Musical Mania

 Alternative ending

By Rona

The station is called out to a house built half on stilts over a ravine. The house is collapsing and the owner has become trapped underneath as he tried to shore his home up.

Following the man who had called for help down some steps at the side of the house, Cap looked in appalled anger at the situation. “Stoker, Lopez, go and move our vehicles back away from the house and take some pressure off this slope.” The two men hurried away.

One end of the single-storey house was sitting on the edge of the ravine. The rest was delicately propped on some long poles that looked far too slender for the job. There were large bits of lumber and stone and all sorts of things under the house, clearly being used as additional shoring. None of it looked very secure. In fact, as they stood there, something broke free from under the house and careened down the steep slope and vanished into the brush.

“I think we ought to be able to get under here and get to him, Cap,” Johnny said, and collected a reluctant nod from Roy. He leaned in further, then took a step closer. “Tom!” he shouted. “Tom, can you hear me?”

There was no answer. Johnny lifted the flashlight and directed it towards the place where they thought the home owner, Tom, was trapped. “Tom?”

The next moment, a piece of wood fell from the underside of the house, where huge cracks ran crazily every which way, and hit Johnny on the shoulder. He cried out, dropped the flashlight and spun around. Roy leapt back.

“Let’s get out of here,” Roy suggested.

“Wait a minute,” Johnny objected, turning back towards the trapped man.

“Johnny, come on now!” Cap ordered. He wasn’t having one of his men going under that house from that direction. “We’ll go in from the house. It’ll be safer.” He led the way, Johnny and Roy following. Chet stayed where he was with Tom’s friend.

Although initially the friend had said they couldn’t cut through the floor of the house, it was obvious that the home was not safe and Tom would not be staying in it any longer. Vince Howard, the police officer they often worked with, had already put in the call that would condemn the property.

It took a couple of minutes to decide where to cut, but Mike Stoker was soon wielding the K12 with consummate skill, cutting through the floorboards with admirable precision. As soon as he had finished, Johnny and Roy pulled the boards loose and Johnny grabbed the hammer and began to knock through the concrete underneath. It wasn’t nearly as difficult as it should have been and it only took a couple of moments to break through. Mike then cut the remaining beam. 

There was no question that Johnny would not put on his turnout coat to go down under the house. The space was too narrow and the coat offered too many opportunities to catch on things. From what they were able to see, the space under the house would have been limited before, but was even more so now that Tom had been adding stuff to stop the house moving. With his heart in his mouth, Cap watched Johnny lower himself through the floor.

“Tom, can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” the man puffed. He was trapped under a beam that lay across his shoulders and right arm.

Reaching over, Johnny realised he didn’t have the necessary leverage to move the beam alone. “Roy? I need a port-a-power,” he called up. He flinched as something else pinged off the ground beside him before rattling away down the steep slope.

A few minutes later, the port-a-power appeared and Johnny soon had it in placed. He cautiously pumped the handle, watching as the small unit effortlessly lifted the heavy beam. It sounded so easy and straight forward, but Johnny had to watch the whole time that he didn’t dislodge something else that would bring the whole fragile structure down as it creaked and groaned continuously.

“All right, Tom,” Johnny said, moving onto the most difficult part of the rescue. “Now, moving is gonna hurt like hell, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Are your legs hurt?”

“No,” Tom puffed.

“Can you move all right?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Tom wriggled experimentally.

“All right, then give me your good arm and I’ll help you out from there.” Johnny was beginning to feel slightly claustrophobic with the weight of the house looming so ominously above him. The constant creaking was making him feel quite anxious, too.

It wasn’t easy, but Johnny finally got Tom out from under the beam and settled him back against his chest. “I’ll tuck your arm inside your shirt,” he panted, for Tom was no lightweight. “That’ll help till you get up top. Roy? Here he comes.”

It was difficult to get Tom to his feet in the small space they had. Johnny lifted him bodily, as the other man pushed weakly with shaky legs. Roy reached down from above to grasp Tom’s good arm. Johnny managed to change his grip so he had Tom’s belt and lifted him up. In the room above, Mike and Marco moved into position to help too.

It all happened so suddenly. As Johnny let go of Tom, Marco’s grip slipped slightly. Tom was in no danger of being dropped, but he panicked all the same and kicked wildly with his legs to gain purchase, even knowing there was nothing but space beneath him.

Caught unawares, Johnny had no place to move to. One of Tom’s feet caught him on the cheek, barely missing his eye. Johnny staggered as the surface beneath his feet moved and cried out in agony, his hand shooting towards his face. Tom’s other foot hit Johnny right in the middle of the chest and he pushed against the resistance to help himself escape from the underside of his house.

Already off balance, Johnny had no hope of keeping his feet. He toppled over backwards, hit one of the many shaky supports Tom had put in place and it gave way. The next instant, Johnny, the support beam and a good deal of debris were careening down the slope at top speed.

“Johnny!” Chet yelled, as he saw his friend swept away on the tide of debris. He jumped over the large log that ran alongside the steps, but there was no way he could reach Johnny in time. He could only watch as Johnny disappeared in the thick brush at the bottom of the ravine.

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

Inside the house, the other members of 51’s crew were not sure quite what had happened. They heard Johnny cry out, but were too busy pulling Tom to safety to be able to look to see what was going on. They helped Tom into the stokes, strapped him down and Marco and Mike carried it outside. Roy, meanwhile, leaned right over to peer into the void beneath. “Johnny?” he called. There was no answer. Roy leaned further, feeling Cap grab onto his belt to prevent him tumbling head first down. Roy lifted his head. “He’s gone!” he exclaimed in a stunned tone.

