“High On Morgan Towers”
by Rosanne Esbrook-Iho (Ross) irosanne@tds.net
The Captain and crew of Los Angeles County Fire Station 51 were seated in their rec’ room, attempting to relax between back-to-back calls. The freshly poured coffee in their cups had cooled to just about drinkable—when the alarm sounded. All six men tensed up and listened.
“Squad 51…” the dispatcher began.
Squad 51’s crew of two got stiffly to their feet and started heading for the garage.
Captain Hank Stanley also stood and stepped over to the call desk.
The remaining members of the Engine crew exhaled sighs of relief and returned to their relaxing.
“Man down…unknown cause…218 West Nadine Street…Cross-streets Fourth and Grand…two-eighteen West Nadine…ambulance responding…Time Out…10:42”
“Squad 51, KMG-365…” Stanley acknowledged and passed a copy of the call on to his paramedics.
Roy DeSoto snatched the slip of paper from his Captain and passed it along to his partner, John Gage. The rescue truck exited the Station and then disappeared off down the street, lights flashing and sirens blaring.
Eleven minutes later, the Squad braked to a halt in front of a small, one-story, bluish gray house. Its driver cut the sirens. The paramedic team piled out and began pulling equipment cases from their vehicle’s side compartments.
A teenage girl emerged from 218 West Nadine, crying hysterically. “Hurry!” she shouted between sobs, “Please, hurry! It’s Donny! My boyfriend! He won’t wake up!”
The firemen obligingly followed the frantic female into the home but then abruptly halted—as an unbelievably abhorrent odor immediately overwhelmed them. The two rescuers glanced at each other and exchanged grimaces.
“What is that AWFUL sme-ell?!” Gage cautiously inquired and tried burying his nose into the short sleeve of his shirt. “Does your boyfriend keep a pet skunk?!”
“He burned some incense,” the little lady quickly explained and led them into the living room.
John caught sight of a motionless young man, sprawled across a couch and calmly concluded, “Maybe he just inhaled a little too much incense?”
“No!” their guide contradicted, “He burns the stuff all the time! It’s never affected him before!”
Seeing as how they couldn’t perform their duties while keeping their noses covered, DeSoto turned to his now coughing colleague and quickly suggested, “Better open some windows…”
His partner nodded his approval of the plan, and immediately set about getting some fresh air into the premises.
Roy set his equipment down beside John’s cases and then dropped to his knees to examine their unconscious victim. “I’m Roy. My partner’s John. What’s your name?” he calmly inquired of the still crying girl, standing at his side.
“Michelle…” she sniffled.
“What happened here, Michelle?” the paramedic pondered, as he finished his initial patient survey and began taking vital signs.
“I don’t know! I just found him here like this!” she cried, her voice rising to new levels of hysteria.
“Alright, Michelle, take it easy, okay?” Roy gently urged, not desiring to have to treat a second victim. “We’re going to do everything we possibly can for him. Does Donny have any serious medical problems or have to take any medication of any kind?”
The girl’s tear-filled eyes suddenly blazed wide with anger, “What do you mean ‘of any kind’?!” she demanded, “You think he’s tripping out?!”
John finished his assigned task and knelt between his partner and their victim’s highly agitated girlfriend. “We ask everyone these questions, Michelle. We’re not trying to accuse anyone of anything. We’re just trying to help. But, we can’t help him if we can’t find out what’s wrong with him.” He finished setting up their bio-phone and took the slip of paper his partner passed on to him. “Rampart Base, this is Squad 51…How do you read?”
“Donny isn’t on any medication…that I know of,” Michelle meekly replied.
DeSoto got to his feet. “Johnny, I didn’t find a medical alert i.d., but I think I’ll check out the medicine chest, anyway.” His partner nodded and he disappeared off down a hall.
“Unit calling in, please repeat…” Doctor Kelly Brackett finally acknowledged.
“Rampart, Squad 51. We have a male victim…approximately 18 years of age. The patient is comatose, Rampart…no known cause. He is completely unresponsive to pain stimuli. Vitals are: BP 90/40, pulse 80, respirations 10 and shallow, lungs are clear, pupils are equal but dilated and unreactive—” Gage paused as his partner stepped back into the room.
