep and crying bouts were taking their toll on her appearance and patience. The questions were still deflected fairly easily at this point, as it was not unusual for Roy to stay long hours at disaster areas. What was less usual was the constant stream of fire fighters’ wives who arrived bearing food and stayed to cook, clean, do laundry or simply hold Joanne’s hand.

But as the 12 hour mark ticked past, Joanne found herself thinking the unthinkable.

Her husband was dead.

**************************

The air was stale from the bodily secretions of several adults in one small space. Conversation had waned to simple questions about well-being. Nobody had enough hope left to try and keep the others’ spirits up anymore. Roy’s penlight had died some time ago. Each one was convinced they were sitting in their tomb. A dangerous lethargy had set in. Roy no longer checked everyone’s vitals and both he and Johnny had succumbed to a restless sleep, despite knowing it was dangerous to sleep with a head injury.

The sound of someone coughing roused Roy from sleep and he peered through the gloom to look at the person coughing. It was Johnny. Wearily, Roy pushed himself upright and leaned over to his partner. “Johnny?”

His throat too dry to voice any sound at that moment, Johnny simply nodded. He panted desperately to catch his breath and was more than grateful when Roy and Jim helped him sit up slightly. The way he was pinned, he couldn’t get the necessary leverage to rise onto his elbow unaided.

“You’re warm,” Roy mentioned as he finally helped Johnny lie back down. He had rummaged unsuccessfully in the trauma box for enough gauze and pads to prop Johnny up slightly, but finally admitted defeat.

“Don’t feel it,” Johnny responded, his voice a cracked whisper. He shivered and winced at the pain that shot through his body at that movement. “Not surprising really,” he concluded and closed his eyes.

“Don’t sleep,” Roy warned automatically.

For an instant, Johnny wanted to snap that it wouldn’t make any difference if he did sleep; they weren’t going to get out of there. But the words didn’t get any further than his throat and he choked them down. He didn’t want his own despair to drag Roy down. “It’s been hours,” he protested weakly.

“Yes, but we don’t know exactly how many hours,” Roy reminded him. He wasn’t entirely convinced by his own words, but he didn’t want Johnny to know how hopeless he was feeling. “It might not be as long as we think.” His eyes drifted inexorably towards his smashed watch. All five of the people in their small space had been wearing watches and not one watch had survived in working order. They had to rely on their internal body clocks to guess what time it was and Roy was aware that lack of light cues could play havoc with time perception. Out of habit, Roy reached for the stethoscope hanging around his neck and listened to Johnny’s lungs and heart.

“Pretty clunky, huh?” Johnny asked. He could feel the growing rattle in his chest. “Guess we’re all likely in for pneumonia.”

“Guess so,” Roy replied. He looked at the others, all of whom were dozing and decided against the necessary movement to check them out. Like Johnny, there was nothing he could do to help them. If he had had the drug box, he would have given each an IV, regulations be damned.

There was a sudden noise from above them and everyone stirred and looked up, terror on their faces. Something had crashed down nearby and they were all consumed with the sudden fear that their small space was about to vanish.

Another crash from above and one of the women gave a small scream. The other woman put her arm around her and they huddled together. Roy dimly realised that he didn’t even know their names. Only when Johnny started coughing did he become aware that he was holding his breath in fearful anticipation.

*********************************

The cry was audible to everyone. “WE’VE GOT SURVIVORS!” It was the jolt that everyone needed to keep searching with renewed hope.

After the initial jubilation died down, details were demanded. Hearing someone coughing was great but they needed to know how they were trapped, how many people might be there also and then they needed to figure out how to set the person or persons free without collapsing the remains of the stadium down on top of them. Plus, they had to make voice contact if at all possible to allow them to make those plans to free whoever it was.

The first order of business was to get the Kennedy probe further into the debris and see if they could initiate contact by plain old shouting. A bullhorn was retrieved and the search and rescue team headed back into the ruins. The other rescuers kept on working in their areas, but everyone’s ears were attuned to the HTs, hoping for some good news at last.

While Pete Dawson, one of the firefighters from 110s, knelt on the shattered concrete to utilise the Kennedy probe and shout to the trapped people beneath, the other men in his crew continued to move the rubble as carefully as they could.

“Hello! Can anyone hear me?” Pete leaned in close and held his breath to listen. Nothing. He repeated the shout a couple more times before moving to another area where perhaps the debris was thinner. Again he shouted and again there was no answer. It was difficult not to become discouraged, because there was no sound from beneath the concrete.

But providence played a hand and one of the other men dropped the piece of rubble that he and another man were manoeuvring away. Immediately there was a scream of terror, a jumble of voices and that deep, hacking cough. Pete gave his mates a thumbs up and moved to a place where he could see a slight gap. “Hello, can you hear me?” he called.

************************

Below, it was as though someone had lit a fire under the trapped people. Everyone’s heads shot up and they looked skyward. Roy had the presence of mind to reply. “Yes!” he cried. “There are five of us down here.”

“We’re digging through,” the voice informed them. “We need to know your names, any injuries and how you are situated.”

Quickly, Roy shouted back that information, although he had to ask the women for their names. He wasn’t embarrassed by this anymore; he was too intent on making sure that his colleagues on the surface had as much information as he could possibly give them.

“We’ll be with you as fast as we can,” Pete assured them. “Just hold tight.”

Elated and momentarily not feeling any pain, Roy grinned at Johnny. “We’re getting out of here, Junior!”

*****************************

The elation didn’t last very long. Several more hours passed before the rescuers broke through far enough to pass down bottles of water. Shortly after that, the opening was wide enough to pass through a drug box and biophone and Roy was finally able to make contact with Rampart General.

“Rampart, this is squad 51, how do you read?” he asked. He had taken fresh vitals from everyone. They were all dehydrated, had injuries ranging from a few scrapes and bruises through to head injuries, Roy’s broken leg and Johnny’s broken arm.

“Loud and clear, 51,” Brackett’s voice responded and he sounded happy. “Good to hear from you, Roy,” he added, disregarding radio protocol.

“Thanks, doc,” Roy grinned. He was sobered by the wan smile Johnny gave him back. “Rampart, we have five victims. Victim one is…” He started reeling off the vital signs and noted down the treatment Rampart wanted. As expected, everyone had to get an IV and they were all given small doses of MS to help tide them over. It had been 20 hours since the collapse and Brackett knew that any significant damage from the head injuries was already well entrenched. A small dose of MS wouldn’t be catastrophic.

“Let me do yours, Roy,” Johnny requested as Roy finished his partner’s IV. His voice was weak and he no longer made the effort to hold his head up and see what was going on.

“I don’t think so,” Roy replied, fighting to keep his tone light. “You’ve got a broken arm and I’ve put an IV in the other one. Which hand were you planning on using?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Johnny capitulated. He tried to match his partner’s joking tone, but could see by the worried look on Roy’s face that he had failed. It was becoming harder to hide the pain and even the MS didn’t seem to be helping. He knew Roy had wanted him put on oxygen, but with the cutting that was going on above and around them, it was too dangerous.

With a sudden clatter, Pete Dawson arrived in their midst. “All right, who’s up for a free ride out of here?” he enquired, tugging a stokes basket down behind him. “Ma’am? I believe your taxi has arrived,” he told the closest lady, who promptly dissolved into tears. The other lady and Jim followed in a short time. “Roy? Your turn.”

“No,” Roy replied and Pete blinked at him.

“What?”