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

It wasn’t that Cap doubted Roy. He simply couldn’t believe what his man had told him and had to see for himself. Kneeling carefully beside the hole, Cap braced himself and leaned over. The small space underneath certainly did not contain John Gage and that was bad news; very bad news.

The house wobbled precariously. “We need to get out of here,” Cap declared. The house had clearly been on borrowed time for a while and it was obvious that the time had run out. He and Roy headed out of the door.

Roy’s obligations were clear, although he didn’t like them. He had to go and tend to Tom, when all he wanted to do was join his crew mates in the discussion about Johnny. Where was his partner? What had happened to him? He knelt by Tom, his professional mask in place, and started to gather vitals.

In a low tome, Cap was updating Mike and Marco, both of whom looked grim. Chet came puffing up the steep steps from the side of the house. “Cap!” he cried and stumbled over. “Johnny got swept away down into the brush at the bottom of the ravine.”

“What?” Cap’s eyes widened. He had known that that must have been what happened, but he had been clinging to an irrational hope that somehow Johnny had caught himself and was even now climbing those torturous steps to rejoin them.

Nodding vigorously, Chet confirmed, “I saw him, Cap. He fell over backwards and hit one of those temporary supports and the whole lot came down with him and he vanished into the brush. I tried to get him, but I couldn’t; he was moving too fast.”

“It’s not your fault, pal,” Cap reassured the distraught man. He fought to keep his eyes from the man that Roy was treating, for if it hadn’t been for his stubborn refusal to get something properly done about his home, Johnny would not now be missing, and probably seriously injured. “We’ll get some more man power and start looking...”

A crash and roar drowned out the rest of his words. Turning, the firefighters saw the house finally collapse and shoot off down the slope, disintegrating as it went, leaving a cloud of dust behind. Coughing, they had to turn away, but all of them shared the same thought.

The house had just gone down on top of Johnny.

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

It had been the wildest ride he had ever had. Johnny had no way to discern which way was up as he skidded, slid and tumbled down the slope. He could feel the skin being ripped from his body by the debris which carried him along and there was nothing he could do to help himself. He gasped for breath, inhaling large amounts of dust, which set him to coughing, which stole away the breath he so desperately needed. His eyes were squeezed shut in terror and a desire to protect them, but he could sense his world dimming nonetheless. Passing out would be a good thing, he thought as his body crashed into the tough brush. Then it wouldn’t hurt so damned much. Yet he stubbornly clung to consciousness, knowing that he would have to be awake to help his friends locate him.

Eventually, it stopped. Johnny became aware that he had probably stopped moving some time before, but his body and nerves were jangling so much that it was difficult to be sure. He lay there, feeling utterly pulped, not sure which way was up, not even sure if he was lying on his back, side or front. His body was bombarding him with too much information about the condition it was in and he could make no sense of anything. He just knew that he was hurt – badly hurt.

For a while, he drifted in a twilight world where he could feel the pain, but it was curiously muted. Then harsh reality began to make itself felt. Johnny blinked his eyes open and looked around. He was lying on his back, upside down on the slope, and all he could see was brush and debris. His legs were covered in earth and boards and an experimental try showed that he would not be getting out from under that by himself. Not only was the debris too heavy, pain had shot through his back, legs and arms as he tried.

Well, first things first. Johnny knew he had to try and triage himself. There might not be anything he could do, but he had to find out what exactly was wrong with him. It would help when his friends arrived.

First and most obvious were his legs. Although trapped and sore, Johnny didn’t think there was anything broken. He knew he might be developing compartment syndrome, but there was nothing he could do about that. It was difficult to be completely sure, but his pelvis seemed to be intact. His abdomen was soft at the moment, so it seemed there were no internal injuries. His ribs were really sore and he suspected they were cracked or broken and he didn’t prod for too long. His left arm was fractured in two places, both above and below the elbow. His right arm was sore but working, but his right thumb was clearly broken. The left collar bone had gone, too, and from the pain radiating across his chest and down his left arm, Johnny wasn’t sure that he hadn’t dislocated that shoulder as well, but it was too painful to check. His neck seemed fine, although like everything else it ached. His head was pounding and Johnny tentatively touched his cheek and yelped as he came in contact with the gash left by Tom’s shoe heel. His right eye was swelling shut and would most likely be turning some interesting colours. He didn’t explore any further. His head was aching furiously and he would be surprised if he didn’t have some cuts and grazes on it somewhere. The rest of his body was covered in contusions. His clothes were in tatters.

All in all, he concluded, he needed help badly and he needed it right now. He wondered when it would come. He suddenly heard a noise, like something falling and he barely had time to wonder what it was when a huge amount of debris crashed through the brush and enveloped him.

He blacked out.

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

The waiting was the worst part. Roy had gone with Tom to Rampart, but Cap knew it wouldn’t be long before he was on his way back. The ambulance had orders to wait for him and bring him back. More men were coming to help in the search. The slope was far too unstable for even one man to risk going down without sufficient lifelines and they didn’t dare bring the engine any closer to use as an anchor point. They could only stand and wait as the police evacuated the remaining homes and pray that none of them were in imminent danger of collapse.

It seemed to be forever before Station 36 arrived. Captain Walker hurried over to meet Captain Stanley. “Hank. What have we got? Dispatch said a code I?”

Quickly, Stanley told his fellow captain what had happened. “And then the house went down after him,” he concluded and hoped that Walker wouldn’t say something to imply Gage was beyond rescue. He couldn’t tolerate that and neither would his men.