DeSoto shook his head and then started getting the oxygen and an IV ready.
“—We can’t find any evidence of a medication o.d., Rampart…” the fireman on the phone finished, sounding somewhat frustrated.
Brackett’s voice also reflected some frustration, as he passed along his orders for treatment to the two medical men in the field.
“Roger that, Rampart,” Gage acknowledged.
And, as his partner read back the doctor’s instructions, Roy set about carrying them out.
Soon, they had their victim stabilized and ready to transport. The ambulance arrived. They lifted Donny onto a stretcher and began wheeling him out of the room.
“I’m gonna look around,” John announced. “Maybe I can find some kind of a clue…”
DeSoto nodded, grabbed some essential gear and accompanied their victim out to the waiting ambulance.
“Where are they taking him?” Michelle wondered, as her boyfriend was wheeled away from her.
“Rampart General. You kin ride in with me, if yah like…” the remaining paramedic proposed.
“Thanks…That would be nice.”
“Yah know, Michelle…there’s a big difference between narc’ing on a friend—and tellin’ a doctor somethin’ that could possibly save a friend’s life…” John solemnly reminded their coma victim’s still sniffling, still silent ‘confidante’.
The girl avoided Gage’s gaze…and chose to remain silent.
The fireman finished his thorough search of the living room and exhaled a sigh of frustration.
Michelle watched, nervously, as the paramedic crossed back over to the incense container, lying open on the coffee table.
The small, brightly-colored cardboard box was emblazoned with Chinese symbols—and filled with the offensive odor producers. John picked up one of the small, black, cone-shaped cubes and made another face. “Man!” he exclaimed, “I just can’t imagine anyone actually wanting to smell this stuff!” Then, he snatched a ‘barf sack’ from one of the open cases at his feet, and began bagging the stinky stuff up for a quick trip in—to the lab at Rampart.
DeSoto was standing outside Treatment Room Two, talking with RN Dixie McCall.
“Any change?” Gage asked, as he and Donny’s girlfriend approached his partner.
Roy frowned and shook his head. “What about you? Did you find anything?”
John frowned and shook his head.
“What’s in the bag?” Dixie wondered.
Gage opened the paper sack in his hands, pulled out the ornately-decorated box and then handed her a couple a’ pieces of its smelly contents.
Miss McCall stared down at the cone-shaped objects in her hand—in complete confusion. “What’s this?”
“Incense,” John answered.
Dixie didn’t realize incense even came in a cone-shape. She had only ever seen the stuff attached to long, tapered sticks. “Sandalwood?” she wondered and took a cautious sniff.
“Would you believe polecat?” Roy sarcastically inquired.
“Uhhhhg!” the nurse exclaimed, and her pretty face scrunched up, “Yes! I would! Where did you find this stuff?”
John held the box up and Dixie rapidly replaced the foul-smelling objects. “That coma victim was burning this stuff, shortly before whatever happened to him…happened to hi—” he stopped speaking, as the two-way radio that was strapped to his left wrist, began ‘bleeping’.
“Squad 51…What is your status?”
“Dr. Brackett wants to hear more about what happened,” the nurse informed the firemen, as they locked their questioning gazes upon her.
“Dix’, this is the victim’s girlfriend, Michelle—” John introduced, “—and she knows way more than we do!” he hintingly tacked on.
“Alright,” the nurse said, as she and the paramedic exchanged knowing glances, “You two can go.”
Gage handed her the sack in his right hand. Then, he raised the radio in his left hand, and thumbed the call button, “L.A., Squad 51 is available at the hospital on follow up…” he informed the dispatcher.
“10-4, 51…Standby for a response…” Several seconds passed.
The paramedic team turned away from Treatment Two and began heading for their rescue truck. Their HT began ‘bleeping again’.
“Squad 51, assist Squad 16 and Engine 51 with man trapped on tower…459 East Morgan Towers Road…four-five-nine…East Morgan Towers Road…Ambulance and Engine responding…Time out…11:37”
The firemen piled into their vehicle, tossed their helmets on and began strapping them in place.
