This story is an answer to the wandering ride along challenge. So as requested….

Last Man Standing or

Then There Was One

by Linda2

For once John was keeping his mouth shut. He had known the guy was bad news from the start. He was the last man standing, he reflected now, as he watched his crewmate’s replacements eating breakfast. He shook his head, sighing to himself. One shift, with the help of a mustang, a cat, a dog and a snake, was all it had taken one ride along to decimate the crew of Station 51’s A-Shift. No, not even one whole shift.

The morning before had started out as a bright clear fall day. One of those rare days when the sky was an intense blue without the increasingly present haze hanging over the city. John had driven to work with a feeling of well being, his truck window open so the wind could blow through his hair. Arriving at the station he had quickly changed and lined up with his crewmates when Cap had called them.

Standing beside Captain Stanley was a young man. John had known instantly that he was going to be trouble. Maybe it was instinct and maybe it was the expression on the guy’s face, which reminded him uncomfortably of Brice. He even wore the same wire rim glasses as Brice. John had had a sinking feeling this young man would be as meticulously by-the-book and hard nosed as Brice was, too. That was all they needed another Craig Brice. Brice, John had thought, the paramedic without a heart, the man no one could convince that doing the job right did not always mean doing things exactly by the book. They did not call Brice the ‘walking encyclopedia’ for nothing. Roy and he had had Brice for a replacement partner often enough to know there was no way to keep from being completely exasperated by him. John had hoped that the young man was not going to ride along with the squad. His hopes were quickly dashed when Cap spoke.

“Men this is Harold Ritchie,” Cap said. “He’s Councilman Ritchie’s son. He’s going to be riding along with the squad today. He’s thinking about entering the fire academy with an eye toward becoming a paramedic. Councilman Ritchie thought it would be a good idea for him to ride along with a paramedic crew and get an idea what they do firsthand.”

John knew by the tone of Cap’s voice what he thought about Councilmen and their sons asking for special favors, but he also noted that the young man seemed to be totally oblivious to it. Harold stood beside the captain looking smug and overly pleased with himself. When the morning announcements and chore assignments were finished, John and Roy approached the young man.

“Good morning,” Roy said, approaching the young man with his hand outstretched. Harold regarded Roy’s hand owlishly for a split second before he shook it.

“Good morning,” he said in response to Roy’s greeting. John extended his hand and Harold shook it also.

“I’m Roy and this is John,” Roy continued.

“You don’t use last names all the time?” Harold asked looking slightly shocked.

“No,” Roy said, “not all the time.”

“Oh, well, my friend’s older brother is a firefighter paramedic and he says it’s best to always use last names all the time. It prevents confusion in a crisis situation,” Harold explained.

John’s heart sank. “This friend of yours, his last name wouldn’t happen to be Brice would it?” he asked.

“Yes,” Harold replied. “How did you know?”

“I know his older brother,” John replied.

“So, shall we give you the tour, Harold?” Roy asked, changing the subject before anything more could be said about Brice or last names.

“Ritchie.” The young man said decisively.

“Ritchie?” Roy asked sounding as dismayed as John felt.

“Yes, I think Craig…um…Brice is right,” the young man explained. “It probably is best to use last names all the time.” He looked from one to the other of them solemnly.

“Okay,” Roy said, conceding the point without argument. John did not blame him, he knew, from experience, that with someone like this young man, arguing would be a waste of time. “Alright then, Ritchie,” Roy continued. “How about that tour?”

“A good idea, DeSoto,” Harold had said, looking more like Brice every second. They had shown him around the station and the squad. They had gotten him a turnout coat and a helmet to wear. They were doing the beginning of shift supply check when they first noticed Harold had a problem. He was very easily distracted. Roy was in the middle of explaining to him in basic, general terms about the supplies when Harold caught site of Mike polishing the chrome on Big Red. Harold abandoned Roy in mid-sentence to go and observe Mike’s polishing technique more closely. Roy and John exchanged shrugs and went on with their morning routine.

When they had finished all their checks, they decided they needed to make a supply run to Rampart. John pried Harold away from his lecture to Mike on exactly how the chrome should be polished. Mike was a patient man, but John could see that he was quickly reaching the end of his patience.

“Harold, um, Ritchie,” John said, “We need to go to Rampart for supplies.”