“Well,” Walker sighed. “Gage always did like a challenge and he’s sure given us one here.” Relief and respect choked all utterance for a moment and Stanley could just nod agreement. They put their heads together to discuss the possibilities.

They finally decided to use the concrete foundations of the house as an anchor. The foundations were still in place and seemed much more secure than anything else around them. Anchor points were driven in and blankets placed to protect the ropes from fraying against the jagged edges where the house had once extended out into space. Hank found he could barely look at the houses that were left. How could anyone have thought that could possibly be safe?

There was no question that Chet and Marco were going down. Along with them went Mike Stoker and the two paramedics from 36s, Jay Parker and Alan Johnston. The rest of the men remained up top to watch over the ropes, send down equipment and be ready to go down should more man power be needed.

It was disconcerting to stand at the top of the slope, for the whole thing moved continuously. Small rivers of dirt trickled down, with some slightly bigger ones breaking free every now and then. Hank was grateful he didn’t suffer from motion sickness and was all right with heights, because the combination of the two would have done for him on this job. Walker stood by him as the men began the treacherous descent.

They were both praying.

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

“Vitals are holding steady,” Roy reported as the gurney wheeled into the treatment room. “He’s got a few cuts and bruises, but his main injury is his arm, query fractured humorous.” Roy forced a smile at Tom as the man was transferred to the gurney. He was unsure if Tom was aware of what had happened back at the house, but he found it very difficult to look at the man.

“Thanks, Roy,” Dr Early said, releasing the paramedic, who left quickly.

The ambulance attendants were waiting for him and so was Dr Brackett. “Any further word?” he asked Roy, having been on the base station when Roy called the situation in.

“Not that I’ve heard,” Roy replied, holding up his HT. “Have you heard anything?”

“No, not a word,” Brackett answered. He looked grim. “Are you going back out there now?”

“Yes,” Roy nodded.

“Good luck,” Brackett told him. “Bring him back soon.”

“I’ll do my best. Thanks, doc.” Roy found a half smile and then hurried out after the ambulance attendants. The lack of communication was driving him mad with worry. He hoped the driver would hurry.

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

Knowing where to start was the hardest part. The house had broken up on its way down the slope and it lay scattered like so many matchsticks across a wide area. Mike Stoker took charge. “Chet, you cover that area,” he ordered, pointing. “Marco, this bit, Jay there and Alan over there. I’ll do this part.”

Obediently, they separated, peering under the twisted wreckage and calling Johnny’s name. It was going to take a long time to find the missing paramedic, unless they got lucky and each man was aware that Johnny’s golden hour was ticking quickly away. Although none of them would have admitted it aloud, they were all worried that they wouldn’t find their friend alive. It would be a miracle if he had survived.

The biggest challenge they faced was the instability of the wreckage. Marco took a nasty tumble when a piece of lumber he put his foot on cracked and fell deeper into the ravine. He was shaken but unhurt, and everyone moved with more care after that. Not only would it be unhelpful if a rescuer got hurt, but they didn’t want to cause Johnny any more hurt if they could help it.

It was better not to think, Chet thought as he carefully moved a large board to look underneath. It was better to just work, doing what had to be done and not think about Johnny lying injured or dead under the debris. Why did these things always happen to Gage? Did he have a target painted on his back as some kind of cosmic joke? Had someone cursed him to have an ‘interesting’ life? If so, Chet wanted to get his hands on the person or persons concerned and teach them a salutary lesson. It wasn’t fair.

Time ticked past. Chet resisted the temptation to look at his watch. He knew the golden hour was flying past and watching it tick away was not going to help him find Gage any sooner. “Johnny!” he yelled and paused to listen. Nothing.

From further across the debris field, but completely out of his sight, he could hear Marco calling for Johnny and hoped that his friend had better luck than he was having. There was no summoning call though and Chet kept on searching.

After a time, he became aware that Roy had joined them. The senior paramedic set to searching with a grim, anxious expression. Apart from to shout to Johnny, none of them said a word. With each moment that passed, the chances of finding Johnny alive shrank dramatically.

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

It took him some time to realise he was awake. Johnny groaned as all the pains in his body hit him all at once. It was impossible to say which bit hurt most; it all seemed to be equally agonising. Johnny lifted his head slightly and surveyed his surroundings. The huge amount of debris that had knocked him cold seemed to have passed right over the top of him and vanished somewhere beneath him in the ravine. He was still trapped lying upside down on the slope, but it seemed that he had moved down a bit, or the debris had moved because he could see the tops of his legs now. Not that he was any nearer to being able to get out. He was still firmly pinned in place.

He wondered what time it was. Not that it mattered, because Johnny had no idea what time it had been when he fell, and it seemed unlikely that his watch had survived the journey down, given how badly injured his left arm was, but he did wonder vaguely how long he’d been unconscious. His friends must be looking for him by now.

He drew in as deep a breath as he could, considering his sore ribs. “Help!” he cried. It was a cliché, but he needed help. “Help! I’m here!”

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

“Wait! Everyone quiet!” Marco held up his hand to reinforce his command and everyone froze. There was silence, broken only by the creaks and cracks of the debris moving slightly on the slope. “Johnny?” Marco called.

The answer was faint, but it was an answer. “Here! I’m here!”

“Keep calling!” Marco instructed. “He’s over here!” he called to the other rescuers.

Although the impulse was to rush over, the other men checked themselves and slowly and carefully made their way across to where Marco was working. Roy was on his way down from above, having just returned with the ambulance. He wanted to hurry, but kept to a deliberate pace, knowing that driving more debris down would make things worse and falling himself would be a catastrophe.