John used their dash-mounted radio to acknowledge the dispatcher, “Squad 51…10-4!” He replaced the radio mic’, recorded the call and then turned to his partner. “Morgan Towers Road is less than three miles from here.” The three 1,500 foot Morgan Towers, themselves, could be seen—on a smog-free day—from practically every viewing point in their little corner of L.A. County.
“Yeah…I know,” his fellow paramedic confessed, as he pulled out of the hospital’s parking lot and flicked on the truck’s lights and siren, “That’s probably why we got the call to assist.” Roy glanced in his rear-view mirror. There was an ambulance right on their tail. Both pieces of rescue equipment would be arriving at the scene—simultaneously. He could count on one hand the number of times that had happened in the past six years!
A mere four minutes later, the Morgan Towers Road sign appeared. The rescue squad’s driver turned East onto the black-topped lane and, less than a quarter mile further, he spotted what appeared to be the call scene. A man in a bright yellow hard hat was standing in the middle of an enormous paved parking lot, alternately waving his arms—and pointing upwards. Roy braked to a halt and cut their siren.
“I told him not to do it! I told him!” the arm waver told the two firemen as they exited their rescue truck, and kept right on pointing skywards.
The paramedics shielded their eyes against the sun’s glare and looked up…and up…and up—to where their semi-hysterical host was pointing. Gage and DeSoto whistled, softly. More than three quarters of the way to the top of the middle tower, they could make out the motionless figure of a man, dangling by a security harness.
“He must’ve gone up to change the warning lights!” the guy in the hard hat continued, “I told him not to do it! But, he just wouldn’t listen!”
“What happened?” Roy wondered, as he and his partner began pulling various compartments open and grabbing their high rescue gear.
“I don’t know! He’s too old to be doing that kind of thing! Maybe his heart gave out on him!”
The paramedics finished donning their security belts.
DeSoto turned to the ambulance attendants, “We’ll lower him down! If 16’s aren’t here when he reaches the ground, you guys take him straight in! We’re only three minutes away!”
The attendants nodded.
Gage threw two heavy coils of rope over his head and shoulder, and began trotting towards the base of their victim’s tower.
DeSoto did likewise.
From a distance, the towers were impressive. Up close—they were truly intimidating! The rescuers skirted their way around several of the tower’s anchor cables, and a security guard waved them through a gate in the base’s fenced in perimeter.
“I’ll go first,” John volunteered as they at last reached the ladder. “You stop half-way up. I’ll lower him to you. You lower him to 16’s.”
Roy nodded his approval of their proposed plan of action.
Gage climbed the six steps, leading up to the first rung and then carefully started scaling the giant erector set. The climbing was easy, and in no time at all, the fireman found himself several hundred feet above the ground. ‘I sure hope they have a good maintenance crew,’ he somberly thought as he latched onto another rung. Approaching sirens could be heard over the sound of the wind rushing past his ears. The coils of rope were becoming increasingly heavy and the muscles in his arms and shoulders were really beginning to ache, so the lead rescuer decided to take a break. He clipped his security belt to the ladder and looked down. Roy had chosen to stop and rest his arms, as well. His partner was perched about 150 rungs down from him. Five hundred and some feet below, a very little engine—and another, even smaller rescue squad—pulled up alongside their tiny-looking vehicle. The sirens ceased their wailing, and itty bitty bodies began exiting the trucks. ‘They look like toys!’ the resting paramedic mused. ‘I’ll have to remember to tell Mike that Big Red don’t look so big from up here…’ he added, smiling to himself. “Enough sight-seeing!” he spoke into the wind. John unclipped his safety clamp and started climbing again. He noticed it was becoming a bit breezier, and the tower was swaying slightly, so he gripped the rungs a little tighter.