“No, I’m not leaving until Johnny goes.” Roy did not want to bail on his partner now.

“Roy…” Johnny protested, but Roy interrupted him.

“Junior, I’m not leaving you alone down here,” he explained.

“He won’t be alone, DeSoto,” came a familiar voice from above. A pair of boots appeared in the hole and another fireman swung himself down into the pit. “I’ve come to bug him,” Chet continued casually, as though he had not spent the last almost 24 hours digging frantically through mountains of rubble looking for his shift mates. “Why should you have all the fun?” he concluded. “Your basket awaits.”

“Chet, I …” Roy began.

“Roy, go,” Johnny ordered. “I’ll be fine. You’ve got a broken leg, after all.”

“I want to stay!” Roy objected as Pete and Chet started manhandling him into the stokes. He tried to resist, but the pain from his leg and the general weakness from the strain of the ordeal meant he got nowhere. He glanced helplessly at Johnny as he was hoisted aloft. “I’ll wait for you!” he called.

“He might think he’ll wait but he won’t,” Chet confided to his trapped friend. “Cap’s up there and he’ll get Roy to the hospital.”

“Good,” Johnny grunted. He watched Chet settle himself through half-closed eyes. “How come you guys are here?” he asked, as Pete checked his vital signs and peered under the concrete block pinning him to the floor. “You aren’t on duty are you?”

“Everyone came in to help,” Chet replied, making his reply as casual as he could. “All hands on deck and all that.” He was fighting to hide his shock at how bad Johnny looked. “Want a hand, Pete?” he asked and leaned forward to take a look, too. He immediately wished he hadn’t, as it didn’t look too good.

Fortunately for Chet, more firemen came down into the hole and started discussing the best way to get Johnny free. A couple of port-a-powers were brought down and positioned, a blanket was opened in preparation for covering Johnny and orders were sent for a K12. Meanwhile, Pete inserted another IV before giving Johnny some more MS, as cutting him free would not be pain-free.

It wasn’t long before the K12 appeared and Chet moved aside to let Pete under the blanket with Johnny. There was no way to tell how badly injured Johnny’s leg was, but they all knew that releasing the pressure could result in major problems and a MAST suit was standing by.

The vibrations from the K12 were horrendous and Johnny couldn’t help crying out. And then the vibrations stopped, the pressure lifted and Johnny toppled headlong into unconsciousness.

 ********************************

“I want to stay, Cap!” Roy protested as he was transferred to a stretcher. “I need to know that they get Johnny out all right.”

Hank hadn’t seen Johnny’s prison for himself, but he was experienced enough to recognise the inherent dangers in freeing his man from the rubble. But he didn’t want to give life to Roy’s fears by voice his thoughts. “You’ll see Johnny at Rampart,” he reminded his senior paramedic. “And you need attention yourself. We’ll look after Johnny, Roy.” He nodded to the ambulance attendants, who lifted the stretcher into the vehicle. A paramedic that Hank didn’t recognise jumped in behind. Hank closed the doors and gave the customary two taps.

Watching it speed off, Hank became aware of Mike and Marco behind him. He turned to them and summoned a grim smile.

“I know how Roy feels,” Mike allowed. “What if…?”

“I know,” Hank nodded. “But how could I let him stay if the worst were to happen?” He looked at his workmates and friends. “And if the worst does happen, how will I live with myself for sending him away?”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Cap,” Marco advised. “You have to think of Roy, too and he needs to go to the hospital. Joanne will be there waiting for him.” He blinked hard. “We need to pray for John.”

“You’re right,” Cap agreed. “We do need to pray.” He turned his burning eyes towards the ruined stadium and started praying again. It seemed to him that that was all he had done since they arrived there the previous day.

*******************************

“Stay with me, Gage!” Pete Dawson shouted. “Gage!” He knew it was useless, knew his patient had passed out as a huge chunk of concrete had slid down Johnny’s back as he was tugged free, but he had to try. “Quick get the MAST suit!” he yelled and it was thrust into his hand immediately.

The air was full of dust, obscuring everything more than a few inches away. Normally, Pete would have done a wrap and run, but with Johnny’s blood pressure apparently nose-diving, he couldn’t afford to try it. With frantic movements, he got the suit in place and began to pump it up. He was coughing and choking, tears clouding his vision, but he didn’t falter. A stokes was by his hands and another pair of hands helped lift the unconscious man into it and then they were moving towards the gap to freedom, following the rope lifelines they wore.

The air was clearer topside. More hands took the basket from Dawson and he was led away. He wanted desperately to stay with his patient, but he knew he would be of no help now. Stumbling over unseen debris, he clung to his helper until he was pushed down onto something and an oxygen mask was placed over his face. “Gage?” he coughed.

“Doing all right,” replied a voice that he recognised instantly as Craig Brice. “His blood pressure is steady. We are about to transport him.”

“You and Chet are going in the next ambulance,” Pete’s partner, Steve Fields, told him. “Let me irrigate your eyes.”

Obediently, Pete tipped his head back. “How did Gage look?” he coughed.

“Dirty,” Fields replied and Pete choked back a laugh. He blinked up at his partner and saw a glance aimed at Chet Kelly, who sat within earshot. The rest of 51’s A shift were there too and Pete understood Fields’ discretion. Even if Gage had been dying, they didn’t want to be the ones to tell Johnny’s friends.

********************************

“Any word?” Roy asked Dixie as she re-entered the treatment room. He had been asking that every few minutes since he had been brought in. Even Joanne’s welcome presence had not taken his mind off his partner’s predicament for more than a few moments.

“He’s on his way and no, I don’t know how he is,” Dixie replied. She didn’t mean to be short with Roy, but she had been worked off her feet in the last 24 hours and had barely slept. “It’s a madhouse here, Roy. I just heard he’s on his way.” Dixie had been relieved when she learned the paramedics were alive, but hearing more details of their entombment had meant she had worried even more about their chances of coming out of this alive.

“Stop talking,” Mike Morton, his doctor, chided. “We’ll get that leg set under anaesthesia, Roy and get you settled in a room. You’ll be here for a few days until we know you aren’t brewing pneumonia. And don’t take that mask off!” The young doctor hadn’t the best bedside manner, but sometimes it was necessary to remind the paramedic who was boss.

“I’ll keep him under control,” Joanne assured him. Family members weren’t usually allowed in the treatment rooms, but an exception had been made in this case. Wild horses couldn’t have kept Joanne from her man. Even though Roy was caked in concrete dust, his clothes torn here and there, Joanne thought he had never looked better. She leaned over her husband, squeezing his hand to get his attention focused on her. “Roy, you’re Johnny’s next of kin,” she reminded him. “They have to tell you how he is once they know. Settle down, now.”

The look Roy gave her told Joanne that Roy was more than just worried about his partner but he recognised her wisdom. Joanne hadn’t asked about the details of their entrapment – it was too soon – but that look told her it was worse than even her fertile imagination could picture.

The treatment room door opened and Brackett’s dark head poked in. “Dixie,” he summoned and the head nurse gave Roy a comforting smile and hurried out.  They glimpsed a trolley whisking past before the door closed. There was no way to tell if it was Johnny or not. Joanne turned her head to look at Roy. He had his eyes closed and his lips were moving soundlessly. Joanne didn’t need to be told that her husband was praying.

