Part 2

Outside, just out of view of the diner, there was a sudden rush of activity as police negotiator Mark Simpson shouted out orders to the men around him.

“We need to move fast! Sounds like our shooter is on edge and right now there appears to be an opportunity to get into the building through the back entrance. Get me Riley, and somebody find me that paramedic from 51 who was hanging around.”

Chief Riley from the LAPD had taken control of the scene as soon as he arrived. He motioned to the head of the SWAT team and the two joined Simpson.

“What’ve we got?”

“I spoke to one of the firemen in there,” Simpson began explaining. “A guy by the name of Mike Stoker. My guess is that Ronnie told him to answer the phone. He made like he was leading on someone trying to place an order. Guess it must have been working, because no attempt was made to shut him up.” He glanced at the diner, then back to the chief. “If I understood him right, there are numerous fatalities inside. There are two gunmen with two unarmed pals. The back entrance appears to be an unguarded way into the diner at the moment. Ronnie is waiting for a call to make his demands, so I’ll call back in two minutes, and I’ll keep him busy while everyone gets in place out here. Stoker is going to be waiting for us to come in through the back in nine minutes. But if that’s not the way you want to go, I can try and talk our gunmen out.”

“You didn’t get to talk to Ronnie directly?” The chief asked.

“Nope, but Stoker seemed to think he and the other victims were running out of time. Between gunshot wounds and a shooter on edge, no tellin’ how much time we can spare.”

Simpson saw Roy approaching them, accompanied by a police officer. When the paramedic got close enough to hear him, the officer said, “I talked to one of your men, a Mike Stoker. He seemed okay. He couldn’t talk freely but I did ask if your other two guys were still alive. Stoker’s response was ‘I hope so, but there’s a lot of F’ing people around here.’ I’m assuming he was telling me that there are lots of fatalities. I can only guess that he can’t get to your other colleagues so he doesn’t know. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.” With that he turned away from Roy and went back to attending to question of the moment, what to do next.

Numb from the news he'd just received, Roy stared a few seconds at Simpson, then the diner. Mike was okay so far, but the others. . .a lot of fatalities. . .the paramedic tried to push the thought from his mind. The police needed to get the victims help now.

Roy stood back and watched the police officers get into place, ready to make their move. He wished he could do more than just wait, but trying to play hero at this point was not a good idea. It could cost many, including his friends, their lives. That is, if they were still alive to begin with. The thought of Johnny and Captain Stanley possibly dead, made the senior paramedic nauseous and numb.

E!*E!*E!

Mike looked at his watch. Three minutes until the phone call, ten minutes till the cavalry arrived. Hearing the moans of the people around him, Mike was hit by an overpowering guilt.

 I should be helping these people, Mike thought. I should be giving first aid!

But almost as soon as he thought it, he dismissed it. No one was alone. Everyone who was injured had someone who was uninjured with them. The customers were helping each other, and seemed to be doing a good job of it. No, the best way he could help was to continue to play the game he had started. Closing his eyes for just a moment, he tried to refocus.

Don’t get overwhelmed!! You can handle this, he told himself.

Johnny was moving again. That was the first thing that Mike noticed as he opened his eyes. The next thing he noticed was that his friend’s movements had drawn the attention of the gunman. Mike needed a quick distraction.

“So, Ronnie, do you know what you’re going to ask the cops for when they finally call? You going after the TV coverage?”

Mike breathed a sigh of relief as Ronnie turned away from Johnny to address the question.

“Yeah. You ever see that chick on channel two? Now I could really get into having her interview me real up close and personal, you know what I mean?”

Mike was just beginning to think he’d be able to keep Ronnie engaged in conversation, when Chad interfered by announcing that he had heard a noise.

“Didn’t ya hear it? It’s comin’ from out back.”

Ronnie laughed. “It’s probably that poor slob come looking for his breakfast.”

“What are you gonna do if he tries to come in?” Chad challenged.

“So, let him come in. We get one more hostage out of the deal.”

E!*E!*E!

Under the table, Johnny had again opened his eyes and was trying to check on his captain and his friend. He could tell that Cap was losing ground, the man’s every breath fainter than the one before. With a concerted effort, Johnny pulled himself a little closer to his injured friend and lightly grasped the man’s wrist. The pulse was weak and rapid, and the paramedic side of him longed for a drug box and bio-phone.

Suddenly, Cap’s faint breathing stopped altogether, and Johnny did something he rarely did; he panicked. It only took a moment of trying to get into position for Johnny to realize he didn’t have the strength to do CPR. His vision grayed and dimmed, as the world around him tilted strangely, but he struggled to stay conscious. His captain needed him. And he needed Mike.

Looking around frantically, Johnny spotted his coworker across the room. The man standing next to Mike had a gun, but he seemed to be laughing about something. Unsure of what was going on, he was sure that he had to get Mike’s attention. Instinct warned him, however, that he needed to keep quiet.

In that instant, Mike looked over at him, and their eyes met. His emotions barely in check, Johnny tried to convey in that single glance how much Cap’s life depended on what happened in the next few seconds. Mike’s slight nod seemed to be confirmation that he’d understood, but Johnny had no way of knowing that his friend had correctly read the pleading look in his eyes.

Johnny was left with few choices. He could call out to Mike. But Johnny knew that there was a reason not to do that. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what that reason was, but he remembered that Mike had said something to him about a plan. If Mike wasn’t there, at their side, there had to be a reason. Otherwise, wild horses couldn’t have kept him away. Johnny could try to get someone else’s attention and hope that person knew CPR, but he was somehow sure that that too would be a fatal mistake. So he did the only thing left. He sealed his mouth over his friend’s, blocked his nostrils, and began to breathe for him.

Every breath left Johnny dizzy and reeling. Intellectually he knew that this was doing no good. If Cap’s heart wasn’t beating, the blood wasn’t getting to the lungs to get the oxygen and it wasn’t taking that oxygen to the brain or other vital organs. But, he reasoned, if he was somehow wrong, if there was any hint of a heartbeat left, it was worth the effort.

E!*E!*E! 

Twenty feet away, Mike’s own panic moved from contained to full-blown. He’d watched as Johnny checked Cap for a pulse; had seen the look of panic spread across the paramedic’s face and made eye contact with his friend, hoping to convey that he understood the situation. Now he looked on as Johnny tried to breathe for their captain. Mike tried to convince himself that that meant that the captain still had a pulse. But he had seen Johnny position himself, try a compression, and collapse. Johnny was doing the only thing he could. And that would not be enough. Time had run out.

The shrill ring of the telephone interrupted Mike's train of thought, and he looked up to find Ronnie staring at him. "Answer it."

