"Sheesh!" Kelly exclaimed the following morning, as the vacationers motored along mile after mile of fir-tree-lined, snow-covered and banked highway—devoid of any signs of human habitation. "I’ve never seen so many trees! This area of the country sure is…desolate!"
"Ahhh, man. I don’t believe this!" Gage grumbled, as a ‘Lanse 40 Miles’ sign suddenly whipped past his window.
"Wha-at?" Chet shot his passenger an anxious glance. Those were not words you wanted to hear your navigator mutter.
The paramedic glanced up from the map in his lap. "We must a’ missed our turn-off."
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah. I’m serious. Turn around."
Kelly carefully brought the car to a stop and then even more carefully began making a U-turn.
"I’ve been reading maps for over six years," John went on, "but I’ve never seen anything this screwy. I mean, why even bother to print a map, if you’re not gonna mark any of the roads?"
The car’s driver refrained from commenting.
"We’re just gonna hafta go by mileage," its passenger further determined.
"And Mertin’s Café signs," his hungry companion added. "I thought it was weird, when we hadn’t seen any in a while.” The famished fireman finally managed to get them safely headed back in the right direction.
Gage chanced a glance at the gas gauge. The needle still registered three-quarters of a tank.
Which was a huge relief, since neither of them had seen a gas station in the past sixty, or so, desolate miles.
Kelly kept one eye peeled on the road and the other on the odometer. "Alright, we’ve come 24 miles r-r-right…n-n-no-ow!"
The car’s occupants gazed out its windows for a few moments and then at one another—in complete confusion.
"I don’t get it," Gage griped. "According to this," he rattled their sorry excuse for a road map, "we just drove through the town of Channing. There were only two houses."
"Three," Kelly corrected. "And a garage."
The vehicle’s navigator shook his confused noggin a few times. "We hafta hang a right pretty quick. The next couple a’ houses could be Sagola. So you’d better slow down."
Less than an hour later, the Californians’ rental car pulled up in front of Mertin’s Café.
The exhausted pair of explorers exited their parked vehicle and then stood there—on Main Street, Iron River, Michigan—clutching their coats against the cold.
"I feel like we should plant a flag, or something," Kelly quipped.
His shivering chum was forced to chuckle.
Chet grinned and followed his still snickering associate into the restaurant—er, café.
The two men looked around the tiny eatery.
Crammed into the confined space were a few wooden booths, a couple of tables and a little lunch counter.
"Boy," Kelly began, "for bein’ so small, this place sure does a lot of advertising. They must have thirty signs between here and Marquette."
Gage shrugged his jacket off and draped it over the back of a chair. "Don’t knock it. If it wasn’t for those signs, we never would a’ made it. They worked slicker than the map…just like a homing signal. And, to show our appreciation, I’m gonna buy us a big victory dinner—and leave the waitress a big tip."
Speaking of waitresses…
A pretty, petite brunette came stepping up. She placed a pitcher of ice water and a pair of drinking glasses down on their window table and then passed them each a menu. "Hi." The girl’s polite smile graduated into a bonified grin. "Say, I saw you two on TV the other day. You’re the guys from California, right?"
John read the girl’s nameplate. "Hi, Diane. Yeah…we’re the guys from California."
"And we’re famished!" Chet interjected and eagerly opened his menu. "So...what would you recommend?"
"Everything on there is good. But pasties are our specialty. This place makes the best pasties! Well, except for my grandmother’s," the woman added with a wink—in a whisper.
The two guys from California exchanged mystified glances.
Kelly turned back to their hostess. "What, exactly, a-are pasties?"
The girl gazed at the pair as though they’d just sprouted purple antennae. "You’ve never had a pasty?" The gal quickly overcame her amazement and switched back into waitress mode. "Like I said, this place—well, really, the whole U.P.—is famous for its pasties…which consist of diced carrots, potatoes and onions baked in a light pastry crust. They come in chicken, ground beef or vegetarian, and you can get them with, or without, rutabagas. And, visitors—brave enough to try them—are not disappointed," Diane further assured them.
Actually, it came across as more of a dare than an assurance.
The courageous Californians promptly placed their orders: two coffees, two milks and two U.P. specialties…ground beef…with rutabagas…whatever the heck those were.
There were about fifteen other patrons in the place and it didn’t take the two newcomers long to realize that they were the center of everyone’s attention. Oh, their fellow diners tried to be discreet. But, every time the firemen glanced around, they found the café’s other customers’ gazes locked upon them.
"You get the feelin’ that Diane ain’t the only one who saw us on TV the other day?" the paramedic pondered in a hushed tone and rolled his eyes in the direction of their audience.
His companion nodded and then quietly confessed, "Yah know, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be famous." Kelly pulled a pair of dark mirror shades from the front pocket of his ski jacket and quickly slipped them on. The celebrity then sat there, hiding behind his dark glasses.
Gage managed an amused gasp, and then buried his famous face behind his menu.
"Diane was right!" Gage exclaimed, through a mouthful of partially masticated pasty. "This is incredible! The guys back at the Station would love these things! I have got to get this recipe!"
Kelly quickly averted his eyes. "What’s to get? I mean, she already gave you the ingredients: diced carrots, potatoes, onions and hamburger baked in a light pastry crust." His empty tummy grumbled at the mere mention of food. He stopped talking to take a big bite of his own pasty. "Gawd, these are good, aren’t they!" he proclaimed, just prior to swallowing the mouth-watering morsel. He’d prefer pasties to just plain burgers—any day!
His dinner companion nodded—vigorously.
The firemen had finished their milk and pasties and were sipping the last of their coffee, when Diane returned to their table, brandishing a fresh hot pot of the steaming brew…and their check.
The diners waved off a refill.
John took a look at the bill. Then he handed it back to the girl—along with a twenty—and told her to keep the change.
Diane looked at him like he’d just sprouted purple antennae again. "You do realize that this is a twenty…and not a ten." She really needed to be sure. Cuz, both meals had only come to six bucks, and nobody had ever given her a fourteen-dollar tip before.
Gage gave the pretty miss a grin and a nod.
Kelly was glad that he was still seated, or he may have keeled over. "Sheesh, Gage! If you’d spend that much on your dates, maybe you wouldn’t get dumped so often."
John shot his friend a look that was an equal mixture of amusement and annoyance. The reason he didn’t spend a lot on his dates wasn’t because he was tight with his money. It just so happened that the things he loved to do and the foods he liked to eat weren’t all that expensive. He’d just never had to fork out a lot of green to have a good time. He turned back to the now grinning girl. "Is there any way I could get the recipe for those pasty things?"
The girl’s grin turned upside-down. "Sorry. The Mertin’s won’t divulge their secret pasty formula to anybody. They’re afraid folks’ll stop comin’, if they can make ‘em themselves, at home." Diane saw how crushed their California visitors appeared to be by this bit of news and quickly came up with a plan. "Hey, cheer up. They ain’t the only ones who make pasties. My grandmother would be more than happy to share her recipe with you."
Her guests’ countenances brightened.
John, especially, looked hopeful. "You sure it’s not too much bother?"
"It’s no bother at all," the girl assured them. "I’ll go give her a call…"
"Ask her about the lodge," Chet urged.
"Uhhh, Diane?"
The waitress halted and then spun back around.
"You wouldn’t happen to know how to get to the Ski Brule Mountain Lodge, would you?"
A strange look suddenly came over the girl. A smile followed closely in its wake. "My grandmother lives on the same road. Look, I’m off in five. Why don’t you guys have a refill. Then you can follow me over to my gram’s house…pick up the pasty recipe…and be on your way from there."
John was positively jubilant. "Sounds great!"
"Yeah! That’d be great! Thanks!" Chet added, sounding equally enthusiastic. With a guide—and a little luck—they just might make it to their new lodgings before dark.
The big tippers slid their coffee cups across the table and their extremely helpful hostess quickly topped them off.
Fifteen minutes later, the two firemen found themselves at Grandma’s House.
Diane’s grandmother turned out to be a sweet little Bulgarian lady, who spoke with an extremely heavy accent. The woman said that she recognized her guests from her TV. She also insisted on showing them—step by step—how pasties are made.
It was a hands on experience from start to finish and the pair departed with not one, but three recipes. They also had in their possession a half-dozen pasties, fresh from the oven, which, when cooled, needed to be individually wrapped—in tinfoil.
Gage glanced back over his shoulder at the shallow cardboard box that was resting on their great-smelling car’s back seat. "Where are we gonna find tinfoil?"