********************************

“BP’s holding steady,” Brice reported. “Respirations 24 and laboured. Compound fracture of right forearm; possible crush injuries to lower limbs, several lacerations to head and severe laceration to lower back caused at time of extraction. Patient has been unconscious since extraction, but reacts to pain. Reportedly oriented and lucid throughout entrapment.”

“Thanks, Brice,” Brackett nodded and leant over his patient. Johnny’s dark hair was caked in dust and there were chunks of concrete caught in the thick strands. “Johnny? Can you hear me?” He was rewarded with a groan. “Get x-ray down here, draw a blood gas, type and cross match 6 units of blood, anchor a Foley and I want…” Bracket drew a deep breath before rattling off a list of tests.

“X-ray’s on stand-by,” Dixie assured him as another nurse headed to the phone. She took care of drawing the blood herself and once it was on the way to the lab, she continued to cut his clothing off before anchoring the Foley. As she began to wash the caked dust from his face, Johnny moaned and stirred. Slowly, his eyes opened and he squinted at Dixie. “It’s bright,” he whispered in a cracked voice.

“I’m sure it is,” Dixie soothed and turned off one of the overhead lights. She cursed herself for forgetting that he had been in near darkness for the last 24 hours. Roy had complained about the bright lights, too. “Welcome back.”

From somewhere, Johnny produced a battered smile for the nurse before Brackett leaned over him again. “Hi, Johnny. How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Johnny replied and his eyes dipped closed.

“Oh no you don’t!” Brackett chided him. “Stay awake, Johnny. I need you to talk to me.” Johnny’s eyes opened again. Brackett flicked a light into his patient’s eyes, seeing that the pupils were slightly sluggish. He felt all round Johnny’s head, noticing a lump behind his left ear. Johnny winced as he touched it gently. “Sorry,” he apologised. Next, he traced around the ribs, noting the discomfort Johnny displayed, and then checked down his left arm.

“Johnny, I want to try and reduce the pressure in the MAST suit,” he told his patient. “If you feel any changes, tell us at once, okay?”

“Sure, doc,” Johnny agreed, trying to sound nonchalant and failing dismally. “I can feel my legs. They’re a bit tingly.”

“That’s good,” Brackett nodded. “All right, here we go.” Dixie took Johnny’s hand as Brackett and another nurse started to deflate the suit.

Although it felt weird, Johnny felt no real changes either to his legs or himself until the last moment. A sudden sharp pain shot up his right leg and down his left. He felt slightly light-headed and gasped. “Breathe, Johnny,” Dixie reminded him and he drew in a deep breath, realising that he had been holding his breath in anticipation of pain. But now that the pressure was gone, he just felt a deep aching in both legs. The relief was overwhelming. He closed his eyes.

“BP’s steady,” Dixie reported. “Kel – that laceration’s bleeding!”

The sudden urgency in Dixie’s voice brought Johnny to the awareness that his back hurt – hurt badly! He winced and tried to move, but he was still strapped to a backboard, unable to do more than twitch. He groaned loudly, wishing that he could have stopped himself, but powerless to do so. As hands applied pressure to the spot, Johnny couldn’t quite bite back a scream.

“10 mls MS,” Brackett ordered. “Easy, Johnny.” He glanced at Dixie. “Contact the OR. We’re bringing him up right away. Send x-ray there. We’ll get the pictures there. Full skull, right arm, both legs and spine.”

“BP’s dropping,” warned another voice, but Johnny could no longer sort them out. The pain from his back was all-encompassing and even the MS didn’t do more than take the edge off it. His head swam dizzily, and Johnny didn’t know if it was the drug or the blood loss or both. He became aware that they were moving and then he knew no more.

****************************************

The bed next to his was empty. Roy couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, for he had been sure that when he woke, he would see Johnny in it. Yet the bed remained stubbornly empty; no fortunate coincidences occurred and no one was around to ask about his partner’s whereabouts. He wondered where Joanne had gone, his mind still foggy from the anaesthetic, then realised that it was dark, the room lit only by the dim night-light. Joanne was most likely at home with the children. He did have vague memories of her kissing him goodbye.

Still, that didn’t answer the mystery of where Johnny was. Roy pushed himself further up the bed, intending to go looking, but stopped when he became aware of the extent of the cast on his leg. He shoved the covers aside to look down at himself.

First of all, he had a catheter in. Quite how he hadn’t been aware of the slight burning sensation between his legs before now was another mystery, but he was disgusted to see it. But it was the cast that drew his full attention. Roy knew he had broken his lower leg, and he wondered why on earth he was casted from hips to toes. The top of the cast dug uncomfortably into his abdomen as he tried to sit upright and he tugged at it ineffectually.

Furious, he groped for the call button and pressed it several times. It seemed to him that his cast was unnaturally heavy, too and when the hapless nurse opened the door to his room, she was met was a look of black enmity. “Where’s my partner?” Roy demanded. “And why is my cast so long? Where are my crutches?”

“Calm down, Mr DeSoto,” the nurse ordered. She took his wrist, but Roy was not in any mood to submit quietly to having his vitals taken and snatched his wrist away. The nurse – her name was Liz according to her badge – stepped back and gave him a cool look. She flipped the covers back up. “I’ll just get the doctor,” she announced and left the room, leaving Roy fuming impotently.

When the door opened again, it was Dr Joe Early who came in. He smiled at Roy. “Liz says you’re aggressive, Roy, but I told her you’re the mild-mannered half of the partnership.”

Normally, Early’s kindly manner was enough to soothe Roy, but he wasn’t in the mood to be soothed. “Where’s Johnny?” he demanded again. “Why am I in a long cast?”

Just like Liz, Early stepped forward and took Roy’s wrist. Roy’s attempt to get free this time didn’t work. Early carefully jotted down his findings before reaching for the BP cuff. “Johnny is in surgery,” Early replied, as though Roy had asked politely. “I would imagine that he will be moving to the recovery room fairly soon.” He popped his stethoscope into his ears and took Roy’s BP. Roy was miserably sure it was elevated.

“I’m sorry, doc,” Roy apologised. “I didn’t mean to jump all over you.”

“That’s all right, Roy,” Early replied. He patted the paramedic on the shoulder. “Now, as to why you’re in a long cast – wait while I look at your notes.” He noted the BP down, then flipped back a page or so and read. “All right. As you know, you have a tib-fib fracture, but it turns out you also have hairline fractures of your patella and femur. You’re on strict bed rest for the next few days, then your orthopaedist will do another x-ray and might – just might – change your cast. Crawling about in the rubble of a bombed-out building looking for your partner was not the best thing you could have done.”

“I couldn’t not look for him,” Roy mumbled. “Does the orthopaedist think I’ve got something worse than the hairline fractures?”

“I don’t know,” Early replied. “It doesn’t say. But it could just be that your leg is swollen and he wants to see how things look when the swelling goes down.”

“But I can’t sit up comfortably,” Roy objected. “It digs in.”

“You can sit up a bit,” Early assured him. “But he wants to keep your leg as level as possible and this is one way to do it.” He gave a sympathetic smile. “It’s not much fun, I know, but hopefully it’ll just be for a few days.”

“Thanks, doc,” Roy replied. “I’m sorry I was such a bear before.” His gaze was drawn to the empty bed once again. “Will Johnny be coming in here when he gets through with surgery?”

“I have no idea,” Early replied, semi-truthfully. “I just came on duty again a little while ago. Johnny was already in surgery.” He met Roy’s eyes with a steady gaze. “Why don’t you get some rest and someone will come to talk to you when Johnny is out of surgery, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, all right,” Roy sighed miserably.