“Okay,” Harold said, then turned back to Mike.

“You’re coming with us,” John said.

“Oh. Okay,” the Brice clone said as he walked over to the squad. John opened the door and held it for Harold to get in.

“You’re in the middle,” he said when the young man hesitated to get into the squad. When they were all in the squad, Roy started up the engine and they left on their supply run.

At the hospital, they introduced the young man to Dixie. After a few moment’s conversation she looked at John and raised an eyebrow in a quizzical expression. Obviously she had seen the same resemblance the two paramedics had. John could only shrug. Roy had begun getting the supplies they needed. John, seeing a nurse he had been trying to meet, sauntered over to talk to her. Dixie was called into a treatment room. Harold followed her.

In the treatment room, Dr. Brackett was tending to a patient who had just come in. A gash ran across the man’s forehead. Dr. Brackett was preparing to suture the wound when he noticed someone standing very close to him. Looking at the young man he asked, “Who, are you? What are you doing here? Dixie what is this young man doing here?”

Dixie seeing that Harold had followed her into the treatment room and was now standing next to Dr. Brackett, Dixie walked over to him and took his arm. “Harold, you…” she started.

“Ritchie.” The young man interrupted. “I just wanted to see what the doctor was doing. Is he going to have to put stitches in that wound? It sure does look like it needs stitches. Can’t I watch? I won’t get in the way.”

As he spoke, Dixie practically dragged him to the door. Seeing John standing, talking with one her nurses, she called to him. When he came over she said. “You’d better keep a closer eye on this young man.”

“What did he do?” John asked, surprised.

“He followed me into the treatment room. Dr. Brackett wasn’t to happy with him being in there,” Dixie replied, then disappeared back into the treatment room.

“Bri….Ritchie, why did you follow her in there?” John asked.

“I thought it might be interesting.” Harold said. “It looked interesting, I only wish they had let me watch. I think Dr. Brackett was going to put stitches in that man’s forehead.”

“Ritchie you don’t go anywhere unless Roy or I are with you,” John said. “Especially not into treatment rooms where Dr. Brackett is with a patient.”

“Why?”

“Just take my word for it,” John said. “Dr. Brackett is not a man you want to get mad at you.” Though John now knew Dr. Brackett for the kindhearted doctor he was, he knew from previous experiences how formidable the doctor could be when crossed.

“What’s going on?” Roy asked, approaching with his box of supplies.

“Harold followed Dixie into the treatment room. Dr. Brackett’s in there,” John explained.

“It was very interesting,” Harold said once more. “Dr. Brackett is going to put stitches in the wound on that man’s forehead.”

“Why weren’t you watching him?” Roy asked John as they walked down the hall and out the doors ignoring Harold.

“I thought you were,” John replied.

“What gave you that idea?” Roy asked as they approached the squad and began loading the supplies into the compartment. “I was getting the supplies. What were you doing?”

“There’s this new nurse…” John began. Roy rolled his eyes. He looked around to see where their ride along was. Harold was nowhere in sight.

“Where is Ritchie?” he asked suddenly, interrupting John’s description of the new nurse.

“I don’t know,” John replied, looking around.

“Well, go find him!” Roy said in disgust.

It started with Marco; he had been the first casualty. The whole station had been involved in the first run of the day. It was a two-car traffic accident that did not amount to much, medically speaking. Neither driver was seriously injured. One man had been trapped in his car and had had to be extricated. The other was shaken up and had several cuts and contusions. The drivers were the only ones in the cars at the time of the accident.

John was busy helping to extricate the first driver while Roy examined the other driver. Harold watched the proceedings for a while and then he caught sight of a car parked down the street, a Mustang, his dream car. Walking down the street to take a closer look at the car, he became absorbed in his examination of it. After he had been examining the car for several minutes, Cap noticed Harold was missing. Upon seeing Harold, down the road, looking at the car, Cap called to him. Harold did not respond to Cap’s call. He was not sure if Harold was too absorbed in his examination of the car or if he was too far away.

“Marco,” Cap said pointing down the street. “Go get him.”

“Sure, Cap,” Marco said blithely and trotted off towards Harold. By this time he had opened the car door and was actually sitting in the car. Before Marco could get to him the car’s owner had come out of a neighboring shop. Needless to say, the man was very upset to see Harold sitting in his car.