At the thousand foot level, Gage secured himself to another rung, to give his complaining limbs another break—and his oxygen starved lungs a little breather. The panting paramedic kept his gaze level, this time, and took in the awesome site’s awesome sights. L.A. County was experiencing a rare, relatively smog-free day and the already breathless climber found his unrestricted view to be even more breathtaking! Straight ahead, he could see Rampart. From where the fireman stood—the huge hospital appeared to be an architect’s model. To his left, a pretty, blue Pacific Ocean stretched endlessly off to the horizon. To his right, were the foothills of the Sierra Nevada’s. A few of the mountain range’s snow-capped peaks were even visible from that altitude. Though, he could barely make them out through the brown haze. The tower’s tourist unclipped and began the last leg of his long climb.
At around fourteen hundred and some feet above the ground, the lead rescuer finally reached their still-not-stirring victim. The paramedic climbed right level with the completely motionless man and clipped his clamp securely to the ladder. Even though he knew he wouldn’t fall, John still had an incredibly difficult time letting go of the ladder’s rung, to perform his initial patient survey. ‘No respirations…no pulse…pupils fixed and dilated…’ he mentally noted, and then solemnly said, “Dead…” With the sense of urgency now gone, the weary rescuer allowed himself to rest—again. The body retriever then tied his two 500’ coils of rope together. He wrapped a loose end around a ladder rung a few times and then secured it to the dead man’s safety harness. “HEADS UP!” he shouted into the wind before unslinging both of his heavy burdens and allowing them to drop. The thousand feet of rope rapidly uncoiled on it’s way down.
Seven hundred some feet below, his partner couldn’t hear the warning. But, DeSoto saw the rope coming, and ducked. It smacked his helmet and continued its descent for another three hundred feet or so.
Meanwhile, back up at over 1,400 feet above the ground, Gage pulled his leather gloves on. The paramedic carefully lifted the victim and released his safety clamp. He allowed the dead weight to rest against his legs while he finished establishing his belay. Gradually, the rope began slipping…around John’s waist, through his gloved hands and around and around and around the ladder rung…which led to their victim’s body being slowly and carefully lowered.
After what seemed like forever, the dangling form finally reached Roy’s position. As their victim came within reach, DeSoto grabbed the guy’s clamp and clipped it to the ladder. He had his ropes all set to go, but—first—he assessed the motionless man’s condition. ‘No respirations…no pulse…pupils fixed and dilated,’ he sadly noted…and then somberly said, “Dead…”
Back over in Rampart General’s Emergency Receiving Ward, Dr. Kelly Brackett was standing in front of a lit screen in Treatment Two, viewing his coma patient’s skull series of x-rays. He finished reading the guy’s films and flicked the screen’s light off. The completely baffled physician turned to his equally mystified medical team and exhaled a loud gasp of exasperation. They were fighting a losing battle. No matter what they did, the patient continued to slip away. The young man’s nervous system was shutting down, and they had yet to find some clue as to why this was even occurring! “Alright, let’s get him up to ICU!” Donny’s doctor ordered. “If anybody needs me, I’ll be over in the waiting room, questioning this guy’s girlfriend…again! ” he glumly added and then disappeared.
Michelle saw Donny’s doctor exiting the treatment room and went running up to him, “How is he?!” she anxiously inquired.
Kel grabbed the girl by the elbow, escorted her over to a bench near the Nurses’ Station and sat her down. “Michelle it’s terribly important that we know what happened to Donny…” he hinted and took the seat beside her.
Michelle began crying again, as the dark-haired paramedic’s words replayed in her head. ‘Yah know, Michelle…there’s a big difference between narc’ing on a friend—and tellin’ a doctor somethin’ that could possibly save a friend’s life…’ “Is Donny going to die?” she managed to inquire, between sniffles.
“He’s going deeper and deeper into a coma. If we can’t find something to treat…Yes! Donny’s going to die…” Brackett added, desiring to put it bluntly. There was simply no time left for ‘sugar-coating’.
“I didn’t want him to get in any trouble…” Michelle sobbed, and slipped her hand into the right front pocket of her jeans. She pulled a little glass bottle out and began passing it to Donny’s doctor. Suddenly, her trembling hand froze and she stopped crying.
Brackett pried the bottle from her fingers, removed its cover, took a cautious sniff of its contents—and grimaced. “What is this stuff?!” he demanded.