“You’re overdue for pain meds,” Early told him and produced a syringe and gave him a shot of Demerol. Roy wanted to object, for the drugs would make him sleep, but his leg was sore, as was his head.

Within a few moments, warmth swept over him and he succumbed to slumber. Joe Early stood watching him sleep for several minutes. He had just come on duty a short time ago, but he knew that all had not been well with Johnny before surgery and the presence of the rest of A shift ‘sleeping’ in the waiting room was a sure indicator that they feared the worst, too.

Squaring his shoulders, he left the room, wondering, not for the first time, why life could be so damned unfair.

****************************************

Awareness returned in the most unpleasant of ways – he was puking his guts out and someone was squeezing his arm so tightly that he thought it would explode. His back burned and his legs felt like ton weights under the covers. A groan escaped and immediately a soft feminine voice spoke in soothing tones.

When at long last he was through, his mouth was wiped with a damp cloth and an oxygen mask was placed over his face. Johnny wasn’t sure if his breathlessness was caused by the pain or if his lungs really were as congested as they felt. He managed to pry his eyes open and realised that he was lying on his left side. Carefully turning his aching head, he looked at his arm, which was suspended in traction.

“Hey, how’re you feeling now?” asked a familiar husky voice. Johnny squinted up at Dixie as she sat down by his bed.

“Sore,” he mumbled. “My arm… my back.” He swallowed. “What…?” He couldn’t frame the question, his mind foggy.

“They reduced the fracture in your arm, cleaned out all the muck, put in plates and it’s in traction for a day or two. We took about a ton of concrete chips and dust out of the laceration on your back, too and stitched it.” Dixie brushed his bangs back from his forehead carefully. “There were a few stitches put in your hard head, too.”

Frowning, Johnny assimilated the information. There was something she’d missed. Fear flared in his gut. “My legs!” he cried. “What about my legs?”

“Relax, Johnny,” Dixie soothed. “I’m about to tell you. Your legs are very badly bruised and when we did x-rays, we discovered that they are both broken. The breaks are not severe.”

“But my legs didn’t hurt,” Johnny objected. “They just ached.”

“That was partly due to the MAST suit,” Dixie reminded him, “and partly due to the fact your legs had been trapped for almost 24 hours.” She didn’t want to say too much to Johnny, as she knew that quite often patients didn’t remember the conversations they had in the recovery room.

“Oh.” Johnny closed his eyes. He still felt nauseated. “Can I get… something for pain?” he asked.

“It’s on its way, Tiger,” Dix assured him. “And something to settle your stomach.” She stayed with him until he had received his medications and was asleep once more. She was bone tired, but knew there was one more duty she had to perform before she went home to sleep.

She headed out to the waiting room to update four very anxious firemen.

********************************

Daylight found the next bed still empty. Roy’s gut churned uncomfortably, fear and anger warring for dominance. Had something happened to Johnny and nobody told him? Had the injection of painkiller had a sedative in it too? He started to sit up, remembering almost too late that he couldn’t sit upright. He fumbled for the bed controls and raised the head the scant few inches he could tolerate, realising that he had stiffened up even more than the previous day. Every muscle in his body hurt. Roy pressed the call button.

A different nurse appeared, looking slightly harried. “Your breakfast is just coming,” she informed him, allowing him no chance to speak. “I’ll just be a moment.” She was out of the door before Roy could do more than open his mouth.

Taken aback, he blinked. Well! Talk about rudeness! Heaving a sigh, he reached for the call button again, but before he could press it, the door banged open with unnecessary force and the nurse stepped in, holding the door open to allow a gurney and two orderlies to come in. It was clear that she thought the orderlies’ timing could not be worse, given that she was trying to distribute breakfast trays.

But Roy no longer cared about the rude nurse. He craned his neck to look at the figure on the gurney, but couldn’t get a clear view. Then the orderly blocking his way moved and Roy caught a glimpse of his partner’s face and the half-smile that had formed on his face fell away. Johnny looked simply terrible!

“Nurse,” Roy began and looked over at her, but she had gone! Roy’s blood began to boil. How could she leave when her patient was being transferred to his bed after surgery? She should be supervising! Once more he fumbled for the call button.

Once more, he didn’t manage to press it before the door opened and this time, Roy relaxed. Dr Brackett, unshaven and looking exhausted, came into the room. He smiled briefly at Roy before crossing to the other bed. “Easy, now,” he chided and reached to guide the transfer, lending a helping hand. The orderly hung up multiple IV bags and then left, pushing the gurney. Roy watched them go, then looked back at the other bed.

Johnny was situated on his left side, his right arm held above him in traction. Only his fingertips protruded from the bandages. Roy glimpsed bulky casts on Johnny’s legs as Brackett slid a frame into place and pulled the covers up over them. A bag half-full of amber liquid hung from the edge of the bed. Bandages were swathed around Johnny’s mid section and his face was obscured by an oxygen mask and a bandage on his forehead. But that didn’t hide the paleness of his face, or the strained wheezing of his breathing. Johnny’s eyes were closed.

“Is he all right?” Roy breathed, appalled.

“He will be,” Brackett replied, finishing tucking the blankets around his patient’s shoulders. “He’s had a pretty rough time with the anaesthetic.” He tucked several pillows behind Johnny to stop him rolling onto his back. Straightening, he sighed as he looked at Johnny before crossing over to stand by Roy’s bed. “We gave him a mild sedative to help him deal with being moved. He’s had a rough time, Roy.”

“Tell me,” Roy begged. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the still, pale figure in the other bed.

“As you probably guessed, he has pneumonia.” Brackett’s mouth twitched. “It looks as though he’s starting an infection in the laceration on his back and in his arm. Both his legs are broken, but the breaks are clean and we don’t anticipate problems with them. However, he was pinned down for over 24 hours and although we haven’t had to deal with compartment syndrome, he is displaying slight signs of renal dysfunction. We are monitoring his urine output very closely, and pushing the fluids. Obviously, dehydration plays a part in that, too, but we want to watch it closely.”

“He could go into renal failure?” Roy asked, his lips numb.

“It’s possible, but we are hopeful that that won’t be the case, Roy. If there are problems, we can give him dialysis. We have some reports that in cases like this a short course of dialysis can sort things out. Let’s not borrow trouble.” He essayed a smile. “Johnny also lost quite a bit of blood from that laceration on his back. He received his last transfusion in recovery. He should sleep for a while and then we’ll see if he can tolerate a liquid diet.” He glanced around. “Speaking of diet – have you had your breakfast?”

“Err – no,” Roy realised. “I woke up and saw that Johnny wasn’t here, so I called for the nurse. She came in and didn’t give me a chance to speak before saying she was getting my tray and apart from when she opened the door for the gurney, I haven’t seen her.”

“I’ll sort it out,” Brackett promised. “She should have been here to help me and I expect you could do with some pain meds about now.”

“Now that you mention it, yes,” Roy admitted. “I’m pretty stiff.”

“I’ll get her organised,” Brackett assured him, “and I’ll be back later. I’m going to catch some sleep. Joe Early will keep an eye on Johnny.” He tried another smile, yawned, and went out to chew out the unfortunate nurse.

    *************************

Johnny was known as the impatient half of the team, but that morning Roy felt as though they had swapped personality for a time. He waited with growing impatience for his friend to wake up. The nurse brought his breakfast tray and pain meds, but her bedside manner hadn’t been improved by Brackett’s lecture. Roy tried thanking her, but got the cold shoulder.