“Hey, you,” he yelled. “Get outta my car!”

Marco got to the man just as he made a lunge at Harold. Marco placed himself between the advancing man and the car.

“Hey, now,” Marco said, hoping to avoid a confrontation with the man, “he’s not doing any harm.” The man pushed Marco aside, growling. Marco tried again, placing himself between the two.

Having heard the commotion, Cap and Mike, followed by Officer Vince Howard, were on their way to help Marco when they saw the man draw back his fist and hit Marco. Marco fell, hitting his head on the concrete sidewalk. Upon Cap and Mike’s arrival, Cap quickly examined Marco, who was unconscious. “Mike, go get Roy or John!” Cap exclaimed.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” the man said, kneeling down beside Marco, suddenly contrite.

Roy had just finished with his patient, who was in the ambulance waiting to be transported to Rampart. He followed Mike to where Marco was lying. Marco had regained consciousness and was groggily trying to sit up. Cap was holding him down. By this time Harold was standing beside the car watching the proceedings in his owlishly solemn way. Vince was talking to Harold and the man who had hit Marco.

“What happened?” Roy asked as he knelt down beside Marco and Cap.

“I hit him,” the man said remorsefully, “I didn’t mean to hurt him. He got in my way. I thought the kid was going to steal my car.”

“He was unconscious when I got here,” Cap said to Roy as the paramedic began his examination of Marco. When he ran his hand over the back of Marco’s head, he felt a knot and something wet and sticky. He was not surprised on closer examination to find that Marco had a cut on the back of his head. He didn’t have to ask if Marco’s head hurt. The way he winced when Roy touched the knot on the back of his head testified to that.

“It looks like you probably have a concussion, Marco.” Roy said.

John had finished with his patient and hurried over to see what all the commotion was about.

Seeing him Roy said, “John get Rampart on the ‘phone. I think Marco has a concussion.”

“I’m okay,” Marco said trying sit up. Wincing with pain, he lay back down. “On the other hand, I think I’ll just lay here for a minute.”

Accompanied by Roy, Marco was transported to Rampart, where they kept him overnight for observation.

Vince was still trying to get straight who Harold Ritchie was and why he had been sitting in the Mustang. John, after seeing Roy and Marco off, had turned his attention back to his ride along.

“This kid says he’s with you,” Vince said.

“Yep,” John said nodding his head. “He’s our ride along for the day.”

“What was he doing down here when the accident was up there?” Vince asked, pointing to where the wreckers were arriving to tow the damaged cars.

“I don’t know,” John said. Turning to Harold he asked, “What were you doing down here, in this car?”

“It’s a Mustang,” Harold explained, becoming animated, “I love Mustangs, I just wanted to get a closer look.”

“I told you not to go anywhere without Roy or myself,” John said. “I thought you understood that.”

“Well, I just wanted…” Harold started but was cut short by John.

“No! You do not wander off. You do not go sight seeing!” John exclaimed, ticking off the list on his fingers. “Do you understand?” Harold nodded. “Well, Vince, what do you think, you gonna let him go?”

After conferring with the owner of the car they decided to let Harold go. Cap and the others were already gone. Only John and Harold remained, they climbed into the squad and made their way to Rampart. Roy was waiting for them when they got there.

Chet and Mike were the next to fall. During the next few runs after John’s speech, Harold stuck close by and John was feeling smug about having gotten through to him. Then the whole station was called out to a house fire. When they got there a woman was standing near the curb watching the smoke billowing from her house. Hopping out of the engine, Cap approached the woman, closely followed by Roy and John, with Harold close behind them.

“Is this your house?” Cap asked the woman.

“Yes,” she said, not taking her eyes off the house. “I don’t understand it. One minute I was cooking lunch. The next minute the whole kitchen was on fire,” she said with a dazed look.

“Are you alright?” Roy asked starting his physical assessment.

“Yes, I’m okay. It’s my husband,” she said, panic beginning to creep into her voice. “He was trying to put out the fire.”

“Your husband’s still in there?” John asked.

“Yes,” the woman said nodding.

John ran back to the squad and grabbed his air tank and mask, putting them on quickly. Cap was shouting instructions to Chet and Fisher, who had taken Marco’s place. John went into the house behind Chet with a hose.

