by Icabu

Paramedic Johnny Gage held the oxygen mask to the soot smeared face of the firefighter from 110’s. The fully engulfed old apartment building had wakened three stations from peaceful slumber at 0247 that chilly morning. Almost wistfully, Johnny watched as knots of adrenaline buzzed firefighters charged into the dying building. The residents had gotten out with the clothes on their backs and Johnny’s comrades charged in to tame the beast.

Johnny tried to quell his resentment of First Aid duty that Captain Stanley had bestowed upon him with their arrival at the fully involved building. If he was cleared for duty from the chest cold that had kept him out last shift, he should be able to accompany his partner into the building. He didn’t like the unsettled feeling as his shift mates, especially his partner, disappeared into the smoke and flames.

A cool, pre-dawn breeze blew dense smoke from the flame engulfed building across the seemingly chaotic collection of trucks tethered to the men inside by umbilical-like lengths of hose. Johnny hacked a chest-rattling cough into the crook of his arm, cursing the radiant pain in his chest.

"You been in there that long?" his patient asked.

"Huh?"

"That hack. Your air run out or something?"

"Oh," Johnny said, and shrugged. "Not this time," he admitted, "getting over a cold."

"How long you been on the job?"

Johnny removed the mask, almost wanting to take a hit for himself. He noticed the youth behind the soot smears and grinned. "Long enough," he said. "How are you feeling now?"

Jumping up, the young man gave Johnny a sideways glance. "Better than you," he smirked and jogged over to his engine and shift mates.

Sighing, Johnny turned off the oxygen tank and stared longingly at the hive of activity around the building, recognizing members of his crew as groups shuffled in and out. The familiar jitter of excitement tingled in his stomach. The same excitement that had drawn him into this career … well, more years ago than he’d like to admit. Even though he’d turned to the adventure of the paramedic program, the exhilaration of running into a burning building with nothing but wits, bravado, and a charged line still churned in his blood.

A rumble from the building raised the activity level several degrees. The billow of dust filled smoke from the building’s windows spewed like a death wheeze. "Shit," Johnny exclaimed. Automatically, his gaze scanned the scene, looking for the familiar. He ticked off all but two: Marco and Roy. The tightness now in his chest had little to do with his recent illness.

Slipping on his helmet and gloves, Johnny raced into the building. Nearly blinded by the smothering smoke and dust from the terminal condition of the building, Johnny called out. "Roy! Marco!" He held his arm over his nose and mouth, trying to filter the unbreathable particles. Some sensibility in the back of his mind mentally kicked him for not grabbing an air pack first. He hacked and waded into the disaster.

"Roy! Marco!" Johnny called and hacked and stumbled, following hoses on the floor as if they were the yellow brick road.

A shadowy figure emerged from the haze in front of Johnny. The number on the firefighter’s skewed helmet was 68, not 51.

"Have you seen a crew from 51’s?" Johnny asked.

The masked firefighter raised his hand and pointed behind him.

Nodding, Johnny turned the slightly dazed firefighter towards the exit. "About fifty feet that way."

Johnny forged ahead, deeper into the groaning and crumbling building. He stopped, hacking, his lungs protesting the lack of clean air.

Running into Marco Lopez, literally, Johnny’s edginess eased. Marco had another firefighter’s arm slung around his shoulder, helping the other man walk.

"Marco!" Relief flooded Johnny’s raspy voice. Then he noticed the man with the bloodied face was not Roy.

"Where’s Roy?" Johnny asked, a brush of worry tingling his spine.

"Should be right behind me."

Johnny had to listen closely to Marco’s muffled voice, envious of the air mask. Quickly checking the bleeding man’s injuries, Johnny didn’t find anything alarming. Nodding, he pointed behind him. "Seventy-five feet that way." Getting out would help him most, Johnny thought.

Marco nodded in return, understanding. He shuffled along with the other firefighter.

"Roy!" Johnny called, hacking more and more. He inched his way along, dodging chunks of debris littering the floor.

Johnny’s foot kicked something that clanged with a familiar sound. Reaching down, he groped until his hand found the object. His heart jumped when he brought it into view – a dusty helmet with the number 51 on the front. He remembered that Marco had his helmet on, so this had to be Roy’s.

"Roy!" Johnny called, several times, between bouts of hacking coughs.

After a couple more steps, Johnny felt a tug on his pants leg. He knelt down and found his partner. With great relief, he pulled Roy to his feet.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" asked Johnny. He steadied his partner, but Roy seemed to be holding himself up.

Roy shook his head. "Air bottle damaged, tossed it." He coughed, leaning more on Johnny. "Not hurt."

Johnny grabbed Roy around the waist and they hurried out of the building as fast as they could stumble. The relative fresh air as they reached the exit was almost overwhelming. Johnny steered his coughing partner past the blasting monitors that attacked the remaining flames from the safety outside.

"There you two are," Captain Stanley said. "When Lopez told me you’d gone in there, Gage …" The captain of Station 51 stopped his rant and took Roy DeSoto, Chet Kelly grabbed John Gage, and led the paramedics to Mike Stoker’s Engine 51.

Sitting on yellow blankets, their eyes rinsed and oxygen flushing their lungs, Johnny and Roy watched the bustling activity around the gutted building. The fire extinguished, firefighters rolled lengths of now limp hose and stored them on the quietly idling trucks.

"I heard you, you know," Roy said, his voice a raspy whisper.

"Huh?" Johnny returned, his voice barely a squeak.

"Your cough," Roy explained. "Like the night we sent you home because your cough was keeping us all awake? I heard it in there." Roy nodded toward the dark, windowless hulk of the building. "I knew it was you. You’d come to get me."

Johnny rolled his irritated, bloodshot eyes toward his partner. The mask hid his grin, but he raised his hand and gave a thumbs-up.

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August Picture 2010