By the time he had joined the others, Marco was carefully moving boards from a particularly large, thorny bush. “Here’s Roy,” he told the bush, handing a board off to Chet.

“Great,” the bush replied using Johnny’s voice and sounding utterly wiped out.

“Hey, Johnny,” Roy said and swallowed to try and keep his professional mask on. Getting Johnny out of this situation was going to be difficult to say they least and he had to keep going for his partner’s sake. “How’re you doing?”

“I guess I’ve been better,” Johnny replied doubtfully.

“Talk to me, Johnny,” Roy ordered. “Tell me what’s wrong? What hurts?”

“What doesn’t hurt?” Johnny returned.

“Johnny,” Roy warned. He exchanged anxious looks with his crew mates.

“Okay, okay,” the junior paramedic capitulated. “My left arm’s broken in two places; left clavicle’s broken, left shoulder – not sure but it hurts like hell. My ribs are either cracked or broken and my right thumb is broken.”

“What about your legs?” Roy asked. Johnny had enough going on without anything happening to his legs, but Roy had to know.

“They hurt, but I don’t think they’re broken,” Johnny replied. “But I’m trapped, Roy. I can’t get out.”

“All right, Johnny,” Roy soothed. “We’re coming just as fast as we can.” He retreated a few steps to contact Cap on the HT, asking him to contact Rampart to let them know that Johnny had been found. As yet, they had no idea how long it would take to extricate him and that thought did not sit well with Roy at all. Johnny’s golden hour had long run out. Roy hoped that Johnny would be able to hold on till they got to him.

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

Relief had been too weak a word to describe how Johnny had felt when he heard Marco’s voice calling his name. Johnny didn’t know what word he should use instead, but he certainly knew how the unknown word felt. While he was too experienced a rescue man to think that his extrication would be immediate, he could relax slightly, knowing that he had been found at last.

It was weird listening to the men above him exchanging suggestions and orders, for all he could see was a large, thorny bush and the pile of debris that lay over his legs. He couldn’t catch everything that was said and he was pretty sure that was deliberate, for they wouldn’t want him to know how tricky it would be to clear stuff away and how long it would take. Johnny hoped Roy would hurry. He knew that he was unlikely to be allowed anything for pain, given that he clearly had a head injury. His gashed cheek throbbed in time with his heartbeat and his eye was completely closed now.

The pain was hard to deal with. Johnny had had pain from injuries before and had quite a high pain threshold, but it was the cumulative effect of the pain that was wearing his spirit down. When everything hurt and there was nothing you could do about it, not even ease your position, pain was a relentless enemy. At the moment, Johnny was losing the battle to keep the bad thoughts at bay.

A foot suddenly crashed down through the bush accompanied by a rude swear word spoken in Mike Stoker’s voice. That amused Johnny and he gave a chortle which ended in a cough and a groan. “Don’t know what you’re laughing at,” Mike grumbled. “You didn’t get a thorn in your... leg.”

“Leg, huh?” Johnny grinned, and then winced, for smiling pulled at the gash on his cheek.

“Just shut up, Gage,” Mike warned with a grin in his voice. “I could still leave you here.”

“Nah, Cap wouldn’t let you,” Johnny answered. He felt a bit better as the rest of Mike appeared through the bush. Being alone had sapped his strength, too.

“Probably not,” Stoker agreed as he knelt beside his crew mate and started peering under the debris to see what was what. “For some reason, he seems quite fond of you. No accounting for taste, is there?”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Johnny begged. Just breathing hurt more than enough.

There was some more crashing and swearing and Mike called, “Mind the thorns!” Judging by the swearing Roy was doing, his warning had come too late.

“Hi,” Roy smiled, and took his first good look at his partner. He was horrified at what he saw. Johnny was filthy, streaked with blood and his clothes were no more than rags. His right eye was swollen shut and turning black. The gash on his cheek was raw, the edges ragged. Roy dropped to his knees, shoving Mike out of the way. The engineer, who had been just as horrified, obligingly moved over.

Before too many minutes had passed, Johnny’s small space was filled with firefighters. Roy was gathering vitals, Mike, Marco and Chet were discussing logistics and the order they were going to move things and Jay and Alan were waiting for Roy’s orders to get equipment. It was beginning to feel rather crowded.

“Does everyone need to be in here?” he asked Roy.

“Shut up, Gage,” Chet advised. “It’ll make us look good if there are any TV cameras around. All those big strong firemen needed to free their trapped comrade.”

“I didn’t think you were a big strong fireman, Chet,” Marco commented and the others laughed, Johnny coughing and spluttering at the pain.

Jay was the one to move, going outside the bush to hand back the oxygen and report Johnny’s vitals to Rampart, via Captain Stanley. With a heavy heart, Cap lifted the biophone. “Rampart this is Squad 51,” he said.

“Go ahead, 51,” Brackett responded immediately. He had been standing by the base station most of the time since Roy had left, waiting for this very report. It had been over two hours since Johnny had been swept away and Brackett knew the prognosis could be very grim indeed.

“Rampart, we have the vitals for John Gage,” Cap reported. “BP is 90/60, respirations are 26 and laboured, pulse is 120. The patient is diaphoretic; he has breaks in his left arm, clavicle and right thumb, with either a dislocated or broken shoulder. Probable breaks in the ribs. His legs are entrapped and we don’t know how long it will take to extricate or what injuries he may have sustained to them. He also has a black eye, gash on his right cheek and a laceration on his hairline. He reports one loss of consciousness and is oriented to date and place. He is in considerable pain.”