Roy was examining the woman’s hands, which showed signs of having been burned. He set up his equipment and began relaying her condition and vital signs to Rampart.

Harold watched the proceedings quietly, remembering John’s earlier instructions. A tug on his pant leg caught his attention. Looking down he saw a pixie face looking up at him.

“Hello,” he said bending down to the girl’s level. “Who are you?”

“Maggie. I live over there,” the girl said, pointing to the house next door to the one that was on fire.

“You do?”

“Umhm,” Maggie said, nodding her head. “Can you get my cat out of the tree?”

“I don’t know…,” Harold said hesitantly, remembering his instructions not go anywhere.

“Please, he’s stuck up there and I’m worried about him,” Maggie said. Harold could not resist the pleading look on the pixie face before him.

“Okay. Which tree is he in?” Harold asked, standing. He followed the girl to a tree in the front yard of her house. Looking up into the tree he could see the cat perched on a limb. “What’s his name?” he asked Maggie.

“His name is Snookums,” Maggie replied.

“Snookums?” Harold asked doubtfully. Maggie nodded. Harold had had plenty of experience climbing trees and this one did not look to be too much of a challenge. Jumping up, he caught hold of a limb and pulled himself up. Soon he was climbing from branch to branch up into the tree. The only problem was, so was the cat. He would let Harold get almost within range of being able to grab hold of him and then would scamper away further up into the tree. Harold, loath to be out done by a cat, followed him.

John found the husband lying on the kitchen floor overcome with smoke. He had burns on his hands and face. John carried him out of the house and over to where Roy was. Roy was finishing bandaging the woman’s hands when John laid her husband down beside them. Both paramedics began working on the man. Cap tried to console the woman, who was becoming hysterical.

The fire was contained mostly in the kitchen and surrounding rooms of the house. Chet and Fisher had gotten the fire put out relatively quickly. Fisher was finishing up inside the house while Chet carried his hose back outside. As Chet approached the engine to talk to Mike, he looked around, something wasn’t right. Chet saw Mike, Cap, John, and Roy. After several seconds he realized who was missing. Harold. Looking around Chet did not see Harold anywhere.

“Hey, Mike,” he said, “where did the Brice clone go?” John and Roy were not the only ones who had recognized the similarities. The whole crew had seen them.

“I don’t know,” Mike said, looking around. He saw the little girl standing under the tree looking up into it. He was surprised to see the tree move. Suddenly he knew why the tree was moving, Harold was up in the tree, climbing from limb to limb. “Oh, no,” he said.

Hearing him, Chet looked quickly at him, then in the direction of his gaze. At first Chet did not know what he was looking at. Then it dawned on him. Harold! “Oh, no,” he said, echoing Mike. Taking a ladder from the engine, they hurried over to the tree. Setting the ladder up against the tree they called up to Harold.

“Ritchie,” Mike called, “come down.”

“Not without this cat.” Harold called back down to him.

“Leave the cat alone and come down, now,” Mike called back up to him.

“No, not yet,” Harold insisted.

“I’ll go up,” Chet said. “Hold the ladder for me, Mike.”

Chet climbed up the ladder into the tree. When he got close to where Harold and Snookums were he called out.

“Ritchie, leave the cat alone and come down out of this tree.”

Snookums seemed to take exception to Chet. He fluffed himself up, arched his back, hissed and then leapt straight at Chet’s face. Flinching, Chet lost his foothold on the rung of the ladder and fell. Snookums landed safely on another branch of the tree. Seeing Chet fall, Harold forgot the cat and began to scramble to climb down the ladder, which was still standing. Chet managed to fall directly on top of Mike, knocking him to the ground.

John and Roy were putting their victims into the ambulance when they heard a cry. Looking around, they saw Chet fall and land on top of Mike. Leaving the ambulance attendants to tend to their victims, they hurried over to Chet and Mike, accompanied by Cap.

Chet tried to push himself up off of Mike, but when he put his hand on the ground, pain shot up his arm. He collapsed back down with a moan.

“What happened here?” Cap said as he ran up to where Mike and Chet lay. “What did you think you were doing?”

“We were trying,” Chet said wincing as John helped him up off of Mike, “to get Ritchie to come down out of the tree.”

“What was Ritchie doing up in the tree, to begin with?” Cap asked sounding exasperated.