But, Michelle completely ignored him. She seemed, suddenly, to be a billion miles away.
Bracket replaced the bottle’s cap and shook the girl—not too gently, “What’s in the bottle, Michelle?” he anxiously re-demanded. “Michelle?! Did Donny take any of this?!”
The zombie-like girl groaned and doubled up.
Dixie, who’d been watching events unfold, stepped out from behind her counter. “Easy, Kel…” she urged, “I think she’s spaced out.” She grabbed the groaning girl by the shoulders and straightened her back up.
“She was completely sober just a second ago!” the doctor exclaimed, pooh-poohing the nurse’s diagnosis.
“He burned it…” Michelle told them, speaking in slow-motion. “He burned it…” she repeated, and made a face. “It smelled so-o bad…” She was really flying high, now! “He b u r n e d it….and it burned hi—” she stopped speaking and started screaming—hysterically! “FIRE! FI-IRE!” she shouted, and began slapping at the imaginary flames that were lapping at her pant legs.
“Dix! Get this to the lab—STAT!” Brackett ordered and passed the little bottle off to the nurse, so he could have both hands free to deal with their obviously tripping-out patient.
The nurse nodded and headed for the lab.
Two orderlies came over to render their assistance, towing an empty gurney. The three of them somehow managed to get the still-screaming-at-the-top-of-her-lungs girl up onto it. Then, they strapped her down and hauled her into the nearest available treatment room.
Michelle caught sight of the exam room’s bright, over-head light and instantly stopped screaming. Her eyes, once filled with horror, were now wide with wonder. “Ohhhh…Wo-ow! How b e a u t i f u l the sun is!” she exclaimed with a broad smile. “G O L D E N…G o l d e n…golden!”
“Kel!” Dr. Joe Early called out, as he came strolling into the exam room, waving a lab report, “They found a high concentration of lysergic acid in his blood. He’s apparently taken LSD or some other hallucinogenic drug…What happened to her?” he curiously inquired, as he suddenly caught sight of the guy’s girlfriend—strapped to a hospital gurney.
Brackett finished his initial exam and glanced up, “Ah, seems he burned the stuff and inhaled the smoke. She must’ve breathed a little of the smo—” Kel clammed up, as a rather horrifying thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘What if everyone who went into the room inhaled some of the drug? The paramedics! The ambulance attendants!’ He grabbed Early’s arm, “Joe! Find the attendants who brought him in!”
Early understood—immediately, and went racing from the room.
Brackett ran over to a phone on the wall. “Get me an outside line!” he ordered. “Get me the Fire Department! This is an emergency!”
Roy had begun lowering their victim to the ground. He stopped, suddenly feeling very dizzy—almost drunk! He squinted and shook his head, in an unsuccessful attempt to clear it.
John had decided to give his arms another brief rest before starting back down. He felt the tower swaying, and noticed he was becoming a little dizzy and light-headed. In fact, he was beginning to feel drunk! ‘Oh, great! Just what I need!’ he thought, sarcastically, ‘I must be getting motion sickness!’ He looked down the ladder and smiled, wryly. ‘I sure hope—for Roy’s sake—that I don’t have to ‘ralph’!’
“Engine 51…” the County Dispatcher’s voice suddenly sounded.
Captain Hank Stanley slid the handy-talky from the right side-pocket of his turnout coat and thumbed the call button, “Engine 51…Go ahead, L.A.”
“Engine 51…request the where-abouts of Squad 51 paramedics…Firemen John Gage and Roy DeSoto.”
Stanley squinted up at the middle tower. “L.A., Engine 51. Gage and DeSoto are with us—here at the scene.”
“10-4, Engine 51…request you transport them both to Rampart General Hospital—immediately!”
The Captain’s already slightly elevated eyebrows arched even higher.