“10-4, 51.” Brackett looked at what he had written down. The vitals were better than he had feared but worse than he had hoped. “51, start an IV with D5W, give 5 mg MS IV immediately before extrication and have a MAST suit standing by. Update vitals every 5 minutes. Put on 10 litres O2. Splint breaks and dress the head wounds.”

“10-4, Rampart,” Stanley replied. He repeated the directions back to the doctor and then used the HT to tell Jay.

“Thanks, Cap,” Jay replied. “Can you send down the drug box, trauma box, and oxygen in the stokes?”

“10-4,” Stanley replied. The gear was standing ready, and Walker gave the nod to the man on the rope. Stanley watched as it was lowered. With all his heart, he wanted to be down there with his men.

Aware of the turn that his fellow captain’s thoughts had taken, Walker rested a hand on Stanley’s shoulder. “Gage is tough, Hank,” he said softly. “He’ll be all right, you wait and see.”

“Thanks, Jim,” Stanley replied. The words and the touch provided much-needed comfort.

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

“Roy?” Johnny was less alert than he had been, the need to stay awake slipping away now that he had been found. “How’m I doing?” he asked. “I think I’m a bit shocky.”

“I think you’re a bit shocky, too,” Roy agreed, side-stepping around the question. He really didn’t want to answer. Johnny was becoming lethargic and Roy hoped that it wasn’t because of some unknown bleed from his legs. “Don’t worry, we’ll get an IV started and get you out of here soon.”

“I don’t want a thorn in my ‘leg’ like Mike had,” Johnny mumbled.

As he had missed that part of the conversation through not being present, Roy had no idea what Johnny was talking about and began to grow worried. He had been aware of the inflection Johnny had put on the word leg, but didn’t understand it. He looked across at Mike for enlightenment. “You don’t want to know,” Mike grumbled, “but he’s not losing his marbles.”

“Nah, he lost them years ago,” Chet added from his place half under the debris pile.

“Shut up, Chet,” Johnny growled but he didn’t sound annoyed.  In fact, he sounded downright drowsy.

“You’re not thinking of going to sleep on me here, are you, Junior?” Roy asked, poking his friend’s good shoulder.

“I’m tired,” Johnny whined. He was more than just tired. He was completely beaten down by the pain which had sprung into renewed life as his crew mates started to move the debris pinning his legs. He was also terrified; what if the boards were keeping pressure on a ruptured artery? Would he bleed out the moment the boards were moved?

“I know you are,” Roy replied softly and his hand slipped gently into Johnny’s right hand and gave it a tiny squeeze. Johnny’s hand was cold and Roy knew that the whole situation was really taking its toll on his partner. “We’ll get you out of here soon.”

“Hey, Roy? Head’s up.” Jay’s arm came through the bushes and passed Roy the IV set up. Marco, who happened to be closest, got the oxygen. While Roy got the stick, Marco set up the oxygen and slipped the mask on, making sure the straps didn’t touch the gash on his cheek.

It helped. Johnny knew from his training that it helped but he could actually feel the IV doing him some good and the oxygen made his head a bit clearer. While sleep still lured him with long, warm waves, he was better able to fight it off. He knew he had to keep awake, but that didn’t lessen the longing for oblivion where he would feel no pain.

It was perhaps another ten minutes before they were ready to move the last of the debris. Mike, Marco and Chet stood ready to do that, while Jay and Alan squeezed into the small space with Roy, clutching the MAST suit. “You can have some MS before we do this,” Jay told Johnny.

Johnny wanted to say something flip in return, but he was frightened now, terrified that the pain was going to get so much worse, that they were going to move the boards and he was going to bleed out. He didn’t want to die, not like this. He wanted to die an old man in his bed, having lived and full life with a wife and children that he loved. He didn’t want to go on a cold hillside lying inside a thorny bush with all his limbs broken. His breathing increased and his heart rate accelerated and he began to feel light-headed. I’m going to faint, he realised.

“Easy,” Roy’s disembodied voice soothed. “It’s just the MS working. You’re going to be just fine.”

And suddenly, the pressure was gone from his legs and there was frantic scrambling around him and Johnny panted even harder, fear drying his mouth and stiffening his lungs. Everything seemed far away as he slipped into darkness.

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

“He’s out!”

“Get the suit on!”

“Move that branch!”

“Watch it! Careful!”

The cacophony of voices whirled through Johnny’s consciousness. He was aware that he was moving and it hurt horribly, and now that he was the right way up, he was so dizzy from being upside down for so long. He thought he might throw up, but wasn’t really coherent enough to follow through on the thought. He wished everyone would stop moving him and just allow him to catch his breath, but he knew they couldn’t stop.

The pain was agonising and he cried out, but his scream was little more than a moan as it escaped his teeth and it was absorbed by the oxygen mask he wore. Nobody heard him for his friends, his rescuers, were intent on getting him out of there and into the MAST suit and stokes and on his way to the hospital. Johnny didn’t want to do any of those things right now. He just wanted the world to settle down and stop moving.

It didn’t. He was aware of a man leaning over the stokes and tightening the straps that held him in place, but couldn’t make out his features because of the involuntary tears of agony that blurred his vision. “He’s awake,” the man declared, but Johnny didn’t recognise his voice. “You’re doing fine, Johnny,” the man continued. “We’re just going to send you up top. Just relax.”