"Turn the blower fan up another notch or two, will yah," Kelly requested. "I can’t see. The pasties are steaming up the windows."
"The defroster’s goin’ full-blast, already. Stop the car. I’ll stick ‘em in the trunk."
"No way! They’ll get all smooshed. Just wind your window down."
"It’s twenty-eight degrees out there."
"So-o?"
"So-o, you wind your window down."
"All right. We’ll both roll our windows down. C’mon, John. It’ll be cool. Just think of it as a ‘one-horse-open-sleigh’ ride."
"Oh…It’s gonna be waaaay more than cool. It’s gonna be damn cold! We’re traveling at over 40 MPH! The wind-chill factor is gonna be below zero!"
"Okay. Okay. Then just open yours a crack," the car’s driver compromised. "If you get too cold, you can always crank up the heater."
His passenger sighed in surrender and cracked his window open.
Chet rolled his down—all the way.
There was a sudden—drastic—drop in air temperature. The steam dissipated and visibility began to improve—immediately.
"What a sweet little old lady!" Kelly suddenly exclaimed, in an attempt to get his chum’s mind on something other than the wind-chill factor.
"Yeah," Gage agreed.
"And feisty!"
" And generous. I can’t believe she gave us three of her best recipes! Course, that scrambled eggs and tomatoes thing was kind a’ weird…"
"Fortunately, it tasted a whole lot better than it looked. I thought that fried bread stuff was amazing!"
"Some of the best fry bread I’ve ever had," his distracted companion confessed. Then he glanced back over his shoulder and inquired, once again, "Where are we ever gonna find tinfoil?"
"Relax, will yah. I mean, it’s not like the pasty police are gonna come along and bust us if we wrap ‘em in paper or plastic."
"You sure about that?" John attempted to keep a somber expression, but a grin betrayed him.
Kelly flashed his grinning companion a broad smile and shivered. "I think the pasties are cool enough," he quickly determined and began cranking his window back up.
His passenger wound his window up as well. Gage wasn’t so sure about the temperature of their pasties. But it had gotten cold enough in their car for them to actually see their breath.
Nicole Norland stood in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, in the spacious—and crowded—lobby of the Ski Brule Mountain Lodge, surveying her domain.
As Captain of the Brule Mountain Ski Patrol, the beautiful, blue-eyed blonde ruled the mountain’s slopes. Seeing as how her father owned the place, the pretty miss also reigned over the mountain’s multi-million dollar resort. The girl was used to getting what she wanted and, right then, Nicole wanted the gorgeous guy that had just entered the lobby.
She recognized the tall, good-looking gentleman in an instant. The woman had fallen in love with the fellow the first moment she’d seen his handsome face flash across her television screen.
The young man stepped up to the lobby’s enormous stone fireplace. He brushed his unzipped parka back, placed both of his hands on his hips and then stood there, frowning.
Nicole noted that neither hand bore a wedding band. ‘I bet I can put a smile back on your face,’ the young lady silently mused and, immediately, stepped up beside him. "You don’t approve of our fireplace?"
"Humph. It’s more like an open gas furnace than a fireplace. I mean, a real fireplace should burn wood—real wood," Gage groused and glanced, glumly, in the questioner’s direction. John’s jaw dropped. He just stood there in stunned silence, and rightfully so. After all, the person who had posed the question was stunningly beautiful.
"Nicole Norland," the little lady, with the ‘Brule Mountain Ski Patrol’ patch on the sleeve of her bright red jacket volunteered, and flashed him the loveliest of smiles. "Friends call me Nikki."
"John Gage," the fireman quickly countered, when he’d recovered from his close encounter of the Captain? Nicole Norland kind, and politely proffered an open palm.
Nicole took it and shook it—and kept it. "Will you be a guest here, at the lodge?"
"If I can ever get Chet away from his snowmobile long enough to get checked in," the paramedic replied, with a suppressed, and slightly crooked, smile.
"In that case…How would you like to stay…in your very own private chalet…with a real wood-burning fireplace?" the pretty miss proposed.
The gentleman’s jaw dropped for the second time in as many minutes. "Are you serious?"
Nikki nodded. "Of course, there’d be no phone, and it would mean trading your indoor ‘facilities’ for an outhouse…"
John’s smile returned and broadened. "That’s even better!"
It was the girl’s turn to grin. Nicole now found the already unbelievably attractive young man even more irresistible! Her heart had always been drawn to the rugged, outdoorsy types. "C’mon!" she urged and began towing her outdoorsman off across the lobby. "I’ll show you to your…quarters."
Twenty minutes later, the two Californians found themselves atop Brule Mountain.
They raised the visors on their rented snowmobile helmets and stood there, staring out at some truly spectacular vistas! From their current vantage point, the visitors could see—quite clearly—for miles…and miles…and miles—in all directions.
"We’re standing at the highest elevation within a 100 square mile radius," Nikki shouted out, above the noisy sputtering of their snow machines’ idling two-cycle engines. "That’s the lodge, down there." Their guide aimed a gloved hand down one the mountain’s many steep ski slopes. "And that’s the Brule River." She pointed to a meandering stream far below, at the mountain’s opposite base. "Right across that river, is Wisconsin."
The trio took in the breathtaking scenery for a few more minutes and then climbed back aboard their snowmobiles.
A few more short twists and turns in the trail and they were at the chalet…their very own private chalet.
The rather large log structure nestled cozily into a little clearing that had been cut—just for it—right smack dab on the top of the mountain. That the picturesque place had been built to take full advantage of the million-dollar view was evident in all the windows, and the open-air deck, which completely encompassed it.
Speaking of the million-dollar view…
It was probably a little late to ask, but, once they’d killed their noisy engines, Chet Kelly lifted the visor on his helmet and nervously inquired, "Exactly how much is this place gonna cost us?"
Nikki caught the Irishman’s inquiry and promptly replied—er, promised, "Not a penny more than you’ve already prepaid."
The Californians apparently couldn’t believe their good fortune because they exchanged more than a couple of mystified glances.
"Far out!" Kelly proclaimed. He scrambled off his snow machine and began unbuckling his suitcase from the little sled he’d been towing. Actually, it was more of a Stokes on skis, than a sled. Which, they’d been informed, the ski patrol normally used to transport injured skiers.
The two Californians carried their luggage, and the cardboard box of cooled pasties, into the cabin.
Gage made it as far as the little alcove, just to the left of the entryway.
The small space was filled, from floor to ceiling, with the latest ‘state of the art’ rescue gear.
John passed the box of pasties to their pretty hostess. Then he set his suitcase down and began running his hands over the assorted equipment. "Gibbs ascenders…Petzl AM’D karabiners…Collinex ring bolts…Meillan rapid descenders…SAR air splints…S.K.E.D. stretchers…Larkin rescue frames…CMI belaying devices…Petzl ropes…Stohlquist wilderness packs…Raine spine boards…Pelican 1600 EMS packs…EVAC O2 packs…CMI micro CSR pulleys…GEMTOR harnesses..." Gage was in his glory! The paramedic felt like the proverbial ‘kid in a candy store’!
Nicole Norland was completely stunned. She took the box she’d been passed and followed Chet Kelly into the kitchen. "Why is he so familiar with that equipment?"
"'Cuz he uses that stuff all the time. I use it, too…on occasion, but I’m not on a first name basis with it, like he is." Chet set his suitcase on the floor. Then he took the box of cooled pasties from her and placed it on the counter. "Do you have any tinfoil?"
Nikki completely ignored his question. "What—exactly—do you two do?"
"Don’t tell anybody, but we’re Los Angeles County firefighters. He’s a firefighter/paramedic."
The Captain of Brule Mountain’s Ski Patrol felt faint. That clinched it! The woman would have accepted the handsome young man—no matter what he did for a living. However, upon hearing that he was a firefighter/paramedic? Well, Nikki was now truly in love! She was also somewhat confused. "Why don’t you want anyone to know that?"
"Because we don’t want people to think that you hafta be a fireman or a paramedic in order to give someone Basic Life Support. Do you have any tinfoil?"
"How did you guys ever end up in the U.P.?"
"Johnny got hurt on the job and his doctor wanted him to ‘get away from it all’ for awhile, and the department wouldn’t let us swap vacations anymore. So I had to swap reservations with Phil Newcomb. Do you—"
"—I know Phil and Deanna—and both of their boys! The Newcombs have been coming here for years!"
Kelly flashed the pretty lady a ‘that’s nice’ smile and then posed his question for a third time. "Do you have any tinfoil?"
Nikki was even more confused. "Why do you keep asking me that?"