The dispatcher continued, “There is a strong possibility that they have both been exposed to an hallucinogenic drug, and may suffer a delayed reaction…Time out…12:08”
Stanley stared down at the radio—then, up at the middle tower. Gage and DeSoto’s Captain cursed aloud, and a look of complete horror crossed his pallid face. He slipped the HT back into his coat pocket—without signing off—and snatched up a bull-horn. “Bring me a security belt!” he ordered, on his way over to the middle tower’s base. “Kelly! Lopez! I want you to don some belts, too!” Station 51’s Commander then shouted into the bull-horn—in his most commanding voice, “Roy! Listen to me! Secure the rope and don’t move! That’s an order!” Stanley shed his turn-out and donned his security belt, all the while, explaining the situation to the rest of his crew.
Seven hundred and some feet up the middle tower, DeSoto heard his Captain’s shouted order. Roy had already secured the rope. He’d had to! He was too dizzy to do anything else! ‘Must be the altitude…’ he thought and looked down the ladder. Everything was spinning—all the colors were coming together. He smiled, “Man! That’s really pretty!” he quietly proclaimed, as the blending colors produced new—more brilliant hues. ‘I wish Johnny could see this!’ he mused and looked up the ladder.
Another seven hundred feet or so above him, John Gage was feeling very, very good. He leaned back and stared up the ladder. ‘I wonder what it’s like at the top?’ He saw the sun spinning around the tower. Or, maybe the tower was spinning around the sun? ‘Maybe I’m spinning around?’ he amusedly mused. He threw his head back and grinned, “Who cares!” he told the wind. He tapped one of the tower’s braces, ‘Man! What a glorified set of monkey bars!’ he suddenly, and silently, realized and quickly came up with a truly terrific idea. He decided he was going to climb down the braces…o-or, perhaps slide down one of the anchor cables. He wrapped both arms around the brace and tried throwing his left leg over it. He couldn’t…He was stuck to the ladder.
“I’m going up for John!” Stanley stated and started climbing, “Chet! You come up behind me and get Roy down! Marco, you follow Chet and finish lowering the vi—”
“Hey, Cap!” Mike Stoker suddenly shouted and pointed up.
Stanley and his ladder crew shielded their eyes against the sun’s bright glare and looked up the tower. They spotted Gage—trying to climb out onto a brace. Their Captain cursed again and then quickly recommenced his climbing.
Stanley and Kelly climbed right on by the dangling victim. By the time they reached Roy’s position, Marco had the dead guy on the ground with 16’s paramedics.
“You just take it easy, Roy…” the Captain urged, as he climbed carefully past the spacey paramedic and clipped his belt securely to the ladder, about three rungs above DeSoto’s helmeted head.
Chet climbed right level with Roy and fastened his safety clamp, too.
DeSoto was staring blankly—off into the distance…and smiling. The paramedic appeared to be completely oblivious of his company.
“Roy? I’m gonna lower you down, now…so, you just relax, okay?” Kelly told him as he finished rigging his belay. The fireman felt really stupid saying that, because his zoned colleague couldn’t possibly get any more relaxed.
“Why are you shouting?” Roy wondered, “Why are all the colors so bright?” He looked down the ladder. Flames were everywhere! Golden, orange, bright red flames were dancing on the rungs, just below his feet. “Why is everything on fi-ire?” he pondered of no one in particular.
“I’m gonna have to lift you a little to get your clamp off—” Kelly warned—in a whisper. He released Roy’s safety clip and began belaying him below.
“NO-O!” DeSoto screamed and clung to a rung—for dear life! “It’s burning down there!”
Chet looked helplessly up at his Captain, and shrugged.
Stanley exhaled an exasperated sigh. Precious moments passed.
John saw three, itty-bitty people on the ladder—seven hundred feet below him. Below them, was another person…even ittier and bittier than them. “Itty-bitty…like ants!” He stiffened, “Uhhhhg!” There were bugs crawling all over the ladder rung, just beneath his feet! He turned and tried to climb higher—but he was still stuck to the ladder. He looked up at the sun and forgot all about the bugs. “B E A U T I F U L !” he shouted into the wind. Why hadn’t he ever noticed how beautiful the sun is before? “B E A U T I F U L !” he shouted again, in slow motion, “And full of warm…wishy-washy…colors!” He grinned and rolled his head around. The wind in his face made him feel like he was flying. He had the irresistible urge to let go of the ladder…
Chet suddenly had an idea. “Hey, Ro-oy? Can you see the diamonds down there?” he dramatically inquired, “Diamonds! Sparkling in the sun!” He saw his Captain’s brow arch skeptically and shrugged again.