Quite how he was meant to relax when all he could feel was excruciating pain Johnny didn’t know. Every nerve ending in his body was screaming out for him to stop moving, to stop breathing, to stop being, just until they had the chance to heal. He moaned with pain, clenching his teeth until he thought they would break, tasting blood where he bit his tongue. He was fast becoming nauseated. Was this never going to end?

The bumping of the basket as it was hoisted up the ropes took him to the end of his endurance and past it. By the time the basket was being lowered gently to the ground at the top of the slope, Johnny was sobbing openly, not caring who might see.

People were speaking, but Johnny couldn’t pick out individual voices. He kept his eyes closed as tears seeped from beneath the lids and ran back into his hair and ears. It was all just noise and pain and totally dreadful. Johnny couldn’t find the words to describe how he felt.

Then, the one voice he knew better than any other was talking directly into his ear. “It’s all right, Johnny,” Roy crooned. “We’re giving you something for the pain and you’ll be at Rampart before you know it. You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

That soft, strong voice was something to hold on to and Johnny trusted Roy. He felt something cold entering his arm and a few moments later, he began to float, the pain dying back to a more manageable level. He was able to take a proper breath, feeling the oxygen rushing against his face. Thoughts flew away.

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

“He’s stabilising, Rampart,” Jay reported, the relief in his voice evident to everyone around.

Getting Johnny out and into the MAST suit, the stokes and up the hill had been traumatic for everyone concerned. His sudden descent into unconsciousness had caught them slightly on the hop and his moans and cries as he was hoisted back to safety had been heart rending. Roy was more than just glad when Rampart agreed that Johnny needed more pain relief before he was brought into the hospital.

“Transport immediately,” Brackett ordered and Jay acknowledged.

The stretcher bearing the stokes was loaded into the ambulance and Roy climbed in after it. Jay handed in the drug box and biophone. “Will you be all right on your own?” he asked, glancing at Johnny.

“I’ll be fine,” Roy declared firmly, for he wanted some time alone with his partner, caring for him without feeling everyone’s eyes on him. “Thanks.” The ambulance doors closed and it began to move a moment later.

Looking down at Johnny, Roy heaved a sigh of relief. “You’re going to be fine,” he promised again.

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

All that was left to do was clear up. Ropes were hauled up and coiled carefully, litter from Johnny’s treatment was shoved into compartments on the squad for throwing out later, dust was knocked from turnout coats and helmets were stowed away.

“Let me know how Gage is,” Walker requested as his crew took their leave of the scene.

“I will, thanks, Jim,” Hank replied. He watched the other engine and squad pull away and then walked to his own engine. Chet was already waiting by the squad. “We’ll drop the squad at Rampart, see if there’s any news, but we have to go back into service,” Hank told his men.

The news wasn’t welcome, but it wasn’t unexpected, either. They nodded unhappily and took their places and set off for the hospital.

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

“His blood pressure is up a bit, but still low,” Roy reported as the stretcher was wheeled into the treatment room. “He’s stable and his breathing has steadied. He’s still drifting from the MS. I splinted his arm and thumb, but we didn’t take the time to look at his legs.”

“Thanks, Roy.” Brackett supervised the transfer from the basket to the exam table and then everyone was ushered out as the x-ray tech was already waiting. “We’ll get pictures of his legs and see how things are there before we decide what to do. I hope he won’t need surgery, but we’ll have to wait and see.” Brackett looked at Roy. “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m all right now,” Roy admitted. “When he first went down...” He didn’t complete the thought. “How’s Tom, the house owner?”

“Dislocated shoulder and lots of bruises. The shoulder is back in place and he’s sleeping off the drugs. He should be able to leave tomorrow.” Brackett shrugged. “I hope he thinks it was worth it.”

The x-ray machine left the treatment room and the tech looked at Brackett. “I know, I know – you want these yesterday.”

“You got it, Malcolm,” Brackett replied, finding a smile from somewhere. He followed Roy into the treatment room and leaned over Johnny. “Johnny? Can you hear me?”

The injured paramedic’s left eye fluttered open. “Yeah,” he murmured. His right eye was hugely swollen and was mostly black.

“Do you know where you are?” Brackett asked.

The one eye wandered slowly over the ceiling, the only thing he could see since he was strapped into a cervical collar and lying on a backboard, his head taped down. “Rampart,” he replied and focused again on Dr Brackett.

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Friday?” Johnny guessed. Right now, the day of the week seemed irrelevant to him. He just wanted everything to stop hurting. “Doc, I’m in agony, here.”

“I know, Johnny. I’ll give you something as soon as I’ve seen the x-rays.” Brackett glanced up as Dixie came into the room carrying the packet of x-rays. Malcolm really had worked on them quickly. Brackett took them and went over to the viewing panel. Behind him, he could hear Dix talking to Johnny, then water running into a bowl as she prepared to wash his face.

There was no skull fracture and his cheekbone was intact. That was a big plus. Brackett put in the next set. Johnny’s neck was fine, but his left clavicle, as Roy had suspected, was broken. His left humorous was broken just above the elbow, but it was a clean break. The left forearm was broken through both bones just below the elbow, which was intact, luckily. His shoulder wasn’t dislocated, but the scapula had a clean break right across the bottom of the bone. Ortho would have to have a look at that before they decided what to do about it. The broken thumb was also clear but the rest of the right arm was fine.

Another x-ray went on and Brackett could see that the ribs were cracked, not broken. They would be more than sore enough, especially with the broken scapula to contend with. The good thing was that there was no sign of any tearing to the lungs.

Moving on to the pelvis, Brackett was astounded that it was intact. He’d been sure the pelvis would be broken and that allowed him to hope Johnny’s legs might be in better shape than he’d initially feared. He slid the x-ray into position and looked closely.