Mike knew he didn't have time to think this through, he had to make a rapid decision. He hoped it would be the right one. "No. They'll want to talk to the two of you, not me."

Chad stepped forward and pointed his own gun at Mike's head. "The man said, answer it."

Mike's heart was pounding so hard, he was certain it could be heard over the persistent ringing of the phone. But he managed to keep the panic out of his voice when he answered.

“If you fire that gun now, you might as well forget about negotiating anything. This room will be full of tear gas before you can think of your next move, and they’ll be taking you both out in body bags along with the rest of us.”

The look that crossed Chad’s face was like no other that Mike had ever seen. He knew with certainty that they had passed the point of no return. He would not live to help his friends.

But suddenly Ronnie’s hand was on the gun. “He’s right. Let’s see if we can get a chopper and a pilot and a ride to Mexico.” Ronnie picked up the phone receiver. “You guys ready to deal?”

The gunman was quickly engaged in conversation. Chad’s sight was still on Mike. The engineer zeroed in on the internal clock ticking in his head. It was less than 5 minutes before the SWAT team arrived, if they stayed true to their word. But it had been a couple of minutes since Hank had crashed. There wasn’t time to wait to be saved. Mike had to act. He said a prayer, turned his back on Ronnie, and moved toward his friends.

As Mike walked toward the table, he fully expected to feel a bullet in his back. Seeing the worried but then relieved look on Johnny’s face as he approached, however, he knew that the decision was the only one he could have made. 

E!*E!*E!

Roy continued to pace the parking lot, his feet following an invisible path from his car to the police cruiser and back past a fire department rescue squad. Along the way, numerous familiar faces were to be seen, but he refused to focus on them or answer their worried questions. Right now, all he could manage was to keep his own worry in-check. There had been no word since he was told about the phone conversation with Mike, yet that had been merely minutes earlier; it was just that the minutes seemed to be ticking by like hours.

What was going on in there? Was Cap one of the casualties the officer referred to? And what about Johnny? Was his partner . . his best friend . . was he? Roy struggled to block the thoughts from his mind. There was no good that could come from allowing himself to dwell on the unknown, yet he clenched his fists as he fought off the urge to hit something.

“Roy?”

The quiet, but familiar voice, stopped him in his tracks, and the anxious paramedic turned slowly to face his co-workers.

“Roy? What’s going on?”

Clearing his throat in an attempt to sound normal, Roy answered carefully.

“The police think it’s just about over. They talked to Mike on the phone, and the SWAT team is preparing to go in the back door.”

Chet and Marco turned in unison to stare at the restaurant. Neither one bothered to reply; there was nothing to say. The three men simply stood in silence; waiting.

E!*E!*E!

Kim worked her way quietly through the crowd, intent on reaching the three men standing near the rescue squad. She’d remained near her parked car, anxiously waiting for an opportunity to get closer, but it wasn’t until the last few minutes that she’d found an opening. When numerous policemen had moved towards the back of the building, she was certain that something was about to happen. Without thinking she had crossed the street and moved cautiously around the emergency vehicles.

Unsure of what she was hoping to accomplish until she spotted the familiar faces of the firemen standing nearby, Kim hastened her pace in an effort to reach them. She recognized them from earlier; they had been part of the group at Marie’s table. If she could just get close to them, maybe she could find out what was going on, and who the injured people were. It was torture to be left wondering and worrying about her friends, unsure if they were alive or dead.

“Sir? Excuse me, sir. . .”

E!*E!*E!

Johnny looked up between breaths and saw Mike approaching. He relaxed until he saw the look on his friend’s face. His stomach lurched, and his head spun. He had seen that look before, on the faces of men who knew they were about to die.

“Stop! Right there!” Chad yelled at Mike. Stoker ignored him and proceeded toward his coworkers.

Johnny paused in his efforts to breathe for Captain Stanley, focusing momentarily on the scene playing out before him. In his mind he saw himself lunging out from under the table to take out the gunman, or to shove Mike out of the line of fire. But his body could not obey the commands issued by his brain, and he was left to watch. His eyes locked with Mike’s as the man walked the last few feet to the table. Part of Johnny wanted to look away, not wanting to be witness to the event surely about to occur. He didn’t want to be looking into his friend’s eyes as the bullet hit and life fled. But he didn’t look away. Mike had done everything possible to keep them safe and now he was likely going to sacrifice his own life in an effort to save Captain Stanley. Johnny couldn’t do much, but he could make sure Mike was not alone in this moment. So he kept his eyes aligned with Mike’s and let him know that no matter what, he was with him.

E!*E!*E!

Each step Mike took that wasn’t stopped by a bullet, brought a little more hope that he had been wrong in his assessment. The twenty feet he had to cross seemed like twenty miles, but then he was there. There had been no shots fired. Mike decided that the only way to proceed was to put the gunmen out of his mind and focus on the two men in front of him.

First, Mike gently guided Johnny away from Captain Stanley, leaning him against the central leg of the table. “Tell me how you are, Johnny,” he said, as he turned back to Hank and tried to find a pulse. There was none. There was also no response from the paramedic. Positioning himself to start compressions, he turned first to look at Johnny. The man’s eyes were still open and focused on him, so Mike repeated himself. “Tell me how you are, Johnny.”

“Cap,” was the whispered reply.

Mike had already started the CPR. He silently counted out the compressions as he responded to Gage.

“I’m helping him. Tell me about you.”

Mike leaned over, pushed two breaths of air into Hanks lungs, then straightened up again. Using his fingertips to find the right place on the sternum, he straightened his arms and again began the compressions.

“Come on Johnny, while you still can.” Mike struggled some to talk and do CPR at the same time, but he knew neither could wait so he would have to get through it. “Tell me . . . where you’re hurting.”

Johnny said nothing audible.

“How’s your vision . . .can you see?”

“Um . . . yeah, can see. Two of ya, in fact.”

“Well, at least . . . not Chet,” Mike said as he switched back again to give breaths. “Anything hurt except your head?”

“Don’t think . . . so.”

Talking was clearly difficult for Johnny, and Mike was struggling as well, so he decided not to push it further.

“Okay, John. Just relax, but stay ready for anything.”

The words had barely left his mouth, when the siege began. A shot rang out from the kitchen, and Ronnie fell. As Mike pulled Johnny to the floor and threw himself over his two friends, he felt a piercing, burning pain in his side. He heard Chad say, “You fucking sold us out, you bastard.” Mike heard more shots and marveled at the fact that this time he felt no pain. He looked up at Chad and realized he was no longer there. Instead he was lying, eyes open, aparrently dead on the floor.

Guess that’s what I heard, Mike thought, deciding that he hadn’t been shot a second time.