As DeSoto stared down the ladder, the flames turned to crystals. Colors radiated from the crystals and separated into breathtaking hues of yellow and gold. ‘Like prisms,’ he thought. “Crystals! M A G N I F I C E N T!” he declared and let go of the ladder.
Kelly glanced smugly up at the skeptic, “Right, Roy! There are magnificent crystals down there, and I’m gonna lower you so you can take a closer look…” Chet wasn’t sure the paramedic was listening anymore, but at least he wasn’t protesting.
“Think you can manage alone?” Stanley asked.
Kelly looked up and nodded. He saw John jump off the ladder—and his heart just about stopped! He shouted a warning to his Captain and then ducked. Gage’s helmet went sailing by.
Stanley looked up and saw the paramedic dangling—but still secured to the ladder. He unclipped the bull-horn from his belt…
The fireman at the fourteen hundred and some foot level was frowning. When he let go of the ladder, the only thing that went flying was his helmet! He didn’t even fall! He just hung there! Something had him around the waist. He peered down and spotted the culprit. “I’ll just take this belt off…and then I bet I kin fly!” he reasoned, and began fumbling with the belt’s buckle. He stopped, as he heard someone calling him from far, far away. “Who’s there?!” he asked the wind.
“John! Don’t move! That’s an order!” his Captain repeated, then he replaced the horn, unclipped his safety clamp, and began climbing—as rapidly as safety, and his waning strength, would allow.
“Who’s there?!” Gage repeated, and glanced around again. But, the completely baffled fireman still couldn’t find a body to go with the voice. He forgot all about the belt buckle—a-and the mysterious voice. The tower braces were glittering in the sun. He crawled back up onto the ladder to watch the giant sparklers. “Awesome!” he pronounced and slowly reached out. As he touched the brace, the sparkling stopped. “Oh, darn!” His disappointment was fleeting, as the gently swaying tower began to glow. He stared back up at earth’s star, and smiled. It was spinning around the tower again. He watched it spin wave after wave of golden color. He wanted to get closer, so he started up the ladder. Once again, he found himself stuck. He looked down…it was that pesky belt. He released the rung and began fumbling with the buckle—once more.
“No, John! Don’t move! That’s an order!”
There was that mysterious voice again! And, it sounded like it was getting closer. The fireman stopped fumbling with the buckle and looked down the ladder. Fifty yards away, and climbing fast, was his Captain. “Help me, Cap!” John shouted down to him, “I’m stuck to this ladder!”
“Gage! Don’t move!” Stanley called out as he climbed. He could see John reaching for his safety belt’s buckle again. “I gave you…an order, Mister!” he shouted breathlessly, “FREE-EEZE!”
The fireman fro-oze.
Stanley reached the paramedic’s position—at lo-ong last! The Captain attached his safety clamp to the rung above John’s and allowed his completely spent arms to drop limply to his sides. Hank just hung there. He was breathing too hard to speak.
Gage flashed him a grin and looked up the ladder, “I’m going up…to touch the sun!” he announced, in a most care-free manner.
The Captain placed a hand on each of the paramedic’s shoulders, “I have a better idea, pal!” he gasped, “Why don’t we both go down…and touch the ground!”
‘The ground?’ John mentally repeated. Gee, he hadn’t really given much thought to the grou-ound…He leaned back and looked down the ladder. Brilliant streaks of color were running together and spinning off in all directions, like a giant kaleidoscope. As he stared, the colors began to fade. “My head hurts…” he suddenly realized, and raised a hand to his throbbing forehead. “Oh-oh, Man! My head really hurts!” he groaned. One moment, everything was glittering…the next, everything was growing dimmer. “Oh-oh,” the paramedic continued moaning, and closed his eyes, “My head…my head…”
“Take it easy, pal,” his Captain told him, “We’ll get you to the hospital.” Stanley unfastened the rope from the ladder, wrapped it around a rung a few times and then tied the loose end to John’s security belt. “All set?” he wondered as he slipped his leather gloves on.