"Because we need it to wrap our pasties," Kelly explained. "He-ey...Don’t worry," he added, upon seeing that the woman was now staring back at him in utter disbelief. "We promise we’ll replace what we use…Help yourself!" he offered, as their hostess’ amazed gaze shifted to the shallow box she'd carried into the kitchen. "We just finished makin’ ‘em. So they really are ‘fresh from the oven’."
Nikki remained speechless.
The Los Angeles County firefighter/paramedic finally exited the little alcove. "You guys have got an amazing bunch of rescue gear!" He stopped suddenly and glanced around. "It’s warm in here…but...there was no smoke coming from the chimney…"
Nikki was forced to smile. "There’s no electricity. So we do use gas to run the furnace, lights, stove, refrigerator and water-heater. But I assure you, the fireplace is fueled by wood—real wood." She took John’s hand and towed him over to an enormous wood-burning stone fireplace.
"During the season, the Ski Patrol uses this place to warm up. That’s why most of our medical and rescue gear is stored here. We had the furnace installed to keep us—and the water pipes—from freezing." She motioned to the huge stone structure. "We had this built strictly for the warm cozy atmosphere. You’ll find the real wood piled on the left side of the path to the outhouse." She pointed out the wall of windows, to some long-handled tools. "There’s a shovel, if you care to scoop out a place on the deck, and a broom, if you care to sweep off some chairs. I like to sit out there and sip my morning coffee."
She focused all of her attention back on the California fireman—whose hand she was still clutching. "This is my favorite place in the whole world." She tilted her head to the right. "Out that window, you can watch the sun rise." She turned her face to the left. "Out that window, you can watch it set…"
The sun happened to be setting just then.
The trio watched as the brilliant yellow orb slowly sank behind an ominous black bank of approaching storm clouds.
"It’s supposed to snow heavily tonight," Nikki announced and turned to Chet. "So, if you decide to go riding and don’t want to get lost, follow your tracks back to the cabin before they drift in."
Chet nodded, appreciatively.
"C’mon," the woman invited and began pulling the paramedic over to an open set of stairs. "I wanna show you the view from the loft…before it gets too dark."
Kelly’s eyebrows shot up into the middle of his forehead. The invitation, itself, was innocent enough, but the sultry way it had been delivered? And the way the girl had been gazing at Gage—with those big, beautiful bedroom eyes? He now knew how much this place was going to cost them. Well...one of them, anyways. He waggled his bushy arched brows a couple of times and then returned to the kitchen. ‘This place is pretty well stocked,’ he realized, as he began peaking behind cupboard doors. ‘There must be some tinfoil around here—somewhere!’
Nicole Norland led her captive into the loft and up to the only piece of furniture in the tiny space, a rustic bed.
She latched onto the fireman’s free hand, as well, and pulled him toward her, quickly closing the gap between them. The woman moistened her lips and then gazed up into the gentleman’s warm, expressive eyes, begging to be kissed.
John Gage had to agree. The view certainly was breathtaking! And he hadn’t even looked out the windows, yet. The woman pressed her beautiful body up hard against him and he felt something else start to harden. He caught himself. "Uhhh…Look…Nikki…I hope I’m not mis-reading anything here—"
"—Oh-oh...I certainly hope you’re not," the woman interrupted, in a breathy whisper. "I stopped being subtle…at the foot of the stairs." She brushed her moistened lips across his mouth. "Besides, it’s not like I’m throwing myself at you. I’ve been in love with you for days...ever since I first saw your face flash across my television screen." She unzipped the paramedic’s parka and slid her warm hands seductively over his chest, stopping at his shirt buttons.
John’s pulse quickened. "But…you barely know me!" he stated, sounding a bit breathless himself. The woman’s advances were rapidly wearing down his resolve.
"I know that I find you unbelievably attractive," Nikki spoke, as she began undoing his buttons. "I know that you’re a fireman—a paramedic. I know that you go out of your way to help people—complete strangers. I know you love roughing it in the Great Outdoors." Her fingers finished with the buttons and began fumbling with the buckle to his belt. "I know you love real wood-burning fireplaces. I know you can cook pasties. I know—"
"—Look, Nikki," Gage latched onto the girl’s probing appendages, before they could undo, or unzip, anything else. "I find you incredibly attractive, too! Believe me, I truly do-o! A-and, if I wasn’t already in a relationship, I would have packed some condoms, and we would probably be rollin’ around in that bed, right now."
Nikki was only slightly deterred. "So-o...is it the relationship—or the lack of protection—that’s stopping you?"
The fireman was forced to smile. "The relationship. Something tells me, a smart girl like you would be on the pill."
Miss Norland was now completely deterred…and deeply saddened. "Now...I know you’re not a two-timing jerk." She reluctantly re-buckled the fireman’s belt, but left his shirt buttons undone. She cradled the fireman’s handsome face in her hands and forced a sad smile. "That just makes you even more attractive..."
John flashed her a bashful, slightly askew, smile. "You want your keys back?"
Nicole couldn’t help but chuckle. "I also know…that you make me laugh," she announced and returned his grin. "You can keep the keys. Chet tells me you left California to ‘get away from it all’. We-ell…" she finally pointed to the view out the loft’s windows, "it doesn’t get any more ‘away from it all’ than this place!" She turned back to face him and smiled. "You guys are welcome to stay here...for just as long as you like."
"Thanks, Nikki!"
"You’re welcome, John." The lovely lady’s smile suddenly saddened. "I hope whoever it is, that you’re currently seeing, appreciates you. I also hope that, if this ‘relationship’ you are currently involved in ever ends, you will look me up. So that the two of us can pick up…right about where we left off…" she finished, in that breathy whisper, and kissed him lightly—on the cheek.
The pair descended the stairs.
Chet saw his pal’s unzipped parka and unbuttoned shirt and his eyebrows shot up into the middle of his forehead again. ‘Geeze, Gage! That sure was fast!' he amusedly mused. 'No wonder the chicks keep dumpin’ yah!’
Man! Kelly couldn't believe his bachelor friend had actually passed on the pretty girl's blatant invitation! Gage had to be certifiably insane! One of Chet's eyebrows lowered, in thought. 'Or in love...' Damn! No wonder his buddy had been so reluctant to leave LA! His other brow suddenly lowered and he stood there contemplating what his own reluctance to leave Marquette meant...
Nicole entered the kitchen. She pulled an oblong box from a drawer and handed it to Kelly. "I’ll see you in the morning, Chet…probably sometime around eight."
"Right!" the Irishman acknowledged.
The two had made a date…of sorts. Their gorgeous guide had promised to show him some of the best snowmobile trails—and sights—in the entire area. They’d even talked of crossing the Brule River into Wisconsin.
Chet could hardly wait to hit the trails! He flashed the little lady an appreciative grin. "Thanks!"
Miss Norland smiled and nodded. "Goodnight," she told him and turned to leave.
John escorted her over to the door. "Goodnight, Nikki…"
The girl gazed longingly into the gentleman’s dreamy dark eyes for a few moments. "Goodnight, John…" she wished, in that breathy whisper of hers. Then she smiled and waved—and was gone.
Chet finally glanced down at the oblong box in his hands. "Hey! Look! Tinfoil!"
Gage couldn’t help but grin. He stared disbelievingly at their surroundings—the polished hardwood floors, the rich throw rugs and the costly décor. ‘A person could hardly call this posh place roughing it.’ In fact, the only thing lacking was a warm cozy atmosphere. He grinned again and then headed off—in the direction of the woodpile.
Chet placed his last tinfoil wrapped pasty into the refrigerator and then quickly redonned his ski parka.
His friend’s failure to return from his trip to the woodpile—in a timely fashion—was giving him cause for concern. So, with flashlight in hand, he ventured out to investigate.
Kelly followed a freshly cleared snow trail around the base of the cabin’s deck and found his missing chum—with a shovel in his hands and a smile upon his face.
Gage had already reached—and uncovered—the woodpile, and was in the process of clearing a path to the outhouse.
“I’ll take over from here,” Chet announced.
The paramedic didn’t protest. He simply passed his pal the snow shovel, and then backtracked over to the woodpile.
John tossed the canvas tarp off and started loading his left arm with two-foot lengths of logs—real, wooden logs.
Gage stomped his feet up the steps of the deck and carried his burden into the cabin.
Kelly must have discovered a box of matches while conducting his tinfoil search, because every gaslight, in the entire place, appeared to be lit.
John dumped his armload of logs into the woodbox and set the fireplace screen aside. He then rested one foot on the hearth and reached up into the chimney. His hand latched onto a soot-covered metal lever and he yanked the fireplace’s flue open.