The food was pretty much cold and the toast had gone soggy. Roy ate with relish, however. He couldn’t remember his last meal. He dozed for a time before wakening and resuming his vigil over Johnny. He desperately wanted to waken Johnny and talk to him, but resisted the temptation.

It was almost lunch time when the other man stirred and the sound that issued from his throat was pitiful – a cross between and croak and a moan. Roy was instantly alert, reaching for the call button, wishing he could get out of bed and go to help Johnny himself. His opinion of the duty nurse had not improved as the morning went on. Brackett’s ‘organising’ appeared to have made her less inclined to help the paramedics.

“What?” asked a flat voice from the doorway.

“Johnny’s waking up,” Roy informed her. “I think he needs water and probably is due some pain meds.” He knew Johnny hadn’t received any medication since he arrived in the room hours earlier.

With a martyred sigh, the nurse strolled across the room, looked at the barely awake paramedic and picked up a cup. She held it out to him. Not surprisingly, Johnny made no move to accept the cup. His left arm was stretched out and hanging over the edge of the bed between the railings. His right arm was in traction. The nurse put the cup back down and headed towards the door. “Seems fine to me,” she called over her shoulder and was gone.

Stunned, Roy could only stare after her. What was that woman’s problem? She was paid to look after people, so why wasn’t she looking after them? Another groan from Johnny made Roy’s blood boil and he decided that this was the time for direct action. He lifted the phone.

********************************

Reinforcements arrived en masse. First to respond was Joe Early, whom Roy had phoned directly in the ER. He was closely followed by Dixie, who had just come on duty and Kel Brackett, who was not due on for several more hours but who had come in early expressly to check on Johnny.

While Dixie took charge of giving Johnny sips of water, taking his vitals and generally making him more comfortable, Joe got the neglected pain meds, muttering under his breath in a manner most unusual for the kindly doctor and Kel got on the phone to the nursing supervisor. Roy lay back against his own pillows to watch, thankful that he had known who to contact, but furious that his partner had had to go unattended for so long. He glanced impotently at his own cast, which had prevented him from helping.

“Johnny’s temp is up another degree,” Dixie reported in a neutral tone as she filled in his chart.

Peering over her shoulder, Brackett’s mouth twitched. “I’ll check the lab and see if the culture results are back yet. We may need to change his antibiotics. Meanwhile, start cooling methods.” He glanced at Roy, seeing the anxiety on his face. “It’s a good thing you were here, Roy,” Brackett praised him.

“I feel so helpless, doc,” Roy complained. “I’m trapped in this bed.” He glared down at his leg once more.

“And even if you hadn’t been,” Brackett reminded him, “you’ve been in bed for a while and would probably have fallen on your face when you got up. How would that have helped Johnny?”

For a moment, Roy could see himself sprawled on the floor, flashing his ass through the back of his thin hospital gown. It wasn’t a picture to give him any comfort. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted.

“No, I didn’t think you had,” Brackett smiled. “Don’t beat yourself up, Roy. You got Johnny the help he needed and that’s what counts.” He turned round to help as a couple of nurses – not the unhelpful one – came in with cooling blankets and Johnny was soon situated between them. Roy could not help but notice that Johnny had not said anything much to any of them and that worried him. Usually, Johnny was trying to coax his doctor into letting him go home. Roy frowned. That wasn’t a good sign.

************************************

Things did not improve as the day went on. Joanne arrived as soon as visiting hours started and Roy was disappointed that she didn’t have the children with her. Joanne explained that Dixie had phoned to say that Johnny was not up to seeing the children and having seen Johnny for herself, Joanne thought that the children were not ready to see Johnny looking as ill as he did.

Shortly after Joanne’s arrival, the other four members of the shift arrived. Roy thought they all looked tired, but Hank assured his senior paramedic that they all felt much better after some solid sleep. He didn’t mention that they would probably all be in bed early that night, as they were still fatigued. They were back on duty the next day. When Roy tried to thank them for helping with the rescue, Hank brushed it off.

“You’d have done the same thing,” he reminded Roy. He smiled but his eyes kept being drawn to the still, pale figure in the next bed.

Although Johnny was awake, he was taking no part in the conversation, not responding to anything except direct questions, and only then with single word answers. It was clear that everyone was very worried about him.

The four men didn’t linger; they weren’t sure quite what to say, as talking about the rescue was clearly not what Joanne wanted and Johnny wasn’t really up for visitors. As they left, trying hard to disguise their worried looks, a nurse came into the room to check on Johnny. Roy didn’t know what had happened to the unhelpful nurse from the morning, but she hadn’t been near the paramedics since. The nurse who had been in regularly was young and pretty and Roy knew that if Johnny had been feeling even a little bit better, he would have been flirting with her. As it was, he was barely acknowledging her.

The nurse finished taking Johnny’s vitals and noted them down. There was a slight frown on her face as she left the room. Roy stared after her before looking over at his partner again. Johnny’s face was, if anything, even paler, apart from the flush of fever across his cheekbones.

“Roy?” Joanne had obviously said his name a couple of times and Roy started guiltily. “He’s in the right place,” Joanne reminded him softly.

“I know,” Roy replied. “But he looks terrible and that nurse this morning…”

“That was this morning and you got him help,” Joanne stated. “This is not your fault, Roy. Johnny needs some time, that’s all.”

“I hope you’re right,” Roy replied and was glad when his wife leaned over and took him in her arms.

*************************************

A little while later, Dr Brackett came in again. He smiled and greeted Joanne pleasantly, but Roy could see that the doctor was worried. He watched as the other man perused Johnny’s chart and then crouched down to look at the small amount of urine in the collection bag. Roy’s heart lurched.

“Johnny?” Brackett leant over the sleeping man and shook his shoulder gently. “Johnny?”

Slowly, Johnny’s eyes opened. He felt lousy and sleep allowed him to escape from the misery of his body. His back hurt, his arm hurt, his chest was tight, his head hurt and he was alternatively hot and cold. He coughed, finding it difficult to catch his breath, even with the oxygen.

Patiently, Brackett waited while Johnny caught his breath again, offering sips of water. When he saw that Johnny was properly awake, Brackett smiled. “Johnny, I need to examine you and I need you to tell me how you’re feeling. All right?”

“Okay,” Johnny mumbled. He lay still while Brackett sounded his chest and tolerated the flash of light into his eyes, although it made his head ache even more. However, he was not prepared for the excruciating pain that flashed through his whole body as Brackett gently pressed against his kidneys. The cry that escaped his throat was weak but more than adequately told the doctor what he needed to know.

“Johnny, your kidneys aren’t working properly,” Brackett explained when Johnny’s ragged breathing was once more under some sort of control. “Your lungs are pretty congested, too.”

“Feel like… I’m drowning,” Johnny mumbled. He felt suddenly unbearably hot and sweat seemed to wash over his body. He shivered. Why wasn’t Brackett leaving him in peace to sleep? Not that that sleep was coming easily, but surely he was due some more pain meds?

“Johnny. Johnny, look at me.” Brackett leaned over again, making eye contact with his patient. “We’re going to transfer you to ICU. You need some dialysis and you might need to go on a vent. Your heart is working too hard; your system needs to rest. Do you understand?”

Johnny hated being on a vent; he had had to suffer it a couple of times in the past and would have sworn he would have done anything to avoid a repeat performance. But now, the thought of oblivion and proper rest seemed like the best offer he’d ever had. “Yes,” he croaked. “Please.”