Johnny looked a lot cleaner when Brackett went back over. Dixie had done a good job. “How’re you feeling now?” Brackett asked.

“It hurts,” Johnny replied tightly. “It really hurts.” His face was still pale and his jaw was clenched.

“Let me do something about that for you now,” Brackett suggested and gave him a shot. Within a short time, Johnny’s body had relaxed and they were able to free him from the collar, backboard and MAST suit.

While Johnny was getting his face stitched, Roy went out to find the rest of the crew waiting. They were available from Rampart until they had spoken to Roy, but Cap had some bad news for him. “You’ll have to come back on duty,” he told the paramedic. “John’s replacement should be arriving soon. Sorry, pal.” He glanced at the treatment room door. “How’s he doing?”

“Better than we hoped,” Roy replied. “His legs are okay, but his left arm’s a mess. We’re waiting for Ortho to come down and look at the x-rays.”

“We’re heading back to the barn now,” Cap said, grimacing at the news. “You’ll need to be back there in about 20 minutes, Roy.”

“I’ll just go and say goodbye and let Brackett know,” Roy promised. “Then I’ll be right with you.” He watched the others leave and went back in.

There was a bandage over the stitches now. Johnny appeared to be sleeping, his head turned to the left. Roy didn’t want to wake him. “I’ve got to go back on duty,” he whispered. “I’ll see you later.” Johnny stirred slightly but didn’t waken.

“We’ll take good care of him,” Dixie promised and with that, Roy had to be content.

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

There was much muttering and looking at x-rays and Johnny wished they would all go away and let him sleep. He didn’t care that his collarbone was misaligned and that his scapula might need to be surgically repaired. He didn’t care that he had a mild concussion; he just wanted to sleep. There were too many people telling him too many things and he was just so tired.

“Johnny, listen to me.” The voice was familiar and comforting and Johnny somehow managed to drag his eye open to peer at Dixie. He was aware of other people standing in the background, but the overwhelming chatter seemed to have died away and he was grateful. It was making his headache worse. “Johnny, we need you to agree to surgery to fix your collar bone and shoulder blade.”

“Can’t it wait?” he asked weakly.

“I wish it could,” Dixie smiled, “but it needs to be done now. You want to regain full use of your arm, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. The pain was creeping back. “Ask Roy.”

“Roy had to go back to work,” she told him. “We don’t know when he might come in and you need to get this done now. It’s already been longer than we’re happy with.”

“I don’t want to,” Johnny whined.

“I know,” Dixie agreed. “But it’s what’s best for you.” She ran her knuckles gently down his uninjured cheek. “You want to carry on being a paramedic, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Lemme sign, then.”

It was fortunate, Dixie thought, handing the signed forms to Kel, that Johnny’s handwriting was illegible on the best of days, for that signature could have been written by a drunken spider that had walked through spilled ink. She stood beside him and rested her hand on his good arm while they waited for the orderlies to take him to theatre. He was awake and watching her, clearly apprehensive and in pain. “It’ll be fine,” she promised. “Would I lie to you?”

From somewhere, the battered man produced a mega-watt crooked smile. Dixie would carry the memory of that smile in her heart for the rest of her life.

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

“How is he?” were Roy’s first words to Dixie when he came in with a patient about an hour later.

“All right,” Dixie called after him. Right now, Roy had to give his attention to the doctor, which he duly did. Their patient wasn’t in a life or death situation and so Roy wasn’t too long before he turned up at the desk looking expectant.

“Can I see him?” Roy asked. The long-suffering Dwyer was covering for Johnny and was drifting towards the break room.

“He’s in surgery,” Dixie replied.

“Surgery!” Roy’s eyes were wide. “What for? I thought everything looked okay? Was there a bleeder we missed?”

“Roy, slow down!” Dixie ordered, holding her hand up. Dwyer had come over at Roy’s exclamation and was listening in, too. “Nothing bad has happened. Johnny hasn’t taken a turn for the worse. Ortho had to pin his scapula and the collarbone needs to be wired, so he’s gone to surgery. Kel is there, too, because some of the lacerations were deep and needed to be cleaned and stitched.” She glanced at the clock. “They shouldn’t be much longer. Are you going to wait?” and that, she reflected, was an unnecessary question.

“Yes,” Roy replied. “We’ll make ourselves available from here and get some coffee.” He didn’t bother looking to Dwyer for approval; he knew the other man would not object. “I’ll phone Cap and tell him,” he added. “Thanks, Dixie.” He took a step away and then turned back. “Did Johnny sign himself?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” Dixie nodded. She reached into her pile of charts and unerringly produced the correct one. “Good thing we can’t read his writing on a good day,” she added and laughed huskily.

“Isn’t it,” Roy agreed, looking at the wavering line that did seem to have a ‘J’ and a ‘G’ in them, but was completely illegible otherwise. He handed the chart back and followed Dwyer towards the break room. “Squad 51 available from Rampart General,” he said into the HT.

“Squad 51,” came the swift acknowledgment.

While Dwyer poured the coffee, Roy used the payphone in the break room to update Cap. Knowing that it was useless to suggest Roy could wait just as easily at the station, Cap agreed to them staying there in the meantime. The only thing that would drag Roy from Johnny’s side was a run – but after Roy had seen his partner, he would return to the station quite happily.

They settled down to wait.