Suddenly people everywhere were shouting. Mike heard men shouting instructions and noticed men running to the sides of those who were injured and dead. He heard a reference to paramedics. But all of it seemed somehow outside of his world at the moment. Right now he had to keep Hank alive. Someone would eventually show up with a defibrillator, but until then, it was up to him.

Mike got up, gently pushed Johnny aside, and restarted CPR on his captain.

“Over?” Johnny asked in a voice that could barely be heard.

“I think so,” Mike answered. “Thank God, I think so.”

“Did it,” Johnny mumbled. It wasn’t a question.

“Did what?” Mike asked as the commotion around them grew.

“Talked.”

“You talked?”

“You  . . .talked  . . . saved us . . .”

That remains to be see, Mike thought as he offered up a prayer for the men beside him, and breathed once again for his captain.

E!*E!*E!

Shots rang out, bringing a marked silence to the waiting crowd. Kim's interruption was instantly forgotten as Roy found himself running toward the building, followed closely by Chet and Marco. Near the rear entrance, a member of the SWAT team stopped the three men, but Vince was suddenly beside them, vouching for the paramedic and both firemen.

As they stepped into the kitchen, Roy was instantly aware of the change in atmosphere. SWAT members and uniformed policemen were milling about, as the scene changed from one of police control, to medical rescue. Rushing on through the doorway into the main dining room, Roy froze as he surveyed the scene before him. Some of the officers were already assisting the injured, while others were covering the victims who hadn't had a chance.

Paramedics from 51's and 36's were moving in to triage the patrons, leaving Roy free to focus on finding his friends. It took just a moment to locate the table, where only a few hours ago, 'A' shift had laughed and joked together. When he did, it was with a sense of horror that he realized how terrible the situation really was. Mike was bent over their captain, performing CPR, while Johnny was slumped under the table. Roy was already moving towards the three men, while calling over his shoulder to Chet and Marco.

"Get me some equipment, guys. Now!"

E!*E!*E!

Paramedic Johnny Gage struggled to process the sudden onslaught of activity around him. People were everywhere. Urgent tones filled the room, as men and women called out to each other, directing help to those around him. Cries that had been scared whimpers were now sobs of pain and fear. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air. And the table that was his backrest shook as people rushed past. But no one stopped. He was tempted to stick out his leg and trip the next passerby, just to let them know that he and the others were not okay. To bring it to anyone’s attention that they also needed help.

In front of him, Mike continued CPR on Captain Stanley. From his view on the floor, Johnny took note of a disturbing new part of the picture. There was blood on Mike’s shirt. Looking at his friend more closely, he noted the sweat covering his face and the tremors in his arms and legs.

"Mike? Mike . . .you okay?"

The engineer did not respond, his attention focused only on performing CPR. Even in his own weakened condition, Johnny could tell that Mike was exhausted. No one ever thought about how much energy it took to keep another human being alive. But the chest compressions alone were enough to tire a man, not to mention the life-giving oxygen that was being provided.

Johnny continued to watch his friend, trying to stay alert, but realizing that his own injuries were taking their toll. He tried to move closer, his mind begging for an opportunity to help, while his body refused to comply. He wished for someone. . . anyone. . . to show up with a canister of oxygen and a defibrillator. But so far his wish was not being granted.

Once more his eyes were drawn to the red patch on Mike's shirt, instantly aware that it had grown noticeably in size.

"Mike!"

Mike still didn’t answer. He seemed lost in his own narrow reality at that moment. Johnny sat up to reach out and try to get his attention, but he found he could barely move. His own world swayed and faded to gray before coming back into some semblance of focus. A ringing had joined the other sounds filling his head. And the twisting and churning returned to his stomach with the most inopportune timing. The paramedic was about to act on his earlier instinct to trip someone, when he opened his eyes and found he was looking directly into the face of Chet Kelly.

"Hey, Gage, what's going on? You trying to get in good with the waitress here, or what?"

Chet's attempt at a teasing tone was lost once Gage took a look at his face. Johnny knew the man was upset, could read it in his every action. The Irishman might pride himself on being the best prankster in the department, but when the chips were down, he was every bit the caring friend.

"What took you . . . so long?"

"What? We got in here only minutes after the shooting stopped. You know Roy, couldn't keep him out for long."

Johnny turned his head slightly, just enough to recognize that it was Roy who was trying to take over for Mike, but his gaze quickly returned to settle on Kelly.

"Seemed long . . ."

As Johnny stared at Chet, the fireman began to work his arm around the paramedic's shoulders in an attempt to lower him to the floor. With a sense of relief, Johnny began to relax into the man's grasp, more than a little comforted at the knowledge that help had arrived. In the next instant, he was struggling against Chet's hold.

"Take it easy, Johnny. Everything's going to be okay. Just calm down, okay?"

But Johnny couldn't or wouldn't settle down. He had to make them understand. There was something wrong, something very important that he had to tell them.

"Mike . . .help . . . hurt."

"Yeah, we know, Johnny. Roy's helping right now."

"No . . .help, Mike. Hurt . . .shot . . .Mike."

He struggled valiantly, but in the end, his body betrayed him. Johnny only managed to mumble another word or two before he slumped back into Chet's arms, never hearing the man's worried voice cry out:

"Hang on, man. Stay with me, Johnny . . . stay with me."

E!*E!*E!

Roy was one of six paramedics now in the diner. Dwyer, Wilson, Brice, and Bellingham were each caring for numerous victims. Though not on duty, Roy was paramedic number five. Number six lay on the floor before him. Roy would have to trust Chet to care for him for now. Whatever might be wrong, he was breathing. Cap was not.

“Marco, see if either squad has a defibrillator and ventilator that they aren’t using,” Roy instructed his friend. The oxygen at his side had come from one of the engines. It would be of minimal help with just a nasal cannula.

Roy looked again at Chet and Johnny. Relieved when the Irishman lowered Johnny to the floor, Roy took hold of Mike’s shoulders and said, “It’s okay, Mike. I’ve got it.”

Mike showed no signs of having heard the man. Roy tried again, this time gently pulling at his shoulders as he spoke. “Mike, it’s okay. You can stop and let me take over.”

When Mike still did not respond in any way, Roy took stock of the man kneeling in front of him. He had been so focused on Hank and Johnny that he had missed the fact that Mike, himself, was in obvious distress. Covered with sweat and trembling with each compression, Mike seemed oblivious to the world around him, oblivious to everything but Captain Stanley.

“Mike,” Roy said again, this time louder and firmer, “let me do it.” As he spoke, he pulled more firmly on the engineer’s shoulders, hoping to break him out of the trance like state he had entered. His efforts were met with a grunt and an elbow to the gut that he wasn’t expecting.