“I was trying to get Snookums down out of the tree,” explained Harold, who had by this time climbed down the ladder and stood unharmed on the ground.

“Snookums?” Cap asked, incredulous. “Who is Snookums?”

“Maggie’s cat,” Harold said, indicating the little girl who was retreating with her cat in her arms. Apparently having had his fun for the day, Snookums had come down out of the tree on his own.

Cap dragged his hand down over his eyes. Chet was sitting beside Mike who was still lying on the ground. John was examining Chet’s wrist while Roy examined Mike. They determined that Chet had at least a sprained wrist and Mike had a few cracked ribs. Mike had had the wind knocked out of him, having been fallen on and knocked down. His breathing soon returned to normal. Roy rode in with the house fire victims. When the second ambulance got there, John rode in with Mike and Chet.

Chet rode sitting up beside John on a jump seat, but John insisted Mike lay on the gurney. Mike started to protest, but, catching the captain’s eye and seeing the look he was getting, he quickly agreed. Sitting down on the gurney and then lying back, he allowed the others to transport him to the ambulance.

John insisted that Harold ride in the ambulance with him rather than in the squad with Fisher. During the ambulance ride, hardly anyone spoke. The only conversation was when John questioned Harold about being up in the tree.

“Look, man,” he said in exasperation, “what did you think you were doing up in that tree?"

“I was helping the little girl,” Harold said, explaining. “It’s what firemen do, right? Get cats down out of trees and all.”

“No, it’s not what firemen do,” Chet said in exasperation, which was fueled by the pain in his wrist. “Man, you don’t know anything.”

“But I’ve seen them…,” Harold protested.

“When? When have you seen real firemen getting cats down out of trees?” Chet asked.

Before Harold could respond John interrupted him. “Look, you don’t get cats out of trees. Cats can get themselves out of trees. How many cat skeleton’s have you ever seen in trees…”

While this conversation had been going on, Mike had lain on the gurney not saying anything, wincing each time the ambulance hit a bump. After one particularly violent bump that jarred them all, Mike sucked in his breath, a look of panic crossing his face. John looked over at Mike when he heard the quick intake of breath. Seeing the look of panic on the other man’s face John asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t…breathe,” Mike gasped. His breathing had become labored and gasping.

“Calm down, Mike,” John said reassuringly, “you’re going to be okay. Just calm down.”

After a concerted effort on Mike’s part, his breathing finally slowed and became less labored. John checked both sides of Mike’s chest with his stethoscope. He frowned at what he heard, or rather did not hear.

“I believe you have a collapsed lung,” he told Mike. Trying to sound as matter of fact and reassuring as he could, he continued, “it’s nothing to worry about. It happens sometimes with chest injuries like this.” John looked out the window of the ambulance to check their position. “We’re almost to the hospital, just stay calm.”

Arriving at the hospital they were met by Roy and Dixie with Joe Early. Mike and Chet were taken into treatment rooms. Mike’s lung had been reinflated without any trouble. X-rays had found three broken ribs. With the possibility of Mike’s lung collapsing again he had been kept overnight and would probably spend the next few days in the hospital. Not surprisingly he had ended up in the same room with Marco. Chet’s wrist had been badly sprained though not broken. His wrist was wrapped with an ace bandage and Chet was put off work for the rest of the shift.

Roy was the next casualty. John had thought Roy would have more sense, but then there was no accounting for what happened when Harold Ritchie was involved. He seemed to act as a catalyst for minor disasters, while he, himself remained largely untouched.

Dispatch had stood the station down until replacements for Chet and Mike had arrived. Roy, John, and Harold had waited at the hospital to find out about their crewmates and friends. When they learned that their crewmate’s injuries were relatively minor, they had made their way back to the station. Roy waited until they got back to the station to confront Harold. When Roy had found out why Harold was up in the tree he had not been happy, to say the least.

“Look, Harold…,” Roy began.

“Ritchie…”

“Harold.” Roy said firmly. “You will not wander off again. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Harold said nodding.

“You will stay with John and myself unless either one of us or the captain tell you different. Do you understand?” Harold nodded. It had been a long time since John had seen Roy this upset. “Do you realize three men have been hurt because of you?” Again Harold nodded solemnly. Roy was pacing the floor in Cap’s office. “Half the shift,” Roy continued, “and it’s only mid-afternoon.”