There was a pile of old newspapers beside the woodbox. He pulled the top one from the stack, wadded its pages up into tight little balls, and placed them in the center of the log holder. Next, he took slender sticks of cedar kindling and built a little teepee over the wadded up paper. He built another teepee over that one, using cut up branches, and then built a final one—of logs.
Dozens of long wooden matches were nestled in a box on the mantle. The fire starter struck one of them up and then used it to light the paper…which sparked the kindling…which ignited the branches…which would—eventually—get the logs burning.
The paramedic promptly replaced the fireplaces’ protective mesh screen.
Within just a matter of minutes, Gage had a snapping, crackling, cozy little fire going.
It took about the same amount of time for Kelly to finish clearing the path to the privy.
Since he was right there, he decided he might as well use the facilities. So he pulled the flashlight from his coat pocket and went in.
The outhouse door had an amazingly powerful spring attached to it, probably to prevent wind damage or critter entry.
At any rate, the heavy wooden portal closed so abruptly—and so hard—it ended up smacking Chet rather painfully on his posterior.
The fireman rubbed his sore backside and flashed his light about the tiny abode. He grunted at what its beam revealed.
The outhouse was a ‘two-holer’. Both holes had covers, but only one had a seat. Right over the hole with no seat was a sign that said ‘MEN’. Above the other hole, which bore a black, furry-cloth-covered toilet seat, the sign read ‘WOMEN’.
Kelly utilized the MEN’s hole and then shouldered his way back out the door.
Without his tush in the way, the portal slammed shut with a terrific amount of force. The resulting loud ‘BANG!’ startled Chet and caused a kind of an avalanche.
The Californian was even more startled as an eave of overhanging snow came cascading down upon his uncovered head. He let out a ‘yelp’ and then cringed and shivered, as the incredibly cold substance melted its way down the back of his neck.
Chet stomped and shivered, and shook and shimmied, his snow covered boots—and body—back into the warm, cozy cabin.
John had assumed a seat on the plush leather sofa, situated directly in front of the now roaring fireplace.
Kelly tossed his gloves onto a radiator, his parka onto a coat hook and immediately took up a position in front of the fire, too. He stood with his back to the fireplace and waited for its warmth to penetrate his still somewhat pained—and now partially frozen—posterior.
Gage gazed dreamily into the fire and watched as the flames darted and danced in and out of the white birch logs.
Fire had two profound affects on the paramedic. Out of control, it sent his adrenaline charged body into overdrive. Under control, its flitting, flaming dance filled him with such peace and serenity, he found it rather difficult to keep his heavy eyelids elevated.
Kelly saw his companion sitting there, staring trance-like into the fire, and was forced to smile. “Too bad we couldn’t just stay here. I think one week up here would do you more good than a whole month, back in LA.”
“We can,” John said, as his no-longer-chilled chum finally assumed a seat on the opposite side of the leather sofa. “Nikki told me that we can stay here for just as long as we like.”
Chet was both pleased…and somewhat saddened to hear that. He was torn between wanting to see his ‘stressed out’ buddy finally get to really relax…a-and wanting to spend more time with Vickie. He flashed his friend a smile and quickly cast his vote. “Then, I say we stay!” Johnny’s health was waaaay more important than his personal ‘love life’.
Gage grinned his agreement. The paramedic was perfectly contented. Well, maybe not ‘perfectly’ contented. It would take the presence of a certain blonde-haired, green-eyed girl, snuggled up on the sofa beside him, to create ‘perfect’ contentment. He gazed longingly down at the empty cushion for a few moments and then glanced up.
Kelly was staring down at the same empty space, with a kind a’ melancholy look on his mustached face.
John made a mental note to ask Nikki something, when he saw her in the morning. Speaking of Nikki…“You can have the loft,” he offered. After what had transpired up there earlier, he had serious doubts about ever being able to fall peacefully asleep on that bed.
Chet nodded his acceptance of their sleeping arrangements. “I found some cocoa mix in one of the cupboards. You want a cup?”
“Sure. Thanks!”
Kelly rose to his feet and quickly made his way into the kitchen.
Gage heaved a sigh of almost pure contentment. He gave the empty cushion beside him another wistful glance…and then went back to gazing serenely into their cozy little fire.
The two California visitors awoke bright and—thanks to the wind-up alarm clock Kelly had found and set—very early the following morning.
The cabin’s cupboards were well stocked with non-perishables, but fresh foods, like milk, bread, butter and eggs, were sorely lacking.
So pair had heated up a couple a’ pasties for breakfast. The reason why Diane’s grandmother had told them to wrap the cooled items in tin foil quickly became apparent, when all they had to do was pull the dang things from the fridge and pop them directly in the oven.
A foot-and-a-half of fresh snow had fallen overnight, and it was still snowing. While the famished firemen were waiting for their ‘no muss—no fuss’ food to warm, they had taken turns clearing the paths they had created the previous evening.
During breakfast, it was determined that, while Chet and Nikki were off snowmobiling, John would take a run into Iron River, to stock up on supplies.
The paramedic stood at a kitchen counter, with paper and pencil in hand. “Can you think of anything else we need—besides: eggs, pancake mix, syrup, milk, coffee, cocoa mix, bread, butter, paper towels, T.P., matches and sunflower seeds?”
“Tin foil,” Chet told him. “Don’t forget the tin foil!”
John smiled and jotted ‘tin foil’ down at the top of his shopping list.
“Where yah goin’?” Chet inquired, as his chum re-donned his parka.
“To the ‘little brown shack out back’.”
Kelly contemplated passing along an ‘avalanche alert’. But then he recalled what his pal had said about ‘driving practice’, and immediately dismissed the whole ‘advance warning’ idea.
He waited until he heard a loud ‘shriek’, before re-donning his own parka and ducking outdoors.
Chet reached the outhouse just as his bent over buddy was brushing the last bits of avalanched snow from the back of his bare neck. “Pretty powerful spring, huh…”
John slowly straightened up. He gave his amused amigo an annoyed glare. “You knew about the damn door?”
Chet nodded and his smug smile broadened into an even smugger grin.
“Well, why didn’t you tell me about it?”
"Because there are things in life that can't be told. There are things that can only be learned from personal experi—” Kelly caught the vengeful gleam in Gage’s narrowing eyes and cut his ‘misquoted’ comment short.
John stooped and scooped up two gloves worth of fresh snow.
Chet didn’t wait for his p.o.’ed pal to pack the sticky substance into a ball. He just turned and fled. “Ain’t payback a bitch?” he gleefully called back over his shoulder.
Gage grinned and took off after him. “You’re about to find out!”
Chet was hoping to make a clean get-a-way, but, before he could get his snow machine brushed off, so he could climb aboard, the back of his bulky jacket was completely covered with Michigan dandruff.
“Behold!” Gage declared, between giggles. “The Abominable Snow—mobiler!”
The two friends locked gazes and listened to a low mechanical drone, coming from somewhere off in the distance.
Chet glanced at his wristwatch. “If that’s Nikki, she’s an hour early.”
The droning sound was growing louder by the second.
“It’s not Nikki,” John assured him.
The sound had grown much too loud for a tiny two-cycle engine. In fact, the low drone was rapidly transforming into a deafening roar!
The firemen squinted up into the blizzard of sifting white flakes, and watched—wide-eyed—as a twin-engine plane went soaring over their heads—right about at tree-top level.
“They’re too low!” Gage realized, his voice reflecting his growing alarm.
He no sooner finished his statement, when the aircraft’s droning engines suddenly cut out. The ominous sound of snapping timbers promptly took their place.
The two alarmed listeners’ exchanged looks of shock and disbelief were immediately followed by a blur of activity.
Kelly got his buddy’s snowmobile brushed off and then quickly reconnected the ‘Stokes on skis’ to the backs of their sleds. He helped his paramedic pal fill them with an assortment of ‘borrowed’ state-of-the-art medical and rescue gear.
The two men then donned their shielded helmets, manned their snow machines, and followed a trail of sheered-off tree tops and torn fuselage over to the crash site.
The rescuers raised the shields on their helmets and gazed out through the falling fluffy flakes at the debris field.
The aircraft’s wings had been ripped away upon impact, and its tail section had been torn in two.
Miraculously, the plane’s cockpit and passenger compartment were still ‘somewhat’ intact. The wreck had come to rest right-side up, with its nose crumpled into the snow-covered mountaintop.
The pair pulled right up to the plane’s cockpit and killed their engines.