Moving to Mike’s other side to get better leverage, Roy stopped short when he saw the blood soaked shirt. His mind quickly replayed Johnny’s last words before he had passed out. Roy had thought Johnny was asking Mike for help, telling them that Stanley had been shot. Roy had been wrong.

Hoping that a new tact would reach the engineer, Roy leaned close to Mike and lowered his voice to a reassuring, yet firm, tone.

“Mike. It’s time to let me take over. You’ve done a good job, but it’s my turn.”

With some relief, Roy realized that Marco had rejoined him, accompanied by Bob Bellingham, who had the desired equipment in hand. Chet was still bent over Johnny, his hand clasped around the younger man’s wrist. Fighting back the urge to ask about his partner, Roy turned instead to Marco who was waiting expectantly.

“What can I do, Roy?”

“Marco, help me with Mike.  He’s bleeding. I think he’s been shot.”

“Shot? Madre de Dios . . .”

Dropping down beside them, Marco took hold of Mike’s forearms and pulled back, while Roy prepared to take over the chest compressions. For the first time, Mike seemed to realize his friends were beside him, and he turned toward Marco who was still mumbling softly in Spanish. With a low moan, the engineer slumped, barely conscious, into Marco’s arms.

With three victims in front of him, Roy was forced to stay in paramedic form. Allowing himself to regard these men as friends instead of patients would have rendered him useless in this situation. Yet, there was no way to totally shutout the sense of responsibility he felt for these men, and for a split second, Roy longed to hand Bellingham the job. In the end, on duty or off, Roy was a paramedic, and he’d do what he had to do. There would be plenty of time later to sort through his wide-range of emotions.

“Come on, Cap. . .”

Bellingham was working rapidly to set up the oxygen mask for Captain Stanley, relieving Roy of that responsibility. As soon as he had everything in place, he followed Roy’s count, then administered the appropriate puffs of air, watching carefully to see if Cap’s chest moved as it should.

“Lopez, can you take over for me, here? I need to set up the defibrillator.”

Roy continued the chest compressions as he watched Marco ease Mike down to the floor. Within seconds, Marco was thumbing the oxygen, while Bob opened another box.

“What’ve ya got, Roy?”

“Cap’s taken a bullet to his left side. He’s lost a lot of blood. . . from what I can tell, he’s suffering from shock. Mike was already doing CPR on him by the time I got here.” Roy paused for a moment as he pushed down on Cap’s chest. “Chet, we need to establish contact with Rampart.”

“Got it, Roy.”

Everything was happening quickly, yet the scene seemed to play out in slow motion as Roy watched Chet move carefully away from an unconscious Johnny. The Irishman disappeared and Roy’s attention was drawn to Bob’s actions, as the paramedic applied the clear gel to the paddles, and pushed the button on the machine.

“Ready?”

Roy merely nodded, his energy totally focused on keeping the proper count and compressions. They’d been doing CPR too long . . . they needed to get Cap’s heart started again, and now!

“Okay . . one hundred . . two . . three . . four. Clear!”


The force of the jolt of electricity traveling through the paddles made Cap’s injured body spasm and jerk up from the floor. Even though he was expecting it, the sound and the sight of his Captain’s contortion sent a jolt of a different type through Roy. But the continued arrhythmia showing on the monitor forced him to ignore his own reactions.

“No conversion,” Bob announced.

Taking the time to do one more compression, Roy turned back to the machine, restarting the charging process. He counted the charge out loud and pulled back as Bellingham again shocked the man lying on the floor before him. This time a rhythm caught and stayed steady. Roy looked at Bob and silently acknowledged the fact that this change was unexpected and a welcome relief.

“Chet, how’s it going?” Roy called out as he turned his attention to Mike and Johnny, leaving Bob to continue to monitor Stanley.

As Roy shifted his position, he looked up to see Chet approaching with a young police officer in tow. Roy could see that the man was protesting, but Chet was taking none of it.

“Listen, I’m really supposed to be outside doing crowd control.”

“Well then this is your lucky day,” Chet chastised the rookie, “turns out you’re needed in here with all the action. Now come on over here.”

Roy looked up and noted that the young man was turning notably green around the gills, but Chet obviously had the man under control.

“Roy,” Chet smiled at the heart monitor now showing the Cap’s steady heart beat, “this is Pete. He can set us up a relay.”

“Great, we need to talk to Rampart. Get us whoever you can, then see if you can steal some IV set ups and bandages from Brice or Dwyer.”

“Okay, Pete. Now’s your chance to make a difference.” Chet turned to focus on his young charge. “Get to dispatch and tell them you need a relay to Rampart General ER. Then you need to stay on the radio and tell dispatch everything that Roy and Bob here tell you. Got that?”

Pete nodded and Chet moved off to find more supplies.

With Chet looking for supplies, Bob working on Cap, and ‘Pete’ the rookie setting up some kind of relay to Rampart, Roy was free to check the others. Moving first to Mike, Roy checked the engineer’s pulse and respiration, cursing silently at the lack of a BP cuff to complete the information. He was glad to see that Marco was applying pressure to the wound, the makeshift bandage a folded bar rag he’d grabbed from behind the counter. Satisfied that Marco was monitoring Mike, Roy moved on towards his partner.

“Hey, Junior. How’re you feeling?”

Relieved to see that Johnny’s eyes were partially open, Roy knelt down next to his friend, and began his assessment.

“Come on, Johnny. Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

The dark eyes seemed to search for a moment before focusing on the face in front of him.

“Roy?”

“Yeah, partner, it’s me. How’re you doing?”

“Okay . . “

“Do you hurt anywhere besides your head?”

There was a faraway look in Johnny’s eyes, yet he managed to answer.

“Head hurts . . .”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Roy . . .Cap?”

“He’s still with us. Bob’s working on him.”

Johnny tried to pull himself up, as if to check for himself, but immediately he slumped back, barely conscious as Roy caught him.

”Hang on, partner, we’ll get you to Rampart before you know it.”

As he watched, Johnny’s eyes closed as the younger man slipped back into unconsciousness. Looking around the crowded restaurant, Roy silently wished for his promise to come true. There were numerous victims to be treated and transported before this catastrophe was over, a task that could take some time.

Hang on, partner. We’re going to get all of you out of this, yet.

E!*E!*E!

Kelly Brackett spied Dixie coming down the hallway returning to the nurses’ station where he stood. He summoned her to come over with an urgent wave of his hand. After a few more tense moments, he hung up the phone.

“Kel?”

“Dix, that hostage situation is over. We need every room we have available. Call Harbor General and see if we can divert some of the victims their way. And I need Joe and Mike down here fast. The paramedics have just gone in. The calls will be coming any second.”