Soon after Roy’s talk with Harold the station alarm had gone off sending them out on another call. Harold had kept his word and nothing bad happened for the next few calls. Maybe that was what had done it, maybe they had both been lulled into believing that the problem had been solved that easily. It had not occurred to them that something so simple could turn out to be so disastrous. And truthfully, John reflected, much as he wanted to blame him it had not really been Harold’s fault.

The three original members of the crew along with their ride along and the three replacement members of the crew had just finished eating supper when the klaxon sounded again. The squad left the station with both lights and sirens going.

When they got to their destination they saw a woman sitting on the ground near the curb, holding a dog. She waved at them when she saw them, trying to draw their attention. She seemed calm enough and Roy and John exchanged puzzled looks as Roy pulled the squad into the curb. The three men exited the squad and approached the woman who was still sitting on the ground, holding the dog.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello, did someone call for us?” Roy asked.

“I suppose it was Mrs. Johnson,” the woman replied, petting the dog.

“Where is Mrs. Johnson?”

“In that house over there,” she said, indicating a house across and down the street a short distance.

“Is she the one who needs our help?” John asked.

“I don’t think so,” the woman said. “She might, but I think she called you for me, I’m Terry.”

“For you?” Roy asked, “Are you hurt?” Though the woman was calm, John noticed she had not stood up to talk with them. She did not answer Roy directly, but held up the small, scruffy looking dog she had been holding.

“Could someone take Fifi to Mrs. Johnson?” she asked.

“I’ll take it,” Harold said reaching to take the dog from Terry. “Can I?” he asked looking at Roy.

“Okay,” Roy said nodding, “but nowhere else, just there and back.” Harold nodded and started off in the direction indicated, with the dog in his arms. Roy and John turned their attention to the woman on the curb.

“So, are you hurt?” John asked, sitting on one heel. Terry had been sitting in a crossed leg position. Now she uncrossed her legs and stretched them out in front of her. One ankle was swollen and turning colors. Seeing the ankle John asked, “How did you do this?”

“Stepped in a hole. We have a rodent problem around here. You never know when you’re going to step in one of those stupid holes. I was chasing Fifi and…,” she began to explain.

Harold had made his way about half way to Mrs. Johnson’s house when they heard his inarticulate exclamation. Looking in his direction they saw the dog leaping from his arms to the ground. Harold began to chase the dog as it scampered away from him.

“Oh no,” Terry exclaimed. “Not again.” They watched as Harold chased the dog. Fifi seemed perfectly content to play the game of chase with a new partner. She zigged and zagged allowing Harold to get within inches of her, and then she sped away.

“You handle things here,” Roy said shaking his head, “I’ll go see if I can’t help Harold catch Fifi.”

“Okay,” John said. Roy walked over to where Harold was chasing the dog and joined him. Fifi seemed to be overjoyed to have two companions to play with and redoubled her efforts at zigging and zagging, eluding both of the humans easily.

John turned his attention to Terry. He finished taking her vital signs and relayed them to Rampart. As he finished splinting her ankle, he heard her quick intake of breath and exclamation. Looking up at her he realized it was not his splinting technique that had caused her reaction. She had been watching Roy and Harold chasing the dog. Now John followed her gaze and saw Harold standing next to Roy who was lying on the ground. John stood and ran over to his partner’s side.

“Roy what happened?” John asked kneeling down beside him.

“Hole,” Roy said sounding dazed. “I…I…stepped in a hole.”

“Are you hurt?”

“My ankle,” Roy said, wincing with pain as he tried to sit up, “and my wrist.”

Fifi came and plopped down beside Roy with her tongue hanging out, panting. Harold reached down and picked the dog up. She made no protest.

“Take her to Mrs. Johnson’s and this time hang on to her,” John said.

Harold made it over to Mrs. Johnson’s with the dog this time. Mrs. Johnson turned out to be an old woman who was house bound. She had seen Terry fall and had called for help. It was the only thing she could do.

At the hospital Dr. Brackett shook his head when he saw Roy in the treatment room. “Another one of you? What happened this time?” he asked, amazed to see a fourth member of 51’s A-shift in one of his treatment rooms.

“I was chasing a dog and stepped in a hole,” Roy explained.

“The same dog the lady in the other treatment room was chasing?” Dr. Brackett asked.