“I’ll make the arrangements and we’ll move you very soon,” Brackett promised. “I’ll be right back.” He glanced at Roy before leaving. The senior paramedic was almost as pale as his partner. “He’ll be fine, Roy,” he promised.

Hearing those words, Johnny roused himself to peer across the room at Roy. “I will,” he panted, “be fine. Honest.”

“I know,” Roy soothed, although he felt the words were hollow. People could die from pneumonia and kidney problems. Johnny was normally a strong person, but he normally didn’t spend 24 hours trapped in a bombed out building, breathing in horrific amounts of dust. But Roy could not voice his fears; that wouldn’t be fair to the very sick man who lay in the other bed.

Rising, Joanne forced a smile onto her face as she went across to Johnny’s side and took his hand. She smoothed the damp hair back from his forehead. “I’ll come to see you,” she promised. “And as soon as you’re off the vent, you’ll be back sharing a room with Grumpy here.” She threw a teasing smile at her husband, who managed to find an answering smile of his own.

Much as he wanted the oblivion offered by the sedating drugs, Johnny could not deny his fear. He clutched Joanne’s hand tightly as he waited for the orderlies to arrive. 

****************************************

“His stats are way down, doctor,” Penny Robertson reported to Dr Brackett as they neared John Gage’s cubicle. The transfer from orthopaedics had just been accomplished and Johnny was now hooked up to the various ICU machines.

“Hmm,” Brackett sighed. He hadn’t expected anything else, but he had hoped that perhaps he had been jumping the gun slightly and Johnny could stay off the vent. “Get the intubation equipment ready; we’ll intubate straight away.” He went into the cubicle and looked down at his friend. “Johnny, we’re going to sedate you now. When you wake up, you’ll feel a lot better. Okay?”

Too weary to do more than nod, Johnny did just that. He could barely keep his eyes open as it was and as Penny came in with the dreaded tube, he closed his eyes, body tensing against the expected prick of the needle. He had temporarily forgotten about the canula in his arm and was startled when a line of cold trickled up towards his elbow. His senses started to slide at once and oblivion overtook him.

As soon as Johnny’s body relaxed, Brackett repositioned the bed and skilfully inserted the breathing tube. It was hooked to the vent and Brackett listened closely to make sure that the tube was positioned properly. Satisfied that it was, he straightened and looked down on Johnny. “Let’s get him started on dialysis and increase his fluids,” Brackett ordered. He knew that increasing fluids was not a wonderful idea when Johnny already had pneumonia, but it had to be done to aid in the dialysis. Penny headed off to do his bidding.

There was a tentative knock on the cubicle door and Brackett glanced round, smiling in welcome to Joanne. “Hi,” he said. It was barely half an hour since he had left her in Roy’s room before Johnny was moved.

“Hi.” Joanne stepped in and looked at Johnny, running a hand over his hair. “I’m just on my way home,” Joanne explained, both to the doctor and the unconscious paramedic. “But I thought I’d stop by for a minute. Roy wanted to come up, but obviously can’t, so I thought I’d see how Johnny’s doing so I can report back later on.”

Nodding, Brackett indicated the waiting room and withdrew, knowing Joanne would follow him in a moment. They were both aware that patients in comas could sometimes still hear and he didn’t want to say anything remotely negative in Johnny’s hearing. Sure enough, Joanne joined in him a matter of minutes.

“He isn’t any worse, is he?” she asked, looking anxious.

“No,” Brackett assured her. “The trip upstairs was hard on him, but we didn’t prolong the agony and put him out at once. We’re about to start the dialysis and I’ve upped his fluids slightly. I don’t anticipate problems, Joanne, but I can’t tell you how long he’ll need to be on the vent.”

“Roy’s consumed with guilt,” Joanne mused. “Mostly, I think, because Johnny is so much worse off than he is. You’d almost think he wanted pneumonia himself!”

Smiling, Brackett nodded. “And he hasn’t entirely escaped that one,” he agreed. “His lungs are sounding a bit iffy and his temp is up a little. We started him on antibiotics this morning.”

“He mentioned it,” Joanne agreed. “Did you discover what was wrong with that nurse this morning? Why did she ignore them?”

“I really don’t understand it,” Brackett admitted. “She apparently doesn’t approve of paramedics and what they do. I know I wasn’t their greatest fan to begin with, but I would certainly never have done anything to compromise their care. She is currently suspended pending a hearing into her conduct.”

“That’ll be a weight off Roy’s mind,” Joanne replied. “I can’t understand how you can be a nurse and not do your job. Roy thought he might have offended her somehow without realising.” She shook her head fondly. “That husband of mine certainly has cornered the market on guilt, hasn’t he?”

“Sure does,” Brackett agreed. “I need to get back to Johnny. I’ll leave your name at the desk for visiting. See you later, Joanne.” He patted her hand and left.

Alone, Joanne’s stoic façade crumbled. She knew Roy was still unwell and it hurt her heart to see Johnny so low. The initial relief at hearing they had been found alive had morphed into worry that neither of them would come out the same as they had gone in. After a couple of minutes, she wiped her eyes and straightened her shoulders. They would deal with the changes that came along – whatever they would be.

*****************************************

For the next few days, Joanne and the members of A shift found themselves drifting between the ICU and Roy’s room, watching both paramedics take turns for the worse. Roy had developed pneumonia, despite the antibiotics and although he was not as ill as Johnny, he was still poorly enough to not want visitors apart from Joanne. The firefighters were permitted to visit Johnny in ICU, since he had no immediate family, but the visits were depressing. Johnny remained on the vent and was dangerously ill.

It was just as depressing for Johnny’s Rampart family. Brackett all but slept at the hospital to keep tabs on the paramedic and Dixie could be found at his bedside several times per day. There were always a few firemen from other stations popping in to see how Roy and Johnny were and the hospital had also found it needed a spokesman to give daily reports to the many TV camera crews camping outside the building. The stadium explosion had, not unnaturally, been big news, and the discovery of the five people alive after so many hours had captured the public imagination. That three of the people had since gone home had not lessened the interest in the two heroic firemen who had selflessly helped the others, despite being seriously injured themselves. Bouquets of flowers had flooded in, along with cards and donations of money to help pay for the firemen’s hospital expenses.

“How are you holding up, Joanne?” Cap asked one day, finding her in the ICU waiting room. Her allotted 10 minutes of visiting was due shortly.

“All right,” Joanne replied listlessly. It wasn’t true, but she felt she had to keep a good face on things.

“Really?” Cap queried gently, and instantly knew he’d done the right thing when Joanne fell into his arms and started to cry. His wife had been over at the DeSotos’ home several times looking after the children and doing chores while Joanne was at the hospital.

“Roy keeps asking about Johnny and I don’t know what to say any more,” Joanne sobbed. “Johnny’s so ill…”

Cap knew that Joanne knew the answer to this dilemma herself but didn’t say so. He just held her, which was what she needed more than anything. Coping was fine, but it never hurt to let go and let someone else cope for a while. He knew that Joanne hadn’t taken the opportunity to speak to the county’s counsellor, but he and the other members of the crew had and Hank knew how much it had helped him.

He was relieved to see Dixie come in a few minutes later and she willingly took over looking after Joanne. The pair headed off to the ladies’ room to help Joanne freshen up and Cap looked at the damp stain on the breast of his shirt. He sometimes wondered who had invented the idea that men shouldn’t cry – he suspected that it would help immensely if men could cry when the need arose, instead of suppressing it.