As if on cue, the buzzer sounded indicating an incoming trauma call.

E!*E!*E!

Roy turned his attention back to his partner. He carefully pulled away the blood-soaked makeshift bandage so he could examine the wound. DeSoto winced at the angry looking injury. Another 1/8 of an inch and you wouldn’t be here, Junior. The bleeding had slowed considerably, though it hadn’t completely stopped. Replacing the ‘bandage’ for now, the senior paramedic assessed his partner for other injuries. Roy noticed several small lacerations on Johnny’s hands, probably from the glass that littered the floor. There was also a small bruise on the dark-haired man’s cheek right below his left eye.

“Hey, Roy, here’s what I could get.” Chet returned holding a few supplies in front of him. Grateful for anything, Roy grabbed the stethoscope, BP cuff, and IV set ups and prepared to go back over to Mike.

“Chet, take the gauze and make another bandage for Johnny’s wound.”

The fair-haired paramedic returned to Stoker’s side and took a proper set of vitals. Though the results were pretty much what he expected, Roy bit his lower lip in worry.

Finding a pressure bandage among the rag tag supplies, Roy carefully pulled back Mike’s shirt and put the bandage in place.  As soon as Roy applied pressure, Mike began to moan.  The engineer’s eyes opened and he sought to make contact with the man leaning over him.

“Roy . . .”

“Right here, Mike.  You’re going to be fine.”

“Cap . . . Johnny . . .”

“We’re taking care of them right now too.”  Roy didn’t want to lie and tell Mike that Cap was going to be okay.  That might not end up being the case.  “You did a great job taking care of them.  Now it’s my turn, okay?”

“Cap . . . how bad?”

“Well, he’s been better, that’s for sure, but he’s tough.  Now you need to relax, okay?  We’re gonna talk to Rampart and get permission to replace some of those fluids you’ve lost, then get you and Cap on over there.  In the meantime, you let me do the worrying, okay?”

“Kay . . . You always worried . . . the best.”

Roy managed to produce a laugh for his friend’s benefit.  “Hey, I gotta excel at something, right?” He looked at Kelly. “How’s the relay to Rampart coming? We need to get some meds on board here.”

“I’ll go check,” Chet finished wrapping gauze around Johnny’s head, pausing slightly when the injured paramedic moaned.

Chet returned moments later. “Pete’s just connecting with Rampart now.  I talked to some of the other paramedics. So far we have eight other critical cases, not including Cap and Mike.”
 

“Do we have enough transport?”

“Probably not.  More is on the way.”

“Damn it,” Roy looked over at Bellingham, who was still ministering to Hank Stanley, “Bob, Cap’s gotta go in one of those first ambulances.”

“I hear ya, Roy. It’s done.”

DeSoto stood up and grabbed the information on Stanley and Stoker he needed to transmit to Rampart.

“Chet, get a new set of vitals on Johnny for me, will you? Bring ‘em over to me.”

As Roy walked away, Kelly took the BP cuff and wrapped it around Johnny’s arm. The uncomfortable feeling of the cuff tightening on his arm was enough to partially rouse the dark-haired man.

“Welcome back, Gage.”

The junior paramedic didn’t answer.

“Hey, Johnny, come on. Say something.”

There was no response.

With growing concern, Chet finished taking Gage’s vitals and took them over to Roy. Handing them to the paramedic, Kelly motioned for him to listen.

“Have Rampart stand by, Pete.”

“Johnny’s awake again, Roy. But, I tried to get him to talk to me and he won’t. Not a word. He doesn’t even acknowledge I’m there.”

 

Bob Bellingham looked at Roy.  “I’ll take care of the contact.  You go check on your partner.” 

Turning back to the rookie holding the radio, Bob asked,  “Do you have Rampart on the other end of that thing?” 

Pete shook his head no.  Bob couldn’t decide if he was scared or queasy or both, but either way, he was frustrated.  “Well, who exactly have you been talking to?”

“Um, your dispatch I think.  They’re talking to someone named Dr. Brackett at Rampart.” 

Well, I’ll be damned, Bob thought.  He got it right!

“Okay, just repeat after me.”

Pete nodded. 

“Okay, tell Rampart that we have three victims.  All three are firemen who have suffered from gunshot wounds and have been without medical help for more than ninety minutes.” 

Pete was repeating exactly, so Bob continued.  “Victim one has a gun shot wound to the chest.  He was receiving CPR upon our arrival at the scene ten minutes ago.  We have counter shocked and now have a rhythm.  We do not have a bio-phone so we can’t send you a strip.  Vitals are, pulse 60 and weak, respirations are assisted.  BP is 80 by palpation.  Abdomen is rigid.  Reports are that he’s been unconscious for most of the past ninety minutes.  CPR started about ten minutes before we got here.” 

Bob paused and waited for the instructions. 

E!*E!*E!

Marco stayed at Mike’s side as Bob and Roy continued to help Hank and Johnny.  He eyed the bandage covering Mike's wound. Blood was soaking through the dressing.  Grabbing the remaining gauze, he quickly fashioned another bandage and held it securely over the one that Roy had put on.  As he applied pressure, he noticed Stoker peering up at him through half open glassy eyes.

"Hang in there, Mike."

Stoker's lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. He turned his head slowly, his eyes resting on Hank Stanley's form.

Marco looked from Mike to Hank as he listened to Bellingham give the information to Rampart.

". . .victim two has a bullet wound to the chest, no exit wound apparent. He's lost a lot of blood and is shocky. BP is. .."

The voice faded from Lopez's hearing as he was lost in thought about what happened. It all seemed so surreal now, he just wanted to wake up and be back at the station with the rest of the crew.

He was brought back to the present by Bob who was suddenly at Mike’s side, inserting first one IV, then a second one.  Marco looked at him, silently questioning the reason for the double treatment. 

“We want to replace the fluids as quickly as we can till he gets to the hospital.  He and Cap are going in next.  I’m headed there with them.  Can you come to help out?”

“Si. . . yes . . . of course.” 

With that, Marco helped load Mike onto the stretcher and walked along side. Once out of the diner, he climbed into the ambulance.  As the doors shut, Marco looked at his Captain and his friend.  Without ever taking his eyes off his charges, or his ears off the paramedic, he began to quietly pray.  “Padre nuestro . . .”

E!*E!*E! 

Making his way back through the crowd of medics, firemen and police officers, Roy’s expression was unreadable as he hurried past the carnage.  It had been necessary for him to help with moving Captain Stanley and Mike out to the ambulance, but even that few minutes away from his partner had made him nervous.  He didn’t like the way Johnny had suddenly gone silent on them, and he was anxious to get back.

