Rainy Days…

By Rona

Rainy days in Los Angeles always meant bad news for the emergency services. And it had been raining intermittently for days, prior to the steady, seemingly ceaseless rain that had begun falling in the early hours of the morning. The crew of Station 51 were soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone. They had had an endless stream of runs that day already and it wasn’t yet noon. Wearily, they trudged back into the day room, hoping for at least a few minutes respite before the tones sounded again.

The enticing smell of warm soup tickled their nostrils. That the soup came from cans and was not home made didn’t matter to the tired, hungry men. It was warm and instantly available – all that counted on a day like this. Everyone queued for a cup, wrapping their frozen hands around the warm china, breathing deeply of the scent, which felt warming in and of itself.

They got about half of it drunk before the tones went off. *Station 51. Car in storm drain…*

Everyone winced. A car stuck in a storm drain on a day like this was bad news. It was bad news on any day, but worse when it had been raining. Roy started the squad and they hurried towards the entrance they had been told to use. They didn’t say anything, but both were thinking the same thing – it was bound to be kids.

The drainage channel in the middle of the drain was mostly filled with rushing water. The car teetered on the brink, the back end actually in the water. Hank Stanley swung down from the engine and gestured to Chet Kelly. “Get a rope onto the axle and fast!” He saw Chet hurrying for a rope. “John, Roy – nobody goes into the water without a safety belt!”

Grabbing a belt and rope from the squad, Johnny Gage buckled it around his slender waist and handed the other end of the rope to Marco Lopez. Roy DeSoto copied his partner, handing his rope to Mike Stoker, the engineer. Both ropes were quickly secured to the bumper of Big Red. Johnny immediately headed into the water, moving carefully towards the rear of the vehicle.

“What’ve we got?” Hank asked, leaning in to where Roy was checking the driver.

“He’s got a bad head injury, and possible whiplash, Cap,” Roy replied. “He was wearing a seatbelt.” He took the pulse of the unconscious youth who was slumped over the steering wheel, and noticed that it was strong and regular. “Can you get me a c-collar and backboard?”

“Sure thing,” Stanley replied. He moved slightly over and peered at his other paramedic, who was struggling with the rear door. “John, you need any help?”

“I could use a pry bar,” Johnny replied. “And a c-collar and backboard if you can.” He glanced worriedly at the young girl slumped across the back seat.

“Got it,” Cap replied. He turned to find Marco handing him a pry bar, which Johnny took gratefully. He had the door prised open in moments and reached in to take the girl’s pulse.

As the paramedics worked, Stanley looked apprehensively up at the sky. The rain hadn’t slowed a bit and the water was rising. “We need to move quickly,” he told the men and received terse nods. Both Johnny and Roy were well aware of the precarious nature of the rescue.

Roy’s victim was extracted first. He knelt by the youth, checking that respirations and pulse were still steady before indicating to the ambulance attendants to load the stretcher into the ambulance. Vitals could be taken en-route to Rampart. They didn’t dare stay a moment longer than necessary where they were – the water was rising faster than ever.

The windshield had been popped by Chet to make it easier for Johnny’s victim to be freed. Johnny had squirmed his way into the car, and guided the backboard out. He saw that the girl was safe with Roy and began to ease back out of the car.

Something, submerged in the deepening water, bumped heavily into the car, moving it further into the water. Johnny was thrown off balance and grabbed frantically for a hand hold, ripping open the palm of his hand on the splintered metal of the door. His footing went from beneath him and suddenly, Johnny was under the water and fighting for his life.

Disaster struck so swiftly that it took Chet several seconds to react, pulling on Gage’s lifeline, frantically trying to bring his friend back to the surface. “Cap, he’s stuck!” he cried, when his efforts proved to be in vain.

“I’ve got it!” Roy cried, sliding into the water, knowing his lifeline was still secure.

For a moment, Johnny’s head broke the surface and he gulped frantically for air, but only succeeded in inhaling a quantity of dirty water. He went under again, trying to hold his breath, fighting to free himself, fighting the panic, but failing. The water was sucking him under the car, despite everything he tried to do. He wanted desperately to breathe – his lungs were screaming for air. The edges of his world were going dark and then Johnny knew no more.

“He’s stuck under the car!” Roy cried and dived under the surface to find whatever Johnny was hung up on. It was impossible to see anything and Roy had to work solely by touch, but he yanked at Johnny’s pants legs until the fabric tore.

Surfacing, Roy found Chet Kelly supporting Johnny’s head. “He’s free,” he panted, looking worriedly at the tinge of blue on the unconscious Johnny’s lips. He grasped Johnny’s turnout coat and they slowly dragged Johnny free.

It wasn’t easy. A number of times, Johnny’s legs got caught on something under the car. The water was rising quicker and quicker and it was harder and harder for Chet to keep Johnny’s head above the roiling water. He didn’t know how much water his friend might have swallowed, but to Chet’s mind, it was going to be far too much.