He rose when the nurse indicated he could go in to see Johnny. The young man was a shadow of his former self. His face was pale, apart from the hectic flush across his cheekbones which seemed to be indelibly etched there. Johnny had lost weight, even in those few days. The infection in his arm was running riot and if they couldn’t get it under control soon, there was the distinct possibility that Johnny would lose the limb. Hank shuddered at the thought. If they had to amputate, Johnny probably would not survive the surgery, given his weakened condition. He felt a savage surge of anger against the unknown person who had felt the need to explode a bomb in a public place.

A short while later, Hank stood quietly in the background as Dr Brackett told Roy gently about Johnny’s condition. “His kidneys have responded to the dialysis, as we hoped,” Brackett said. “Another day or so, and he won’t need any more dialysis.”

“Surely that’s good,” Roy whispered. His voice was hoarse from the coughing and barely audible, but the room was so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop.

“Yes, it is,” Brackett agreed. “However, the infection in Johnny’s arm is much worse. It looks like osteomyelitis has set in.”

Ill or not, it was clear that Roy immediately understood the implications of Brackett’s words. “Is he going to lose his arm?” he gasped.

“I hope not,” Brackett replied as steadily as he could. “But it is a possibility. Johnny is very weak.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Roy. I had hoped to bring you better news.”

“I want to see him,” Roy insisted.

“I’m sorry, Roy, but I can’t allow you,” Brackett answered. He put up a hand to stop the stream of words he knew would be aimed at him. “It’s not that I don’t want you to see him or even that I think you’re not up to it. No, it’s because you’re still ill yourself and the last thing Johnny needs is to be exposed to another bug. I wish I could give you a different answer, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Tears stood in Roy’s eyes but didn’t fall. Cap had to look away to get his own emotions under control. “He could die,” Roy protested.

“I know,” Brackett admitted. “I’m sorry.” He rose wearily from his chair as though all the weight of the world lay on his shoulders.

And in a way, it did, Hank reflected.

****************************************

For the first time since being rescued, Roy was permitted to watch the news that evening. He was shaken rigid by the pictures of the bombed out stadium, reduced to no more than a pile of twisted rubble. He was astonished to learn of the cards and flowers and donations that still poured into the hospital, their quantity increased as word of Johnny’s deteriorating condition leaked out, despite the careful wording of the daily statement. Marco and Chet both assured him that the congregations of their churches were praying for both men. Chet seldom went near a church, despite his Catholic up-bringing, but had found himself seeking the solace of the familiar rituals in this time of crisis. Mike assured Roy that the yard chores were up-to-date and Cap told him that so many casseroles had been taken to his home that Joanne probably would not have to cook for the next month.

Roy had smiled his thanks and reflected sadly that Johnny had not needed any of these things done, since he lived in an apartment. It was a good thing in one way, but Roy worried that he would never have any idea how much others had done for them.

“Gage’s freezer is full, too,” Chet complained. “His landlady said that lots of people have brought food to his place for when he gets home.” He looked at all the eyes staring at him and flushed. “What? I only went round to make sure the media weren’t bothering her with stupid questions and stuff. She’s a nice lady. Gage must bother her a lot all the time and it wouldn’t be fair if the media started too.” Chet realised how lame his excuse sounded, because the media were encamped in the Rampart car park and hadn’t gone near the paramedics’ homes; there was no need since they were still in hospital. He glared at everyone daring them to say anything.

It was no secret to the other members of the crew that for all Chet and Johnny got at one another, they were very good friends and Chet was worried sick about the younger man. Nobody said a word. Chet’s flush gradually died away.

Later, with the lights off and all alone, Roy reflected on what he had seen. It was a miracle that he, Johnny and the other people had escaped from the rubble at all. It didn’t seem fair that they had escaped only for Johnny to die. Roy was not very religious – he attended church only when Joanne insisted he had to and mostly for Nativity plays and such that the children were involved in. But that night, he prayed for Johnny’s recovery.

In the silence of his heart, he also prayed that if Johnny were not to recover, that he might die swiftly, without being aware.

***************************************

Over the next few days, nothing much changed. Roy got over the worst of his pneumonia, and had his cast changed. He was finally allowed out of bed and was horrified to discover how weak he had become. A few unsteady steps around the bed made him so exhausted that he slept for two hours.

In ICU, Johnny’s arm didn’t get any better, but nor did it get any worse. The pneumonia was improving slightly, but not enough to remove the vent. Brackett put in a central line and started giving Johnny hyperalimentation to help his body keep enough strength to fight the infections. He also hoped it would prevent Johnny losing too much weight, for the young man’s flesh seemed to be melting off his bones.

Everyone was expecting the worst to happen.

****************************************

“Morning, Penny,” Brackett mumbled as he entered ICU. He had had nightmares the previous night about telling Roy that Johnny had died and felt like he had barely slept.

“Morning, doctor,” Penny chirped.

“What are you so cheerful about?” Brackett growled.

Not at all taken aback by the doctor’s gruff tones, Penny smiled. “John Gage’s temperature is normal. His lungs are clear and the infection in his arm is all but gone.”

“What?” Brackett gaped. “But he was still pretty low when I saw him late yesterday afternoon. Are you telling me he’s turned the corner in about 12 hours?”

Smiling, Penny nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” she agreed.

“What on earth has made the difference?” Brackett mused, not really speaking to the nurse. “I didn’t honestly think he had a chance.”

“Oh I’m pretty sure I know what made the difference,” Penny told him, “but you won’t find it in any text book. Look.” She pointed the confused physician to Johnny’s cubicle and he obediently went over.

Sitting by the bed, apparently asleep, but holding tightly to Johnny’s hand, was Roy DeSoto.

****************************************

“How long has he been there?” Brackett asked. He made no move to waken either paramedic.

“All night,” Penny replied. “Judy reported him arriving about 9 last night. She found him a seat and left them alone. Like you, she thought Johnny was dying and since Roy hadn’t seen him, she thought it would be kindest to let them have some time alone. When she went back in to check Johnny’s obs an hour later, his temp had come down half a degree. So she left Roy. Every obs check, Johnny was improving. By 5 this morning, everything was back to normal. His arm is still a bit pink, but that’s to be expected at this point.”

“When did he get his last dose of sedation?” Brackett asked, studying the chart Penny had handed him with disbelief.

“Since no one wanted to take any chances on believing that Johnny has turned the corner, he got it about 4am as usual.”

“All right. I’ll examine him now, but I think we’ll let him wake up, get him breathing over the vent, then extubate him later.” Brackett scribbled down the orders and then looked at Penny. “I thought he was going to die,” he declared. “I can’t believe this.”

“None of us can,” Penny agreed and behind her smile, tears glimmered in her eyes. As a nurse, she had seen a lot of things that couldn’t be logically explained, but seldom had she been as moved as she had this time. Brackett patted her hand and then moved away swiftly before his own emotions could betray him.

Roy didn’t stir as Brackett listened to Johnny’s chest. As Penny had said, his lungs were as clear as a bell. His colour had improved dramatically and the incision on his arm was healing beautifully. Brackett was elated. He touched the older paramedic. “Roy? I think you should go back to bed.”

Slowly, Roy lifted his head, blinking around him in surprise when he realised he was still in ICU. “What?” he murmured and then looked at Johnny, his hand tightening on Johnny’s hand, suddenly terrified that his friend had slipped away while he had been sleeping. “Johnny…?”