“Roy!  If you’re not doing anything, could you . .”

“I’m on my way back to another victim, Tim.  Is there anyone else?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Glancing back over his shoulder, Roy was relieved to see that Tim Sanders had already found some assistance from one of the fireman from 10’s.  He knew he didn’t have a choice, still he felt better knowing that Tim had another pair of hands to help him out.  When Roy had left, Johnny was still unresponsive, making Roy all the more anxious to get his partner stabilized and on the way to Rampart.  Everyone was working frantically in a triage kind of environment, but at least Tim’s patient had one competent paramedic to treat him; right now, Johnny’s treatment was being handled by a fireman.  Competent in first aid, yes, but in treating potentially life threatening cases, no.

As Roy returned to ‘their’ table, he could see that Chet was still kneeling next to Johnny, and it was clear from the man’s frown that things were not going well.  Grabbing the BP cuff, Roy wrapped it around Johnny’s arm, while visually re-assessing his partner’s condition.  It appeared that John was awake; his eyes open more than half way, yet the man wasn’t responding to any questions or outside stimuli. 

“Have you gotten anything out of him, Chet?”

“No.  It’s the same as before.  What’s wrong with him, Roy?”

“I’m not sure, yet.”

Retrieving the policeman’s HT with the intention of setting up a relay with Rampart, Roy glanced up in relief as Will Matthews made his way across the room.  The fireman from Station 8 was accompanied by a policeman Roy didn’t recognize. Between them, they balanced a stokes loaded with a bio-phone and drug box.

“One of the paramedics told us you could use this.”

“We sure can, Will!  How’d you manage all the gear?”

“The guys from 10’s were working side by side with 36’s, so they offered to share their equipment and send this stuff over for you to use.”

Nodding gratefully, Roy turned back to Johnny as Chet flipped open the bio-phone, and the other men walked off.

“Okay, partner, let’s see how you’re doing.”

Roy flicked the penlight in his friend’s eyes, watching closely for the reaction of each pupil.  Taking time to recheck the wound, pulse rate and BP, Roy was certain that Johnny was suffering from a concussion, but how severe?  He was worried about this almost trance-like state that his partner had slipped into.   After relaying the vitals to Chet, Roy bent close to his patient.

“Johnny!  Johnny, can you hear me?  I need you to talk to me, partner.  Can you tell me what’s happening?”

There was no verbal or physical response, yet it seemed that Johnny’s eyes moved a little, as if he were looking for someone.

“That’s it, look at me, Johnny.  I’m right here.”

Grabbing hold of Johnny’s hand, Roy squeezed gently as he continued. 

“Good, that’s better.  How’re ya doing?”

Relieved that Johnny had finally turned his head, if only slightly, Roy kept up his reassuring chatter.  But it was several minutes before his friend finally seemed aware of who was talking to him.  When Johnny finally spoke, his voice was thin and weak.

“Roy . . . sorry . .  tried to . .”

“Hey, you don’t have any reason to be sorry.  You just hang on, and we’ll have you at Rampart in no time.”

“Cap . . .   Mike?”

“They’re already on their way.  Don’t worry about them, let’s just take care of you.”

“Tried . . . couldn’t help . . “

Johnny’s eyes slid closed, and even Roy’s insistent tone didn’t rouse him.  The man was unconscious.

Roy exchanged glances with Chet.  That they were both worried was obvious, but each felt a little better now that Johnny had at least responded.  

“Roy.  Rampart said to start an IV with D5W, and transport immediately.”

Already holding the IV setup in his hand, Roy concentrated on getting the drip started, not allowing himself focus on his partner’s strange behavior.  Within minutes, they were positioning Johnny on the backboard, and moving towards the doorway. 

With barely a glance at the turmoil around him, the senior paramedic was already looking for the nearest available ambulance.  He knew he wouldn’t relax until his partner was at Rampart.

E!*E!*E!

Roy stood silently at the nurse’s station, his eyes trained on the closed door of Treatment Room Three.  It was hard to believe just that morning he and his shift mates had enjoyed a carefree breakfast together. It seemed eons ago that he had been in his kitchen at home and had heard the phone ring. Surely he was lying in his chair on the deck dreaming, having one hell of a nightmare.  But he wasn’t.  He was standing in the busy hallway of Rampart Emergency, waiting for word on three good friends.

After Chet’s phone call, he had headed to the scene and once there, had to wait while the whole scenario played out, chafing at the fact that there was nothing else he could do. He didn’t know which was worse, the waiting or the sound of gunfire coming from the diner as the police had entered it, ending the hostage situation and beginning the rescue phase. Entering the diner, he knew he had never seen anything worse. Blood and bodies were everywhere, but his major concern were the three men under the table they had eaten breakfast at earlier that morning.

With a mental push, Roy forced his mind back to the present.  Straightening, he turned toward the treatment room.  It had only been a few minutes since the x-ray technician wheeled his machine back out into the hallway, but Roy was anxious to talk with Dr. Early.  He needed to know what was going on with his partner.

Before he reached the room he was stopped by Bob Bellingham’s voice. 

“Roy, how’s Johnny?”

“I’m not really sure.  He’s not responsive. Well, only barely.” 

Roy hesitated before asking his own question.  He couldn’t help but fear that Captain Stanley had been dead by the time he got to the hospital.  They really didn’t have a good handle on when he had been shot, and the enormous loss of blood had been evident.  He looked away from Bob, afraid of eye contact as he asked.

“How ‘bout Cap?  I can’t seem to get anyone to tell me anything.”

“I thought I was going to lose him a couple of times, but he hung in there until we got here.”

“Good, if he’d coded again . . .” Both men shook their heads. With the loss of blood, they knew the captain would not have survived another code.
 

“Brackett’s getting him stabilized, then he’ll take him to surgery.”

“What are his chances?”  Roy asked.

“You know Brackett.  He won’t say.  But I’ll tell you, he wasn’t doing a whole lot of smiling in there.  However, it sounds like he thinks the damage is repairable.”

“And Mike?”

“Morton’s with him now.  He said it’s a good thing that the injury happened later in the game.  The bullet hit some major blood vessels.  He’ll be okay, but he wouldn’t have survived ninety minutes.”

“Look, Roy, I’ve gotta get going.  But you hang in there, okay?” Bellingham paused.    “Let me know how they are when you find out more later?”

“Yeah, and hey, thanks, Bob.  It helped to know you were taking care of them, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.  Just think, if I had turned left instead of right when I went through that door, you might be having this conversation with my warm and cuddly partner!”

Roy shuddered at the thought of talking about his three injured friends with Brice.  “Yeah, well glad you took the right turn, pal.”