“The same one,” Roy said frowning. “How is Terry?”

“It looks very much like she has a broken ankle, she’s going to x-ray right now,” Dr. Brackett replied as he examined Roy’s ankle. “And it looks like you’re going to be right behind her.”

Terry and Roy both had broken ankles and Roy had a sprained wrist. Rampart had gained two more temporary residents.

Cap was the next casualty. John still wasn’t sure just exactly how it had happened.

Happily, Roy’s replacement was Dwyer and not Brice. John could only imagine what would happen if Brice and his admirer ended up in the same squad. He certainly did not want to be a witness to it. With only himself and Cap remaining of the original crew, he was beginning to feel like a stranger on his own shift. When John and Harold arrived back at the station, Cap called John into the office, sending Harold to the dayroom.

“John, I want to talk to you about Ritchie,” he began.

“What about him?”

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that because of him, four men are on the injured list?” Cap asked.

“Yeah,” John said shrugging his shoulders, “but this last one wasn’t really his fault, Cap.”

“Regardless, I think we need to send him home,” Cap said.

“Can you do that? I mean with him being a Councilman’s son?” John asked. “I mean what would you tell them?”

“Well, I am the captain here and if I think it would be detrimental to have him here then…,” Cap said, then let the sentence trail off. “Well I’d just tell them…well, I mean…”

“Cap I think I have an idea…” John was interrupted by the tones. The whole station was sent out this time. By now it was rapidly getting dark. A small brushfire took all their efforts to put out before it could become a raging brushfire. Everyone worked hard to get the fire out including John and Cap. The only one who was not fully engaged in fighting the fire was Harold.

Harold watched the men as they fought the fire. When the fire was nearly out he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Curious, he turned his head in that direction and thought he saw an animal moving up the hillside on the other side of the road on which he was standing. Curiosity getting the better of him, he crossed the road and climbed the incline. Climbing at an angle, the underbrush was easy to push through and before he knew it, he had gone quite a ways from where the others were. Light from the full moon helped light his path.

John returned to the squad when the fire was finally out. He was mildly surprised to find Harold missing. Cap came up behind him.

“Where’s Ritchie?” Cap asked.

“I don’t know. I told him to stay here.” John said.

“Not again.” Cap moaned. Just then they heard scrambling in the brush above them.

“Help, I’m stuck,” Harold called. He was tugging at his pants legs but could not free himself from the brambles he was caught in.

“I’ll go get him,” John said, resigned.

“I’m coming with you,” Cap said grimly, “I have a few choice words to say to that young man.”

“Cap, couldn’t it wait until we get back to the station?” John asked as they climbed. “I have an idea, just let me take care of it.”

“Alright but if it doesn’t work out…,” Cap broke off as they as had gotten within hearing distance of Harold.

“Ritchie what are you doing up here?” Cap asked.

“I thought I saw a deer, I wanted to get a better look at it.” Harold explained. Neither John nor Cap made any comment. They simply began releasing Harold from the brambles that held him fast. John took the right leg while cap took the left. As Cap reached behind Harold to pull the last of the brambles away from his pant leg, he let out a yelp of pain. Pulling his hand back, Cap lost his balance and tumbled into the brambles. John and the now freed Harold rushed to help him.

“Cap, are you alright?” John asked, “What happened?”

“Something stuck me,” Cap said. The two men helped the cap to stand and all three walked down onto the dirt road on which the vehicles were parked. John began to examine the captain whose turnout coat and gloves had saved him from being too badly scratched by the brambles. .

“I don’t think there’s any thing serious,” John said, then he saw the marks on the captain’s arm. Two puncture wounds. Though Cap had been wearing a turnout coat and gloves when he was working with the brambles, they had separated leaving a gap at the wrist. The snake had managed to hit his arm between the sleeve of the coat and the top of the glove.

“Dwyer,” John called loudly. “Caps been bitten by a snake!” Dwyer and the other men came running, dropping the equipment they had been returning to the vehicles. Dwyer grabbed the drug box and brought it to where John stood with Cap. They had the captain sit down and began to treat him for the snakebite. The other men began to carefully search the area indicated by Harold. Hope of finding the snake was limited, in the dark, using their flashlights, but they made the effort anyway, just in case. They did not find the snake. When Gage and Dwyer were ready to transport the captain, they decided they would not wait for an ambulance, due to their remote location, but would take the captain in the squad.