Gage got off and grabbed a satchel full of first-aid supplies from the Stokes he’d been towing. “Stay out here and pass equipment in as I call for it. Okay?”
Kelly glared at his determined buddy’s back. That was so-o-o not okay! But—short of knocking the paramedic out cold—there was nothing that he could do about it. So he exhaled a resigned sigh and reluctantly replied, “Yeah…sure.”
John brushed the snow from the cockpit’s splintered windshield and peered inside the plane.
The aircraft’s pilot and both of its passengers were slumped in their seats, either unconscious…or dead.
The paramedic stepped over to, and then pulled, on the main door to the plane. It didn’t budge. So he waded through the wet, knee-deep snow, toward the back of what was left of the aircraft, and then climbed up—and crawled his way in—between a couple of jagged pieces of its torn-in-two tail section.
The air in the plane’s punctured cabin was quickly cooling.
Speaking of air…
‘Airways, Breathing and Circulation,’ the fireman silently reminded himself, as he carefully descended the aircraft’s dangerously slanting and sloping aisle.
The paramedic reached the first passenger’s position.
Victim one’s chest was still moving, but just barely.
Victim two had sustained injuries incompatible with life, having been impaled by a broken tree branch. The limb had come through the wall of the cabin, piercing both the poor passenger and his plane seat—clear through!
Victim three, the plane’s pilot, also appeared to be breathing. His chest was heaving, in fact, a sure sign of respiratory distress.
With A and B out of the way, the rescuer tugged the gloves from his hands and began reaching for corotids.
Not surprisingly, the injured passenger’s pulse was rapid and thready.
Upon his touch, the pilot picked his hanging head up and gasped, “Who…Who’s there?”
“John Gage,” his rescuer replied, sinking into the co-pilot’s seat, so he could begin his initial patient assessment. “I’m a paramedic with the Los Angeles County Fire Department.”
“Jack Bates,” the pilot breathlessly responded. “Angel Airlines…Life-Flight 2290…outta Rhinelander.”
‘That would explain the Caduceus on the vertical stabilizer,’ John realized, recalling the bright blue medical emblem he’d noticed upon their arrival. Not to mention the IV port in the dead man’s arm.
Jack emitted an involuntary groan. “Los Angeles County…you say?…Damn!…I knew…we were lost…but I never dreamt…we were…that…lost.” His bloodied, and clamped-in-pain eyes opened and he and the Californian traded grins. Suddenly, the victim’s grin vanished. “The guys…in back?”
John’s own grin immediately transformed into a sympathetic smile. He’d taken an instant liking to this patient. Anybody who could come through a plane crash—and still be cracking jokes—was his kind a’ person! The paramedic gazed into the pilot’s pain-filled eyes. The guy was clearly suffering enough already—physically. He certainly didn’t need any ‘emotional’ pain, on top of that. “Let’s just deal with you, right now. Okay? Where are you hurt—?”
“—Please?…I need…to know.”
Gage heaved a silent sigh, of surrender. “The guy in the seat directly behind you, still has a pulse. I’m afraid the other passenger didn’t make it.”
Jack also sighed, both loudly—and painfully—in relief. “The guy…behind me…is my best friend…Billy Renwall…Billy’s an RN…He volunteers…to accompany…our patients…We fly…medical emergencies…to distant hospitals…Mr. Niemic…is…was…terminal…We were…trying to get him…to Green Bay…for a…heart…transplant.”
The paramedic concluded his initial patient survey. ‘Who flies the Life-Flight guys?’ he morbidly mused. “I’m gonna take a quick look at your friend, and then go grab some gear. But I’m gonna be right back. Okay?”
All that exertion had left the severely injured pilot too breathless to speak. So he simply nodded.
Gage gave the surviving passenger a quick, but thorough, exam as well. Then he returned to the rear of the aircraft and hung half of his ski-parka’ed self out of the crack in the hull, so he could place—and accept—his requested equipment order from Kelly.
“We were…flying…above the storm,” Jack explained, while the paramedic from California treated and immobilized his numerous injuries. “Lost all…electrical…No flight instruments…no…wing de-icers…Had to descend…to melt the ice…off the wings…Flew in circles…waiting for daylight…Ran out of…fuel…Tried to find…a place…to put us down…It appears…the place…found us…first.” The pilot managed a morbid smile. “How did…you guys…get so…lost?”
The foreign fireman was forced to smile. “We’re on vacation,” he confessed. “This is the Brule Mountain Ski Resort.”
“I’ve…heard…of it.”
“Me and my buddy, Chet, are staying in a cabin, less than a mile from here. Yah know, if you were going to fly into something, this would be the place. According to a reputable source, Brule Mountain happens to be the highest point in over a hundred square miles.”
Jack was going to reply with just a nod, again. But the paramedic’s applied cervical collar prevented him from doing so. “I recall…seeing it…on…a couple a’…my…flight ma—”
John’s head jerked up, as his patient suddenly stopped speaking.
A quick check revealed that the severely injured pilot had slipped into unconsciousness.
Kelly climbed aboard the creaking, and still settling, aircraft, carrying the remainder of the requested medical gear.
Within minutes, the two highly-trained professionals had both crash victims completely immobilized and ready to transport.
The paramedic jumped down from the plane and then reached up, to pull the pilot’s backboarded body out through the ragged slit in its torn-in-two fuselage. The rescuer felt a sudden ‘twinge’ in his right side and inhaled sharply. Over three weeks had passed since his ‘close encounter’ with the rock and the car. Still, a few vestiges of pain remained—a constant little reminder of just how badly his ribcage had been bruised.
The two firemen re-entered the wrecked plane and picked up the passenger’s backboard.
Before leaving the crumpled aircraft for the last time, Gage bent down to retrieve a medical insignia’d satchel, that had been stowed beneath the RN’s seat. The paramedic placed the heavy canvas sack between their immobilized victim’s booted feet.
Both crash victims were soon extricated. Their bodies were heavily blanketed and then buckled in to the Stokes-like sleds being towed behind the snowmobiles.
A little ‘choking’, a few firm tugs on the pull cords, and the firemen had their machines’ noisy two-cycle engines going again.
John set the RN’s backpack on his lap.
The two rescuers then turned around and began to backtrack down the same snow trail that they had broken earlier.
The rescuers quickly reached their cabin and John insisted on making a pit stop.
The pair pulled their snowmobiles right up to their front porch.
The paramedic climbed off his seat and up the steps, leaving his machine’s engine idling.
John had noticed some kind of radio resting on a desk in that little equipment-filled alcove, while he was exploring the previous afternoon. If he could get the thing working, they might be able to save some precious time.
The fireman found the odd-looking communication device right where he’d remembered seeing it. He flicked its power source on and thumbed its mic’. “Brule Mountain Ski Patrol, come in…”
Nothing. Not even static.
Gage exhaled an exasperated gasp and tried again.
Nicole was on her way to meet up with Chet. As she stepped past the check in counter, she heard a strangely familiar voice coming from the room that served as sort a’ their Ski Patrol’s headquarters.
“Brule Mountain Ski Patrol, do you copy?”
She dashed through the room’s open doorway and snatched up their Base radio’s mic’. “Sorry. But the Ski Patrol doesn’t come on duty until nine. Will I do?”
“Nikki? Is that you?”
The girl’s grin broadened. “Good morning, John. Why are you playing with our radio?”
“Nikki, listen to me. A twin-engine plane just crashed into the top of your mountain. There were three souls on board. One fatality. Chet and I are bringing down the two survivors—right now. They’re in critical condition. Nikki, I need you to notify the authorities and get some medical help rolling, just as soon as possible. Ask them to send a doctor with the ambulance. Did you copy all that?”
Nicole quickly overcame her amazement. When the woman pressed her mic’s send button this time, she was all business. “This is Brule Mountain Ski Patrol Base One. Copy that, Base Two. I’ll start making phone calls. We’ll be ready for you when you get here. Base One out.”
“Thanks, Nikki. We’ll be down in just a bit. Base Two out.”
As promised, Nicole, and several of the ski resort’s brawnier employees, were waiting outside when the two snowmobiles pulled into the parking lot ten minutes later.
The plane crash survivors were quickly carried into the Main Lodge’s toasty-warm lobby. Their blanketed backboards were gently lowered onto two of its leather-covered sofas.
Nikki saw John struggling to unzip his jacket. The woman stepped up to help him, placing her warm, delicate appendages over his cold, rough ones. “Your poor hands!” she exclaimed. “They’re freezing!”