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

It was two runs later before Roy got to see Johnny. By then, Johnny had been transferred to a room and was sleeping off the anaesthesia. His left arm was in a cast from knuckles to shoulder and snuggled against his chest in an immobiliser. Bandages were swathed around his shoulder and an extra pillow was strategically placed to prevent pressure on the surgical wound on his back. His right hand was in a partial cast, supporting the broken thumb and IVs ran into his right arm. Here and there on his torso, Roy could see places where Brackett had taken a couple of stitches to close some of the deeper gashes and when he drew the blankets back, he could see Johnny’s legs were dotted with stitches, too.

All in all, Roy thought, letting the blanket gently fall back, Johnny had been very lucky. When Tom had kicked him, he had been lucky not to have been more seriously injured, and after the house went down on top of him, he had been lucky not to have been killed. While his injuries were serious, they weren’t life threatening. The only question mark that remained was how quickly it would take Johnny to regain full use of his left arm. Roy had never heard of anyone actually breaking their scapula. Brackett informed him it formed less than 1% of all fractures presented in the ER.

“Leave it to you to find something obscure,” Roy observed.

“Time to go, Roy,” Brackett called softly from the doorway.

Patting Johnny’s arm one last time, Roy left his partner to sleep. “Is his arm going to be all right?” he asked.

“I can’t say for sure right now,” Brackett replied, “but I’d bet on it. We’ll start some physical therapy in the next couple of days so that his shoulder doesn’t freeze up. That’s the main worry. However, with it being plated together, it’ll heal quickly and shouldn’t cause too many problems.”

“Any other concerns?” Roy asked.

“The usual,” Brackett sighed. “Infection is going to be the biggest one. We cleaned everything out in the OR, but the dirt was engrained in those wounds. You saw how much dirt there was on him and his clothes hadn’t provided much protection and little wonder. Some of the bigger gashes looked like they were already starting an infection. We’ve got him on antibiotics, so we’ll see how he does.” Brackett’s mouth twitched. “He’s got some guardian angel watching out for him.”

“He sure does,” Roy agreed.

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

The next few days were quite tough for Johnny. His movement was severely limited because of all his aches and pains and he hated to ask for pain relief, as he tended to sleep a lot with it. However, as everything settled down a bit, the pain killers were backed off a bit and Johnny was able to enjoy his visitors.

The antibiotics did their job and kept infection at bay. Johnny’s black eye remained swollen and highly coloured for the first week and only after that did the colour start to die away to greens and yellows, but it was almost a month before the last of the colour left his face completely.

Physical therapy, with the combination of the double broken arm, the broken scapula and clavicle, was hell on wheels. Johnny couldn’t decide if it was better when he took the painkillers before or after, for neither time did they seem very effective and he refused to ask for anything stronger. He seemed to always have an ice pack or a hot pack resting on his shoulder and wasn’t sure that they made any difference. He was frustrated that he couldn’t wear his own pyjamas as they didn’t fit over the bulky bandages, cast and sling and was stuck with a hospital gown for his entire stay. Until he developed a knack for using a fork or spoon in his partially-casted right hand – and the lack of his thumb was more debilitating that he had anticipated – he had to rely on the nurses or his friends to help him to eat, and even after he had his ‘knack’, he often dropped the utensil and the food it contained.

His next hurdle was getting dressed. He could manage loose sweat pants, but his jeans defeated him. Roy, who was often a witness to his struggles for independence, jokingly told him that if his jeans were a size or two larger, he would have less trouble.

“Roy!” Johnny exclaimed, looking at his friend in disbelief. “Why would I wear them larger?” His jeans frequently looked like he’d had to use axle grease to get them on.

“They’d be easier to get on,” Roy replied, knowing that he had apparently missed something very obvious.

“The girls don’t want to see baggy jeans on a guy like me,” Johnny explained kindly. “They want to see what they’re getting.” Johnny knew from comments that his many girlfriends had made that his skin-tight jeans were a huge turn-on.

“Well, what do I know?” Roy commented dryly. “I’m married.”

“Exactly,” Johnny agreed. “Not that that’s a bad thing, Roy. You being married and all. It’s just that... that... well ... ask Joanne. She’ll tell ya.”

“I have no doubt about that at all,” Roy added, even more dryly. His wife certainly seemed to understand Johnny a lot better than he did sometimes and he wasn’t quite sure why.

After 10 days, Johnny was allowed to go ‘home’ to the DeSotos’. He was looking forward to his time there and fondly remembered his first prolonged stay when he was wheelchair bound. He had had his eyes opened to family life then, but it hadn’t put him off at all. While he hated to be a burden to anyone, Joanne, Roy and the kids had made him so much a part of their lives that he no longer felt as though he was putting them out. Friends helped friends, Joanne had told him and he accepted that, for he helped them out whenever he could.

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

Finally, the great day dawned when he went back to work. It had been four months of gruelling physical therapy and frustration and a fair amount of pain, but Johnny was back, his left arm fully functional and his enthusiasm for the job undiminished.

He had a few tricks up his sleeve, too. Before the accident, he had been driving everyone nuts with his choices of musical instruments. The bagpipes had been the real killer. The horrific wailing in the echo-y bay at the station would have put ghosts to flight, had the station had any. But one of the things the physical therapist encouraged Johnny to do was play the guitar he had had since he was a kid. It was good for fine tuning his motor skills and the practice had paid off.

Stepping into the kitchen, his guitar hanging from a strap around his shoulders, Johnny struck a chord. “Hey folks, it’s Johnny Gage,” he said in his best ‘Grand Ol’ Opry’ style voice.

Immediately, Chet started cat-calling. Johnny ignored him and sat down. He began to strum and there was a silence.

Actually, he wasn’t that bad...

The End

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