“He’s better,” Brackett assured him. “We’ll get him off the vent later today and back downstairs with you. Meantime, I think you’d be more comfortable if you had some decent sleep in a bed.”

“I didn’t realise I’d fallen asleep,” Roy confessed. “I was talking to Johnny, on and off and I must have nodded off.” He sounded quite annoyed with himself.

“Perhaps your own body was trying to tell you something, Roy,” Brackett chided him gently. “You only got out of bed for the first time yesterday!”

“I know,” Roy agreed. He looked at Johnny again. “But I had to see him, doc. I just had to.”

“I know,” Brackett agreed and for the second time that morning had to blink hard to keep his emotions under control. “Let’s get you back to bed, huh?”

*******************************************

It didn’t take long for the good news to spread. By the time visiting hours began that afternoon, Johnny was drifting drowsily, not fully awake, but breathing over the vent. His orthopaedic surgeon had been up to inspect his arm and had given permission for it to be released from traction and encased in a cast. That had been done and the limb now nestled against Johnny’s side, securely tucked into a sling and for the first time since his operation, he was able to lie on his back.

When she had first heard about Roy’s night-time sojourn, Joanne had fully intended to chew him out about it, but when she heard the outcome, she couldn’t bring herself to be angry. She knew that Roy had exhausted himself and earned himself another night in the hospital, but she thought it was worth it. The other A shift members had gathered in Roy’s room, as they would not be allowed to see Johnny until the next day, giving him some time to re-orient himself, so they expressed their relief by a show of exuberance with Roy, teasing and joking until Joanne would gladly have swung for Chet. However, she sat on her hands and bit her lip, knowing that she and Roy had not been the only ones affected by the bomb blast. She could only imagine how horrible it must have been for them to be searching in the rubble, knowing that their comrades might well be dead; she knew how bad it had been for her.

It was into the evening before Dixie appeared. She was wearing civvies, her shift over for the day and she looked more rested and at peace than Joanne and Roy had seen her for a long time. She smiled at them both and held the door open. A moment later, two orderlies appeared, pushing a gurney and within a remarkably short time, Johnny was tucked securely into the bed next to Roy.

“It’s so good to see you, Johnny,” Joanne declared and moved over to kiss his cheek.

“Good to see you too,” Johnny replied, his voice still hoarse from the breathing tube. He smiled. “I thought you’d have gone home by now, Pally,” he added. “Dixie was telling me it’s been four days since I left here.”

“I had pneumonia, too,” Roy explained, his face wreathed in smiles. “But Brackett assures me he’s going to spring me tomorrow.”

“You’d have been sprung today if you hadn’t decided to spend the night sitting in a chair by someone’s bed,” Dixie reminded him.

“Yeah?” Johnny asked. “Who’s in?” A frowned appeared between his brows. “It’s not one of the guys, is it?”

“Err… no,” Roy answered and blushed to the roots of his hair. “None of the guys are in.” He shot a glare at Joanne and Dixie, who were laughing.

“Then whose bed were you at?” A look of horror crossed Johnny’s face. “It’s not one of the kids?”

“No!” Roy shot another glare at his wife and the head nurse. “Do you mind!” he exclaimed crossly.

“No, go on,” Joanne chuckled. “We’re enjoying this.”

Johnny looked at them uncertainly and then looked back at Roy. A light bulb went off in his head and he slowly flushed as well. “Me?!” he squeaked. He cleared his throat as Roy nodded sheepishly. “Gee, that’s really nice of you, Roy. But – why?”

This time, Dix took pity on the embarrassed man and stepped into the conversation. “Well, Johnny, we thought you might not make it through the night last night,” she told him.

“But I feel fine now,” Johnny protested. “I can’t have been that bad, Dix.”

Suddenly sober, Joanne nodded in confirmation. “We really thought we’d lost you this time, Johnny,” she whispered and found herself on the verge of tears.

This unexpected news had the effect of leaving Johnny very quiet for the rest of the visiting time. Roy looked at him after Joanne and Dixie had left room. “Are you all right, Johnny?” he asked.

“Was… did…” As ever when he was struggling with an idea, Johnny couldn’t get the words to come. Roy waited patiently, knowing that Johnny would eventually start talking. “Did you really think I was going to die?” he blurted at last. “Was I that sick? I know I didn’t feel great when Dr Brackett took me to ICU, but was I really going to die?”

Swallowing hard, Roy nodded. “Yes,” he replied, huskily, “we really thought you were going to die. You’d been getting steadily worse and nothing seemed to be working. I hadn’t been allowed up to see you, because I had pneumonia and one more bug might have killed you. But last night, when I got the news that there wasn’t much hope, I had to come.”

“You stayed all night,” Johnny said, awe in his voice.

“I had to be with you.” Roy looked away, not sure how Johnny would take what he was about to say. “When I was told I wasn’t allowed to see you and I realised that you might still die, I prayed for you.”

“Roy…”

“Just listen, John, please.” Roy shot a quick glance at his friend and saw the other man nod. His eyes fled from making contact and he went on. “I prayed that if you were to die, you’d die quickly; that you wouldn’t linger.” He waited for the response, sure that he had just killed his friendship.

There was silence. It dragged on for so long that Roy knew that Johnny would never forgive him; that he had found the one thing that was too much for Johnny’s forgiving nature to excuse. And then he heard the sob and looked over.

Tears were streaming, unchecked, down Johnny’s face. He looked stunned and Roy’s heart twisted within his chest. He should have kept his mouth shut; he shouldn’t have said anything. Then, he would have kept Johnny’s friendship and, eventually, his conscience would have stopped smiting him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, tortured by Johnny’s obvious hurt.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Johnny told him. “Nothing. Roy, my people revere life, but there comes a time when living is too onerous and to continue to live would be cruel to those around. But most people can’t admit to that. I am… honoured…that you think… enough of me… to let me go like that. Roy, I… I want to… to thank you. It took courage to pray for that for me and even more courage to admit to it.” He dashed his hand across his eyes. “Oh, Roy, I wish there was something that meant more than thank you.”

“Really?” Roy breathed. He still didn’t quite believe his ears, but tendrils of hope were growing in his heart, lifting his spirit.

“Really,” Johnny confirmed. “I have thought of you as my brother for a long time, Roy. I know people say the fire service is a band of brothers, but you are more to me than that kind of brother. You are closer to me than a blood brother could be. I know that we are lucky to have found such a friendship; most people can only dream about it. Lucky enough to know, as well, that we’ve been blessed. I think that is why we work together so well; because you are the other half of me. I can only imagine the pain it must have caused you to pray for me to have a quick death; I can guess the pain it would cause me.”

Awed that Johnny was able to put into words the feelings he had in his heart, Roy could only smile. It didn’t matter. He knew Johnny would understand.

After all, they were brothers.

*************************************

It was several months before both Roy and Johnny were back to work. Although on the surface, nothing had changed, underneath, a great deal had changed. All the members of A shift were closer than they had ever been. It was understood that the fire department looked after its own, but somehow that tenet of understanding had a deeper meaning in Station 51.

The deepest understanding was never mentioned again after that night in the hospital and the conversation was never repeated to anyone else. It didn’t need to be. Those whom it most closely affected were aware of it on a subliminal level because it made them feel happier and more secure.

The stadium bombing brought big changes to the lives of Station 51. But it was the results of it that brought the biggest, most important changes of all.

The end

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