“My fault,” the fireman confessed. “Left my gloves in the plane.”
“I asked the guests to move into the Dining Room,” the girl continued, once she’d got the zipper unstuck. “The entire lobby is yours, until the ambulance gets here.”
John unzipped, but did not remove, his jacket. “Speaking of the ambulance…Were you able to get an ETA?”
“They said they’d try to be here within the hour.”
“Within the hour? Exactly how far away is this hospital?”
“It’s just seven miles or so. But the plows are still working on getting the main highways opened up. They haven’t started clearing any of the side roads, yet.”
“This resort must have its own plow truck,” Kelly realized.
“We do. But it doesn’t have the ability to push this much snow. It takes us practically all morning, just to clear out the parking lot. It would take us hours to reach the main road. We could probably spend an entire day, trying to make it out to the highway.”
John resigned himself to the snowstorm’s crippling effects on transportation. “Did they send a doctor out with the ambulance?”
The girl gave her pretty blonde head a shake. “They can’t send a doctor, because they haven’t got one to send. Seems they’ve only got two, and one of them is currently ‘out of town’ for the weekend.”
The flustered fireman resigned himself to the hospital’s doctor shortage. “What about the other one?”
“He claims that hospital regulations won’t allow him to leave. At least one accredited physician has to be on duty—from five o’clock in the morning, til five o’clock at night, or the hospital could risk losing its license.”
John resigned himself to the cowardly doctor’s unwillingness to assume risks. “Then how about sending out a registered nurse?”
“This snow kept a lot of people from coming in to work. They said they couldn’t possibly spare a single soul.”
The paramedic could not—and would not—resign himself to that. ”Damn it! These men have dedicated their lives to helping people with medical emergencies. Well, this is a medical emergency! And they need help! They need IV fluids—now! Their vital organs aren’t being properly infused. They’re slipping deeper and deeper into shock! Eventually, they’re going to reach the point where it becomes irreversible…”
“What about the snowmobiles?” Kelly suggested.
“These guys are critical. They’re in no condition to go ‘dashing through the snow’.” Hell, I’m amazed they managed to survive our little trip down the mountainside.” Gage stooped down and picked up the RN’s backpack.
Chet gave his glummer than ever chum a worried once over. “What do you intend to do with that?”
John unbuckled the heavy bag’s canvas flap and peered inside. Just as he’d suspected, the nurse’s satchel was filled with pieces of medical equipment, various types of IV kits and solutions, hypodermic syringes and drug bottles, everything a paramedic would need, to give two badly injured ‘guardian angels’ a fighting chance at life.
“What do you intend to do with that?” Kelly cautiously re-inquired, upon spotting the backpack’s contents.
Again, Gage didn’t reply. He couldn’t reply, because he didn’t have an answer…yet. He needed time to think. What he wouldn’t give for a pair of anti-shock trousers! There was a roll of Ace bandage in the bag. He stared down at it for a few moments and then turned to his female assistant. “Nikki, I need you to bring me all of the Ace bandages you can possibly find! Right Away!” There was more than one way to increase a person’s dangerously diminished blood volume.
The young woman nodded her compliance and immediately departed.
Kelly studied his pal’s improvised G-suits.
By beginning at their ankles, and meticulously working his way upward, toward their hearts, Gage had managed to encase all four of their crash victims’ legs in tightly wrapped elastic bandage cocoons.
Using the cuff and stethoscope he’d found in the satchel, the paramedic quickly took a new set of vital signs. Both of his shocky patient’s BPs were up—significantly. He’d just managed to buy them—all three of them—a little time. The deeply troubled paramedic pulled the stethoscope’s tips from his ears and abandoned his ‘guardian angel’ vigil.
John stepped up to one of lobby’s floor to ceiling windows and then just stood there… staring thoughtfully out at the still falling snow, through two thick panes of tinted glass.
A full fifteen minutes passed, and the paramedic was still just standing there…staring silently out the window.
Chet.was also just standing there, staring at his stressed out buddy’s back. “Ah, man! This is not good. I can not believe that this is happening. Before we left L.A., Dr. Brackett gave me strict orders to keep him out of stressful situations. And, just when I thought we’d finally gotten him far enough away—ploonk! ‘Stress’ falls right out of the sky!”
“I dunno. He seems to be more sad, than stressed,” Nikki determined.
“Believe me, he’s stressed all right,” Kelly assured her. “In fact, I don’t think I have ever seen him this bummed out before.”
The pretty miss was a bit confused by the comment. “I thought you said that he’s been doing this sort a’ thing for over six years. Surely, there must have been plenty of other men that he and his partner couldn’t save.” She stared down at the two unconscious crash victims. “Why should their deaths affect him any differently?”
Kelly’s sad gaze gradually shifted, from the back of his ‘majorly upset’ buddy’s ski parka, to the person who had posed the question. “Johnny’s not bummed out because he can’t save them.” The fireman’s focus returned to the silhouetted figure standing in front of the windows. “He’s bummed out because he can.”
“If he could keep them alive, he would keep them alive!” Nikki confidently predicted.
Kelly managed a rueful smile. “Yeah. I imagine he’s standing over there right now, contemplating doing that very thing. I just hope he’s also been considering the cost…”
“Co-ost? What ‘cost’?”
“Johnny’s a paramedic—one a’ the best in the business. But he’s not certified outside of Los Angeles County. He’s not licensed to administer drugs and definitive care here, in Michigan. And, if he treats these two men, he won’t be licensed when he gets back to California, either.”
Nikki studied the sorrowful figure in front of the windows for a few moments. She had to admit, the ‘cost’ would prove to be extremely high for him—indeed!
“If only this were Santa Rosa County,” Kelly wistfully stated.
The girl found the fireman’s latest comment the most confusing of all.
So Chet proceeded to explain. “Johnny, and his paramedic partner, Roy, were on a fishin’ trip up in Santa Rosa County last fall. Somehow, the two of them ended up helping the local Sheriff rescue a couple a' rock climbers off a' this cliff. As a token of his gratitude, the Sheriff offered to show them the best fishin’ spot in the County. So they pull up to this lake, right? And ‘boom!’, suddenly this boat blows up. The guy that was in the boat got burned—pretty bad. The poor man was in a great deal of pain, and going into shock. Since John and Roy were the only trained medical personnel available, and since he’d already seen the two of them in action, the Sheriff decided to talk his brother-in-law, the County Medical Commissioner, into certifying them, so they could keep the burn victim guy going. Well, at least long enough for him to make it to the nearest hospital, anyway.”
Upon the completion of his narrative, Nikki’s gloom-filled face suddenly lit up.
Kelly caught the sudden change in the girl’s demeanor. “Don’t tell me,” he insincerely said. “Your uncle is the County Medical Commissioner. Right?”
Nicole shook her pretty blonde head. “Nope! But my Mother’s Bridge-playing partner’s husband is. Come on! We have some phone calls to make.”
“I’m right behind you!” the fireman eagerly exclaimed, and readily followed the rapidly departing gal from the room.
The pair reappeared in the Lobby, less than ten minutes later.
A desk phone was in Nicole’s left hand. Its receiver was in her right.
Once again, Kelly found himself following in the young woman’s wake, uncoiling the extension’s ridiculously long cord as they walked along.
Gage was crouched beside the dying pilot. The tips of Billy’s stethoscope were stuck in his ears. The RN’s backpack was lying—open—at his feet.
The duo reached the paramedic’s position, with plenty of telephone line to spare.
“It’s for you,” Nikki announced, and thrust the receiver into the crouching fireman’s sorrow-filled face.
John didn’t say a word. He just stared, first at the phone, and then at the girl—in complete and utter confusion.
“It’s long distance…” the pretty miss impatiently informed him.
The paramedic pulled the stethoscope from his ears and reluctantly accepted the proffered phone. “Hello?” he tentatively spoke into the receiver. John’s jaw dropped and his sad eyes about doubled in size. “Dr. Hunter? What—…Yes…They’re both critical…Lactated Ringers and Normal Saline. But I can’t—…I ca-an?…But I’m not cert—…I a-am?…But how—?…You di-id?” The fireman’s face suddenly radiated with relief. “In that case, standby for vital signs.” Gage stuck the phone in the crux of his neck and turned toward a coffee table. He picked the piece of paper, upon which he’d been recording his patients’ rapidly changing medical conditions, up and blinked his blurred vision back into focus. “Victim one is the plane’s pilot. His name is Jack Bates. The patient is approximately 45 years of age…”
In a little under five minutes, Doctor Hunter’s orders for treatment had been followed, IV’s had been established and all available medications had been administered.