Gage’s only answer was a groan.
Hank could see that his young friend was really ‘out’ of it…kind a’ semiconscious. He lifted the limp form, released his security clamp and started lowering away. Gradually, he allowed the rope to slide around his waist, and through his gloved hands—so gradually, that it seemed to take forever for the paramedic to reach Kelly’s position. Finally, he felt a tug on the rope. Stanley exhaled a long sigh of relief and fastened the rope to a rung to rest the badly abused muscles in his arms. He’d really overdone it and he was sure he’d be feelin’ this for at least a week—maybe even longer! For the first time, he allowed himself to look around. The view was incredible! The tower was swaying in the wind. ‘It’s exhilarating!’ he thought, ‘Like bein’ up in a glider with an open cockpit!’ He heard sirens wailing in the distance. Man! He’d just come awful close to losing two of his men—two very good men—two very good friends! Stanley stared out across the ocean and stood there, hoping he’d never come that close again! He exhaled another sigh of extreme relief and let himself be overwhelmed by the serenity which surrounded him. ‘I’m going up…to touch the sun!’ John had said. “Ridiculous!” Station 51’s Commander realized aloud. He looked up the ladder and squinted. The sun was directly overhead. ‘It certainly does look like it’s close enough to touch…’ For an instant, he was tempted. “Nahhh!” Stanley muttered under his breath. He tied the rope to his belt, released his clamp, and started down—instead!
Brackett had pronounced the first tower victim DOA. The doctor suspected a massive MI (myocardial infarction=heart attack) or a CVA (cerebral vascular accident=brain hemorrhage=stroke) to be the cause of death. An autopsy would show for sure. As for the tower’s second and third victims? Although Gage and DeSoto were no longer hallucinating, they were still hypersensitive to light and sound—and pain! The two firemen had been poked and prodded and tested and retested--and put to bed for observation, until the test results were in and could be studied.
Dixie McCall paid her two favorite paramedics a visit. “Have you seen tonight’s paper?” the woman wondered, as she came strolling into their shared hospital room, smiling and waving a newspaper.
Gage winced in pain and pitifully pondered of their pretty—loud, and entirely too cheerful, guest, “Do you hafta shout?”
“No…Why?” his roomy wondered.
“Listen to this—” their visitor invited—in a whisper. “Firemen Get HIGH On Morgan Towers…”
Roy’s already pained expression became even more pained.
John pulled a sheet over his head, “I don’t wanna hear it!” he told their grinning visitor, in a slightly muffled voice.
Dixie’s grin broadened. “I understand the Associated Press Wire Service has even picked it up! You two are national celebrities!”
The undercover fireman’s head popped clear—for the moment. “Yah know, for a nurse…you kin be awfully cruel!”
Dixie’s devious eyes sparkled and she was forced to chuckle—softly.
“Have you read it?” DeSoto wondered.
“Only three or four times!” the woman answered.
“Is it very…embarrassing?” the curious paramedic further pondered.
“Would you like to hear it?”
“No-o!” John replied and went back undercover.
Roy gave it some thought and then said, “Yeah…sure…why not…It can’t possibly make me feel any worse than I already feel.”
“Wanna bet?!” the body buried in his bedcovers blurted, “Do me a favor, will yah, and read it to yourself!”
“I can’t. My eyes hurt too much,” his roomy replied, by way of reminder. “Go ahead, Dix…”
Dixie read them the newspaper account. She got to the last paragraph, her mood sobered—considerably. “Finally—” she read, “—the residents of Los Angeles County should be thankful that the two firefighter paramedics, John Gage and Roy DeSoto, are not going with Donald Devron on his 3rd and final trip of the day—to the County Morgue. Mr. Devron slipped into a deep coma and never regained consciousness.”
The room’s occupants were quiet for some time.
“I bet Captain Stanley and the guys get a unit citation out of this…” the senior paramedic proposed.
“Yeah…” his junior partner pouted, from beneath his bed sheets, “And all we get out of it is a headache!”
Roy and Dixie glanced at each other…and grinned.
The End
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