“Any time, Roy.  Hang in there.”

E!*E!*E!

Roy turned back to the treatment room.  He knew he should call Joanne.  He assumed someone had called Elly, but he should check.  He should look for Marco and Chet.  They had both come in, but were not around now.  Maybe they had gone back to the scene.  Maybe they were getting cleaned up.  Regardless of what else he should be doing, Roy knew that he would do nothing else before he saw his partner again.

Entering the treatment room, Roy found Johnny lying on the exam table.  His eyes were open, but still staring off into some place no one else could see.  Joe Early was looking at x-rays hanging on the wall lights, and Roy went directly to his side.

“Doc?  What’s the story?  Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

Early turned around and moved to the side so that Roy could see the x-rays as well.

“We’ll get a CAT scan to confirm, but he has a pretty significant concussion.  The bullet didn’t penetrate the skull at all, thank goodness, but the impact is major.  The effects are the same as a major blow to the head.  There may be some bleeding, but I don’t think so.   Because of the chip the bullet took out of the skull, it’s classified as a skull fracture.  I think he’ll have a headache for a few days, but then he should be okay.”

“So, why is he staring off into space like that?”

“I’m not sure.  Why don’t you ask him?”

“Huh?”

“You should ask him.  Maybe he’ll tell you.  He’s listening to us right now, you know.  He’s reacting to sudden sounds and changes in light, and his EEG is normal.  He’s just waiting for something.”

“Huh?”  Roy felt foolish repeating the empty question, but there was really nothing else he could think of to say.  He had no idea what Early was talking about.

“He’s not unconscious, Roy.  We were able to talk to Mike.  Johnny was semi-conscious for most of the duration.  Struggling, yes, and if he was unconscious now, I’d say it was related to the concussion.  But the staring into space, well, I don’t think that’s related to the injury.”

“You’re right, he did talk to us at first.  He was real concerned about Cap, and I think he knew that Mike had been shot.  But if it’s not injury related, then what is it?”

“He’s found someplace safe in his mind.  He was going to die and his friends were going to die and he had to fight to stay in the middle of it.  As soon as you all arrived, he could escape to a safer place.  We’ve seen it in many of the victims that have been brought here so far.  They can’t even tell us what happened after the first shots were fired.  They escaped to a place their minds created where they could be safe.”

“You mean, Johnny’s lost it?  This broke him?”

Early laughed.  “No, just the opposite.  He’s responded quite reasonably to an unreasonable situation.  Now we just need to convince him it’s safe for him again, and he’ll join us here.” 

“So, what do we do?”

“Talk to him.  He came out of it some when you talked to him at the scene.  Keep talking to him.  You’ll see.”

Roy turned to his friend and pulled up a chair. It took several minutes for the paramedic to get his own emotions under control, but when he spoke, his voice was calm, his manner relaxed.

“Okay, Johnny. Well, it’s been quite a day, huh?  Who would have thought breakfast would turn out like this?  Guess it’s the last time we let Cap treat, huh?  So, everything’s okay now, you know?  You’re out of the diner, back at Rampart and I’m here and Dr. Early’s here and everything is okay.”

“Roy . . .”

“I mean, that must have been awful, huh?  Being in the middle of that?  Well, I just can’t even imagine what it would have been like.  I’d have run and hid I think.  If I could have even made myself move.  Hell, I wanted to hide when I got in there and it was all over by then.”

“Roy . . .”

“So you just take your time and I’ll be here when you’re ready to join us again, okay?  You just take your time because I’m right here.”

“Roy, would you shut up?” he asked quietly. “I’ve got one helluva headache.”

Roy turned three shades of red as it occurred to him that it was his partner who had been trying to interrupt his monologue.

“Johnny, you’re okay.  Are you okay?  How do you feel?” 

“Pretty lousy actually,” the younger man groggily answered. He waited a moment before continuing. “But yeah, I’m okay.  Now, could you please stop talking?  But first, tell me if I heard right that Mike and Cap are going to be okay?”

“They’re both in surgery.”

Johnny nodded.  Before he could say anything more, he was drifting to sleep.

E!*E!*E!

It had been a long day.  Elly had arrived at the hospital trying to look stoic, as a fire captain’s wife should, but failing miserably. All three of the uninjured firefighters had stayed close, supporting her as best they could, but it was Joanne’s arrival at the hospital that helped her the most.  Having another woman to talk to during the long wait, some one who not only understood but encouraged her to let go, was the assistance that Elly needed.   At one point Joanne even guided her into the ladies room, providing her with the necessary privacy when tears finally threatened to spill over.  It was a well-deserved release; one that Elly knew she needed.  She wanted to appear strong and in-control when her daughters arrived.  They were away at school, but had both made arrangements to travel home as soon as possible.

 

Elly looked at her watch.  10 PM.  She had patiently waited as Dr. Early joined the group, telling them that Johnny was settled into a room and was asleep for the night.  She had grabbed onto Joanne and offered a prayer of thanks when Dr. Morton delivered the same news about Mike.  But that was two hours ago.  She could think of many reasons why they hadn’t heard about Hank and none of them were good. 

When Dr. Brackett finally returned to the tired group, Elly closed her eyes a moment then opened them and braced herself as she stood with the others as they approached the doctor.  Waving them back into their seats, Brackett pulled up an empty chair and sat down.  Glancing around, Elly could see that she wasn’t the only one anxiously waiting for the doctor’s report.  Roy had stayed on his feet behind her, while Joanne reached over to hold her hand.  Chet and Marco were both leaning forward in their seats, eyes focused on the doctor as if willing him to speak.  When he did, there was no sound in the room other than Kel’s tired voice.

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long.  Hank’s been out of surgery for about half an hour, but I wanted to stay with him in Recovery for a while.”

“Doctor, is he . . .”

“He’s doing good.  There was a considerable amount of damage, and he’d lost a lot of blood, but he made it through surgery fine.  I’d say, barring any major complications, Captain Stanley will be back on duty within a couple of months.”

The collective sigh was unmistakable as the balance of ‘A’ shift, and two very worried women, started to relax. 

“Can I see him?” Elly asked.

“Yes, of course, after he’s settled in ICU.  But that will be at least another hour or more.  It might be better if you go home and get some rest, then come back to see him in the morning.”

“Why don’t you come home with us?” JoAnne urged.  “Hank is holding his own right now, and they have our number.  They can call if there’s any problem and we’ll bring you right back over here.”

“I don’t know.” Elly shook her head, a distressed expression on her face. “I don’t know. I don’t want to leave him here alone.”

“I know, but you need to get some rest. And it’s going to be a long day tomorrow, with the girls coming home and all.” 