The plane crash victims’ latest vital signs had already revealed a marked improvement in their previously life-threatening conditions. Though still extremely shocky, his patients were, at least, starting to stabilize. They just might make it into surgery, after all!
The paramedic’s frozen fingers had finally defrosted. He rested the receiver on the coffee table and ran one of his no longer ice-cold hands down the front of his relief-filled face. Gage then got stiffly to his feet, turned toward the girl and grabbed her by both shoulders. “I don’t know how you managed to pull it off. But,” he tugged the phone holder a bit closer and then planted a big kiss in the middle of her forehead, “thank you!”
Though the kiss was delivered more out of gratitude than affection, the woman still felt its effects—from the top of her pretty blonde head…clear down to the tips of her slightly curled toes. “You really should be thanking Chet,” she confessed, once she’d gotten both her breath and her voice back. “He’s the one who gave me the idea.”
The appreciative paramedic turned toward his ‘inspirational’ associate and made like he was going to kiss him on the forehead, as well.
Kelly flung the rest of the coiled phone cord at his deviantly behaving buddy and immediately vacated the area.
John settled for flashing his fleeing friend a grateful ‘grin’, instead.
Thirty-five more minutes passed before a bright yellow Iron County Road Commission plow truck finally appeared in the ski resort’s cleared parking lot.
Following in its wake, were three Michigan State Police cars, a four-wheel drive vehicle from the Iron County Sheriff’s Department and…an ambulance.
Moments later, a group of State Troopers stepped into the Lodge’s lobby.
The crash victims’ caregiver promptly approached them. “My name is John Gage. I’m a certified paramedic. I’m going to be accompanying the survivors to the hospital and I need to stay in contact with their doctor. Do you guys have two hand-held radios I could borrow?”
The police officers thought the paramedic’s? radio request over for a few moments and then reluctantly handed him two of their HTs.
“Great!” John joyously proclaimed. “Don’t worry. I’ll take real good care of them and see that they get right back to you,” he promised.
Gage returned to his accomplices, proudly displaying his prized possessions. “I’ll use this radio to keep in contact with you,” he announced. The paramedic passed the other radio on to Nikki. “You use that one, to relay messages between me and the doctor.”
The girl nodded her compliance.
A couple of Sheriff’s Deputies, and the remaining two State Policeman, came into the lodge’s main lobby, guiding a pair of gurneys.
Apparently, the ambulance’s driver didn’t have an ‘assistant’.
John turned to his extremely useful associate. “Chet, you’d better come with. I may need an extra set a’ hands.”
“Right!”
John supervised the transfer of his patients, from the lobby’s sofas, to the stretchers. “All right. Let’s roll!” he urged, once the blanketed backboards had been buckled down.
“I’ll pick you guys up at the hospital!” Nikki called after the rapidly departing pair.
Gage gave the accommodating young woman an appreciative smile and a nod.
Kelly gave the girl an eternally grateful glance and a gloved ‘thumbs up’.
The pretty miss responded with a wink and a grin. “Mission accomplished,” Nikki triumphantly muttered, soley to herself. She’d just managed to put a smile back on that gorgeous guy’s face.
The handsome young firefighter was happy. Well, at least, for the moment.
The woman exhaled a wistful sigh. Nicole enjoyed making the young man happy and wished that she could list ‘keeping him that way’ as her full-time occupation…
The County Medical Commissioner was waiting at the local hospital, to greet their new paramedic.
“Mr. Gage?” he inquired, as two mustached young men exited the back of the newly-arrived ambulance and began unlocking and unloading a couple of occupied gurneys. “Richard Jandron,” the elderly gentleman continued, and extended a hand to the guy who had glanced in his direction. “Iron County Medical Commissioner.”
John took a moment to shake the hand of the man who had just made it possible for him to save two lives—not to mention his paramedic career. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Jandron. And, it’s just John.”
“Dick,” the commissioner quickly countered and followed along, as the two California firefighters helped a couple of hospital attendants guide both gurneys into the six-storied brick building’s emergency entrance.
“Dr. Hunter speaks very highly of you, John,” the commissioner continued, as they turned and headed off down a hallway. “Said that he would gladly vouch for your accreditation as an advanced medical care provider. He assured me that you were fully qualified. When you get a moment, I have some paperwork for you to sign.”
“Sure thing!” the paramedic promised, just prior to disappearing into one of the hospital’s two emergency treatment rooms.
Mr. Jandron stepped up to a glass portal in the E.R.’s door and watched, approvingly, while Iron County’s one and only paramedic helped the doctor get the two plane crash victims further stabilized. The commissioner quickly—and relievedly—realized that Dr. Hunter’s assessment of Mr. Gage’s qualifications for the job seemed to be quite accurate.
In fact, the fireman appeared to be more than fully qualified.
Now, if he could just talk the young man into to moving to Michigan...
John’s question, as to who flies the Life-Flight guys, was answered when a nurse entered the exam room a short time later, and announced that a helicopter had just set down, out in the parking lot.
Since the local hospital was not equipped to deal with the severity of the survivor's injuries, a chopper from KI Sawyer Air Force Base, with a team of highly skilled medical personnel onboard, had been dispatched—upon Dr. Hunter’s request—to fly the two crash victims on to Marquette.
John stood, just inside the doors to the hospital’s emergency department, and watched the Air Force medical team load Jack and Billy’s blanketed backboards aboard their idling aircraft.
The chopper’s side door was slid shut. Its whirling rotor blades rapidly became a complete blur.
The paramedic’s concerned gaze remained fixed upon the hovering helicopter, until it finally pulled up and completely out of his field of vision. The weary rescuer stared down at the black rubber mat beneath his booted feet for a few moments and breathed an audible sigh of relief. Then he spun quickly on his heels and headed off…to find a pay phone.
John called Stacey.
She was at work, and he didn’t have a whole lot a’ change in his pockets. So the two of them could only talk for a couple of minutes.
Gage met up with Mr. Jandron again, just outside the hospital administrator’s office.
In practically no time, the two of them had all of the necessary paperwork taken care of.
The legally licensed and fully certified Iron County paramedic finally managed to swap some of his paper currency for coins. He purchased a couple of cups of coffee from one of the hospital’s vending machines, and then headed off again, in search of his absent associate.
John found his friend waiting for him in the hospital’s lobby. He passed his pal one of the steaming Styrofoam cups in his hands and then plopped into the seat beside him.
“Thanks,” his ‘in need of a quick pick-me-up’ amigo gratefully acknowledged. “Yah know, I could a’ swore I heard a helicopter, earlier.”
“You did. They couldn’t perform the surgery here. So Dr. Hunter arranged for them both to be flown to Marquette.”
Kelly’s mustached face immediately filled with a look of profound confusion. His head slowly turned in Gage’s direction, and the two rescue guys exchanged a couple a’ ‘Why didn’t THEY just send a helicopter out in the first place?’ glances. Chet gave his mystified mind a quick shake and his attention returned to the still steaming stimulant. “Think they’ll make it?”
“The pilot actually stands a pretty good chance. But I ain’t so sure about the passenger.”
Chet glanced over at the ‘official’ looking documents, which were protruding from his glum chum’s right jacket pocket. “Well, I’m just glad that commissioner guy came through with the license in time to save you from getting’ yourself into a whole lot a’ legal trouble. Man, talk about ‘stress’! I’d a’ prob’ly had to bail you out a’ jail!” The fireman watched as his friend’s deep frown slowly transformed into just the slightest of smiles.
Gage aimed his glum gaze in Kelly’s direction. “What makes you think I was going to treat them without a license?”
“I don’t think you were going to treat them without a license. I know you were going to treat them without a license. I also know that you would never administer any advanced medical treatment without a doctor’s orders. So you may as well come clean. C’mon…fess up! You were just about to call Dr. Hunter, yourself. Wer-ent you. That’s why you were so surprised to find him already on the other end of the line. Isn’t it.”
The paramedic completely ignored his companion’s Cheshire cat grin and refused to either admit—or deny—anything.
Chet promptly declared his associate’s silence as an admission of guilt. “See! I knew it! So I decided I’d save you some time…and phone him for you. I mean, somebody had to keep your sorry ass out a’ prison.” The Irishman smiled inwardly, as his latest comment caused his no longer glum chum to chuckle outright.
“Gee...thanks. Your…‘concern’…completely overwhelms me,” Gage insincerely said, but then beamed his ‘caring’ buddy a broad, genuinely grateful grin.