Harold was relegated to the engine to ride in the captain’s seat. Harold kept trying to apologize to the captain, but Cap was not in any mood to listen to apologies. Just glaring at Harold, he said nothing.

When they arrived at the Emergency room, Dr. Brackett and Dixie were ready and waiting for them. When they had gotten the call over the radio Kel had shaken his head, “Another one down,” he said, muttering. Now he directed the paramedics to take the captain into the treatment room.

“Did you find the snake that bit him?” he asked.

“No,” John said shaking his head. “It was too dark.”

“The snake was probably long gone, anyway,” Kel said. “What was a snake doing out at night like that.”

“I don’t know. We were putting out a brushfire. He might have been displaced by that,” John said, shrugging.

“Well, Cap, how are you feeling?” Dr. Brackett asked.

“Okay, I guess,” Cap said, shrugging. “It hurts like heck, though.”

“It’s entirely likely that the snake wasn’t poisonous,” Dr. Brackett said speculatively, “your lack of reaction probably means that it was not, but…,”

“But you want to keep me here overnight, just in case,” Cap said finishing the statement for him.

“Yes. You could have a delayed reaction,” Kel said. “We’ll do some blood work and see what we have.”

And so Rampart acquired another temporary resident and Station 51 acquired another replacement crew member.

John had decided that he had to do something before he became the sixth notch on Harold’s belt. So, as he and Dwyer made their way back to the station, he formulated his plan. He enlisted Dwyer’s help.

When they arrived back at the station, Harold, along with the rest of the crew, was there. Everyone wanted to know about the captain. After filling them in on what the doctor had said, Gage and Dwyer had pulled Harold aside. Sitting at the dayroom table they had put John’s plan into action.

“So, Harold, what do you think about being a firefighter paramedic?” John asked.

“It’s okay, I guess,” Harold said with a shrug. “It seems kind of dangerous.”

“Yeah, I suppose it can be,” John said conceding the point, trying not to smirk as Harold played into his hands.

“You know, from what I hear, you were pretty lucky today,” Dwyer said.

“Oh, how do you mean?” Harold asked, puzzled.

“Well, from what I hear, it could have been you who got knocked onto the sidewalk this morning.” Dwyer said.

“I suppose,” Harold said hesitantly, remembering the angry man who had knocked Marco down. The angry man had been after him to begin with.

“Yeah, that guy was headed right for you. If Marco hadn’t been there…,” John said, letting the sentence hang, giving Harold’s imagination time to work.

“Yeah,” Harold said, beginning to sound uncomfortable.

“And then, you could have been the one to fall out of that tree, or to step in that hole,” Dwyer continued, speculatively.

“Yeah,” Harold said again, becoming more uncomfortable as the memory of seeing those men fall replayed in his mind. John could guess what he was thinking.

“And then that snake. I mean he was right there behind you…,” John said shaking his head.

“Boy you sure have been lucky today,” Dwyer said again.

“I sure hope your luck doesn’t run out,” John said. “You’re staying overnight aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to. Why?” Harold asked, beginning to sound very nervous.

“Well there are still a lot of hours to go…,” John said, looking at his watch.

“I think I need to speak with the Captain,” Harold said, standing so quickly he knocked his chair over backward. As if on cue, Captain Hunaker entered the station just then. He was surprised to be confronted by an agitated young man. They went into the captain’s office.

Not long after that Councilman Ritchie came to get his son to take him home. John got the distinct impression that, though he was trying to hide it from his son, Councilman Ritchie was happy his son was going home early. It was then that he remembered Harold telling him that he did not have a Mustang because his father thought the car was too dangerous.

The night had passed quietly and without incident. The whole station had been called out a couple of times but no one had gotten hurt or ended up in the hospital. Now Gage sat at the breakfast table waiting for his replacement to come.

Captain Hunaker saw him shaking his head and smiling to himself. “What’s so funny, Gage?”

“Nothing, Cap, I was just thinking about yesterday,” John said.

“Oh. You know, Gage,” Captain Hunaker said, “What I want to know is; how come you didn’t end up on the injured list?”

“I don’t know, Cap,” John said grinning, “just lucky, I guess.”

The end