“Yes, but I don’t want to impose on you . . .”

“It’s no imposition,” Joanne insisted.

Elly didn’t answer, and Joanne finally seemed to understand her hesitation.

“You need to see Hank before you leave the hospital.”

The two women stared quietly at one another, and Elly could see that Joanne fully understood.  If it had been Roy lying upstairs, she wouldn’t have left the hospital either.

“Yes, I do.  But there’s no reason for any of you to wait any longer.  I appreciate that you’ve all been here, and I know that Hank will too.”

“Hey, we’re not going anywhere,” Roy spoke up, while Chet and Marco nodded in the background.

“No, I think we should go somewhere,” Joanne interrupted.

Faces turned towards her in surprise, but she continued assuredly.

“We need to take this lady downstairs to the cafeteria.  It’s been a very long day, and I doubt she’s had a bite to eat since breakfast.”

Heavy silence fell upon the group for a moment, as they thought back over all that had taken place since that early morning meal.  Then one by one they began to smile, a sense of relief washing over them. Although it had been a sad and tragic day with the victims who hadn’t survived the gunmen’s attack, the ones closest to them had and were going to be okay.

“I doubt that any of us have.” Roy commented.  “Lets all get something to eat, then we can check in on Cap before heading home to get some sleep.” 

Elly smiled at Dr. Brackett as her friends escorted her from the waiting room.  She had a feeling she’d be seeing him very soon, probably upstairs in a certain captain’s room.

E!*E!*E!

The dark fog surrounded him, buoying him up. Into the peaceful fog came the sound of murmuring voices. Though they were vaguely familiar, he could not place them. Wishing they would go away, he tried to tune them out. Instead of being able to drift back into the fog, as he wished to do, he became steadily more aware of his surroundings. Distant sounds that were muffled came to him. Sounds he could not identify. Eventually he realized he was lying in bed with his head elevated. But why?

Into his awareness crept the feeling of pain. At first he thought his whole body hurt, but as the awareness grew, he realized that the pain was localized in his back. Moaning, he tried to move into a more comfortable position. The voices stopped murmuring and he heard a rustle, then soft footsteps as someone approached.

“Mike, are you awake?”

He recognized Roy’s voice. Struggling, he opened his eyes and with a great effort, focused them on the other man's face.

“Glad to see you’re back with us.” When he got no response, Roy leaned closer to him, frowning worriedly.

Seeing his friend's face seemed to act as a catalyst to his memory. Suddenly Mike remembered having breakfast, sitting in the diner, the waitress, the gunmen, shots ringing out. Captain Stanley lying on the floor . . .dead?

“Cap?”  The word came out weakly.

The frown on the other man’s face deepened as he answered.

“No, it’s me, Roy.”

Another memory shot into his mind. Johnny was lying beside the captain.

“Johnny?”

“Hey, man, I’m over here.”

Hearing the voice, Mike turned his head and saw Johnny lying on the bed next to his. Relief washed over him, then suddenly the pain increased in intensity and he winced.

“You’re hurting,” Roy observed.

Mike watched mutely as Roy punched a button. It was hard to stay focused on anything.  He wanted to ask questions. He knew there were things he wanted and needed to know. But the haze he seemed to be suspended in only deepened as the medication the nurse who’d just come in gave him began to take effect.

As much as he wanted to just drift away, he had to know.

“Cap, is he . . .?”

Finally Roy seemed to catch on to what he was trying to ask.

“Cap’s alive.  He’s in ICU and they’re taking real good care of him.  Dr. Brackett says he should be . . .”

The voice seemed to drift away.  But Mike no longer fought the darkness.  Instead, his mind echoed the only two words he’d really heard.  “Cap’s alive.”

E!*E!*E!

Walking slowly down the deserted hall, Roy swiped a weary hand across his face.   Looking down at his watch, he wasn’t surprised to see that the hour was late, but his sense of time had been rather strange this day.  At times the minutes had seemed like hours, as they waited for an end to the bizarre situation in the diner.  Then time sped by as they struggled to treat the wounded men, and get them safely to the hospital.  Once there, time was slowed again, the seconds ticking by in minuscule increments; waiting unbearable as the worried friends and family waited for word on the injured men.  

“Roy?”

Chet and Marco waited patiently by the elevator, their faces conveying the same weariness that Roy felt.

“Are they okay, Roy?”  Marco repeated.

“Yeah.  They’re doing okay.  Mike woke up for a few minutes, but the nurse gave him something for the pain, and said he’d probably sleep ‘til morning.”

“What about Johnny?”  Chet asked.

“He’s doing a little better.  Says he has one helluva headache, though.”

“I bet,” Marco chuckled, before turning serious again.  “Dr. Brackett seemed pretty relieved after Cap woke up and started talking.”

“Yeah.  He isn’t the only one.  I sure thought we’d lost him today.”

Roy hesitated before he asked the next question. 

“Have either of you heard any news?  How many people did we lose today?”

Chet looked at the floor as he answered. 

“Six dead plus the two gun men.  Seven others critical.  I think that number includes Mike and Cap.” 

The three men stood in silence as they watched the doors slide open before them.  As Chet punched number one on the panel, they stood together, quietly contemplating the ‘what ifs’ and ‘could have beens.’   There was no need for discussion.  They would each privately mourn the lives lost and celebrate at least three that had been saved.  These men had worked together a long time; no words needed to be spoken. 

When the elevator doors finally reopened, Elly and Joanne were waiting for them.  Tensions eased; expressions no longer reflecting the strain of waiting, the group walked silently towards the parking lot.   But when they reached the edge of the sidewalk, Elly stopped suddenly.  She fiddled with the strap on her purse for a moment before raising tearful eyes to look at them.

“I just wanted to say . . .well, to say, thank you.  Every day that Hank goes off to work, I worry about all the things that might happen to him on the job:  fire, electrical shock, a fall.  But this . . . being shot while having breakfast in a local diner.  Who would think that something like this could happen right here in Carson?”

“It’s a strange world we live in,”  Joanne agreed.

“Yes.  But a good one, nonetheless.”  Elly continued, “all of you, working together.  Mike and Johnny in the restaurant, struggling to save Hank even though they were hurt themselves.  And you three . . .going down there to wait, and then being some of the first ones inside.  Now, here . . .hours later, you’re still watching out for your friends, and for me.  I guess I just wanted you to know that I’m grateful. To all of you.”

Joanne gave the woman a quick hug, while the three firemen merely exchanged passing glances.  They hadn’t done anything extraordinary, and they all knew that when Mike and Johnny were feeling better, they’d agree.  The men of ‘A’ shift were simply doing what they did best: helping others, and watching out for each other.

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