Kelly continued to keep a perfectly straight face. “Conce-ern? What concern? I just didn’t want to have to—
“—break in a new pigeon. I know. I know. You’re all heart.”
“Hey, Johnny boy, I didn’t just do it out of the kindness of my heart. You owe me, babe. Big time!”
“We-ell…you do still got that kiss on the forehead coming to you…”
Chet leapt to his feet and immediately moved both his forehead—and his tush—a few chairs further away from his slyly smiling associate. “You’re demented!”
‘Johnny boy’ just sat there, snickering.
The two Californians remained right there in the lobby, patiently waiting for their coffee to cool…and for Miss Norland to come and pick them up.
John was just about to drain the last of his now cold coffee from his Styrofoam cup, when their pretty chauffeur’s form appeared outside the entrance’s glass doors.
“Sorry to keep you guys waiting,” Miss Norland apologized, as she pushed her way into the lobby. “But the ‘authorities’ insisted that I take them up to the crash site. I told them to just follow your trail. But, no-o-o. For some stupid reason, they wanted me to ‘guide’ them up there. I gave those State Troopers back their radio,” she added, as an afterthought. “How are those two men doing?”
“An Air Force helicopter flew them to Marquette. I imagine they must be in surgery, right about now. Major Devon promised the Resort’s borrowed rescue gear would either be returned—or replaced—just as soon as possible,” the paramedic relayed. John then took Nikki aside.
The two of them talked for a bit.
Then Gage gave the girl another kiss on the forehead and headed off down the hall to use the pay phone again.
The trio left the hospital, crossed the parking lot and climbed into Nikki’s nice, warm car.
John pulled their shopping list from the right pocket of his parka. “Think we could hit a grocery store on the way back?”
The pretty miss took the two California firemen shopping.
The grateful guys then took the girl to lunch at Mertin’s Café—their treat.
Miss Norland pulled her car into the Ski Resort’s packed parking lot. “When I left, there was a group reporters, and a TV 6 news crew, waiting for you guys in the lobby,” she warned her passengers. “Just thought I’d mention it. In case you two wanted to make a quick get-a-way.”
“Thanks,” the paramedic replied. “We do.”
Nikki parked beside their rented snowmachines and then got out to open up her trunk.
The firemen’s freshly purchased provisions were quickly transferred from her car…to their Stokes-on-skis sleds.
Nikki announced that her and Chet’s snowmobile tour was rescheduled for the following morning.
The weary rescuers thanked the young woman for the lift back, and quickly climbed onto their snowmobiles. They got both machines going and headed back up the mountainside.
The vacationing firemen were really looking forward to getting back to their nice, quiet, private quarters, where they would be able to just kick back and relax.
The pair reached the place were the snowmobile trail intersected with one of the ski resort’s maintenance roads, and were amazed to discover that the County plow truck had cleared a path all the way to the top of the mountain—all the way to the wreck site, no doubt.
The pair followed the plowed road clear over to their cabin.
The two men killed their noisy, two-cycle engines and stared out their helmets’ clear plastic visors at the three ‘official’ looking vehicles that were parked in their yard.
The ‘authorities’ were waiting there, in their idling autos, to interview the two of them.
‘The two of them’ traded a couple of ‘We may as well get this over with’ glances, and reluctantly climbed off their machines.
The groceries, and their visitors, were taken inside.
Kelly stowed their provisions away and then put a fresh pot of coffee on the gas stove, to brew.
The two firemen wanted to talk to the all of the ‘authorities’ all at once.
But, for some stupid reason, each branch of government insisted that they had to interview the two eyewitnesses—turned rescuers—separately.
The State Troopers went first.
John removed their other hand-held radio from his jacket pocket and returned it to them—none the worse for wear.
The Iron County Sheriff, and several of his deputies, interviewed them next.
They asked the same exact questions, and were given the same exact answers.
Finally, it was time for the pair to face the Federal Aviation Commission people, who had driven down from Marquette. Their questions were a little different, since they were investigating the cause of the crash.
The rescuers assured the FAC folks that there was no need for them to investigate the cause of the crash, because they already knew what had caused the crash.
They had both heard the plane’s engines cut out a few moments before it went down.
Plus, the paramedic repeated what the plane’s pilot had told him, just prior to losing consciousness. Jack had said that, after flying around in circles all night, they’d finally run out of fuel. The pilot had also told him that, shortly after take-off, the plane had lost all of its electrical instruments. John then suggested that, if the FAC wanted to investigate something, they should probably try to find out why the plane’s entire electrical system just suddenly went capoot!
As the FAC guys were heading out the door to return to the crash site, and do just that, Gage, whose frozen fingers had finally defrosted—again, mentioned that he’d left his gloves on the plane, and asked if they wouldn’t mind retrieving them for him.
The government guys gladly agreed to do so.
At last, after three-and-a-half hours of grueling interrogation, the cabin’s weary occupants were left alone.
Speaking of crash sites…
Gage got a birch log blaze going in their fireplace and then headed for the sofa, where he proceeded to ‘crash and burn’. The pooped paramedic’s still-mending ribcage was still bothering him, and he was all talked out. He didn’t wanna hafta to move—or speak to another living soul—for the entire rest of the day. “If any reporters or TV news crews show up, please tell them that I am unavailable for comment, will yah?” he wearily requested.
Kelly couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah. Sure. No problem.”
Later that same afternoon…
Following a restful and relaxing half-hour nap, John was up and about. In fact, he was currently in the process of replenishing the burnt out logs in their fireplace.
Chet was seated on their comfy, leather sofa, staring wistfully down at the couch’s vacant middle seat cushion—once again.
Suddenly, they heard the sound of a motorized vehicle approaching the cabin.
A few seconds later, a car door slammed.
“Wonder who that could be?” Chet grumbled, getting stiffly—and rather reluctantly—to his wool stockinged feet.
The government guys had already dropped off Gage’s gloves and then gone for the day.
Gage glanced up from the fire he was tending. The paramedic pursed his lips, to keep from smiling, and replied with a one-shouldered shrug.
Kelly could now hear someone coming up the porch steps. So he—even more reluctantly—began making his way over to the door.
Kelly pulled the heavy wooden portal open, just as their visitor was about to knock. Chet’s heart instantly leapt in his chest. “Vickie!” he joyously exclaimed, to the beautiful brunette he found standing there with a suitcase at her feet—and her knuckles still raised in the air.
The young lady appeared to be equally overjoyed to see him. “Hi, Chet!” she exclaimed right back, and beamed the fireman a joyously radiant smile. “Did you miss me?”
Chet’s vision blurred and he pulled their pretty visitor up into a warm embrace. “More than you’ll ever know,” he shakily whispered into the woman’s ear. He’d missed her all right. More than he could have ever thought possible!
The car that had deposited their guest began to take its leave.
Vickie broke the embrace, so she could turn and wave goodbye.
Chet saw the Ski Patrol patch on the waving sleeve of its driver’s bright red parka, and made a mental note to be sure to thank Miss Norland for allowing her guests to have a guest of their own. Kelly picked Miss Taylor’s suitcase up and then escorted her into the cabin. He was just about to ask how their guest had managed to get there, when he suddenly recalled his associate’s mysterious conversation with Nikki at the hospital earlier, and then the paramedic’s brief disappearance. He turned in his devious buddy’s direction and found his foxy friend grinning, broadly, back at him.
“Like my surprise?” Gage calmly inquired.
“Beats a kiss on the forehead, any day!”
“Yeah. That’s sort a’ what I figured, too.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Hey, no problem,” his helpful pal assured him. “Besides, somebody had to save your sorry ass from pining away.”
Vickie’s beautiful brown eyes widened with surprise and immediately re-riveted upon her suddenly bashful fireman’s handsome, and now blushing, face.
Chet promptly picked the pretty woman’s suitcase back up. “Uhhh…Where do you want this?”
Ever the gentleman, Gage offered to give up his room and sleep on the couch.
But their beautiful guest, whose dreamy gaze hadn’t left Kelly for a moment, assured him that that wouldn’t be necessary.
John caught the look on his friend’s face and tried his damnedest not to grin.
Vickie would obviously be bunking with Chet.
Kelly took the lovely young lady’s hint, along with her left elbow, and began escorting their—er, his gorgeous guest toward the stairs. “Allow me to show you the view from the loft…before it gets too dark.”
The reunited couple quickly disappeared up the steps.
The remaining fireman finally released the grin he’d been struggling so hard to suppress. The paramedic quickly shut ‘the loft’ out of his mind and returned his full attention to the ‘blaze’ that was raging in their fireplace.