But at last it was done and Johnny was free. Together, the two exhausted firemen dragged their unconscious colleague to the side, where he was taken gently from them and laid straight on a gurney. Roy was astonished to see Squad 16 there – he had been unaware of Cap calling for more help. One of the 16s paramedics had gone in the ambulance with the first victims and another ambulance had been dispatched.

“We’ve got to wrap and run!” Cap shouted. “Chet, take the squad. Let’s go!” The water was now spilling out of the main channel, the car was swept away, and they knew if they didn’t get out of there pretty quickly, they would be the ones in need of rescue.

Hopping into the back of the ambulance, Roy wasn’t aware of it pulling away. He was concentrating on taking Johnny’s vitals. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him that the necessary equipment was in the ambulance. He opened the biophone. “Rampart, this is Squad 51, how do you read?”

“Reading you loud and clear, 51,” Dixie replied.

“I have a 30 year old firefighter who is suffering from water inhalation,” Roy replied, unable to say ‘drowning’. “I have him on 15 litres O₂ and he is breathing on his own. He is slightly cyanotic. Vitals are as follows. BP 90/60, pulse 60, respirations 25 and shallow. There are also abrasions to the legs and the right palm is badly lacerated.”

“Is the patient conscious, 51?” Dixie asked. Roy could hear the apprehension in her voice.

“Negative,” Roy replied.

“51, can you confirm the patient’s identity?”

“Umm, affirmative, Rampart.” Roy swallowed hard and struggled to keep his voice professional. “It’s Johnny.” His voice cracked despite his best efforts.

Roy never heard Dixie confirm his transmission, as Johnny started to vomit. Swiftly, Roy turned him onto his side, but it was too late. Johnny had aspirated. “Suction, dammit!” Roy cried and grabbed the wand from the ambulance attendant’s hand. He snatched up the biophone. “Rampart, the patient has vomited and aspirated. I have suctioned his airway. Breath sounds still present on both sides, but breathing is laboured.”

“Roger, 51. Keep monitoring his breathing and up-date us if anything changes.”

It seemed to take an age to reach Rampart, but in actual fact it was a short journey. The stretcher was unloaded from the ambulance and Johnny was raced into treatment 2. His soaking clothes were stripped off as gently as possible and a warm blanket covered his shivering form. Kelly Brackett was leaning over Johnny, listening to his breathing.

“His lungs don’t sound too good,” he told Roy, as Dixie towelled Johnny dry. “We’ll get him on antibiotics to try and keep pneumonia at bay. Did he hit his head?”

“I don’t know,” Roy admitted. “He had his helmet on.” At some point, Johnny’s helmet had been removed, but Roy had no idea who had done it or when. “We were in a storm drain and we had to wrap and run because it was flooding. I really haven’t had a chance to check him over properly.”

“You did everything right getting him here,” Brackett assured the worried man. He concentrated on Johnny once more, feeling down the lean limbs for breaks and finding none. “Dixie, could you clean those gashes, please?” he asked. “I think a couple might need sutured.”

“Sure, Kel,” Dixie agreed and went off to get what she needed.

After a swift check of Johnny’s head, Brackett felt his abdomen, which was soft, and around Johnny’s ribs. By now, Johnny was stirring and although he moved away from Brackett’s hands, there was no urgency to the movements, or any grunts of pain, which was a good sign. “Looking good, Roy,” he smiled. “Johnny, can you hear me?”

“Mmm,” Johnny replied and his eyes opened part way.

“Can you tell me what hurts?”

“My… hand,” Johnny whispered hoarsely. “My… legs…” He suddenly looked green around the gills and his eyes flitted from side to side. Brackett was ready for him and had Johnny rolled and an emesis basin in place before the inevitable happened. Murky water and stomach contents rushed from Johnny’s mouth.

“Well, I bet you feel better after getting rid of that!” Brackett smiled.

“Chest is tight,” Johnny whispered. He coughed as though to prove his point.

Brackett resettled the oxygen mask. “This should help,” he comforted. “Johnny, did you bang your head?”

“Don’t think so,” Johnny murmured. “But it aches.”

“I bet it does.” Brackett continued his exam, exhorting Johnny to stay with them. “You’ve been lucky, Johnny,” he concluded, when the exam was finished. “I haven’t found any broken bones and no lumps on your head. We’re going to admit you though and get Respiratory down to start breathing treatments. We might be able to stave off pneumonia. I’ll need to suture that hand and a couple of the gashes on your legs.” Brackett glanced at Roy. “And you need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death of cold, Roy!”

That roused Johnny. He twisted his head around and squinted against the light, frowning as he saw the state his partner was in. “You ok?” he gasped and coughed again.

“Just wet,” Roy smiled and realised that he really was wet – soaked through in fact. He suddenly realised that it was cold in the room and he began to shiver.

“While you get settled into your room,” Dixie told Johnny with a maternal smile, “I’ll get Roy here dried off. And then he can come and see you for a few more minutes. How’s that?” She was pleased at the lop-sided smile she got through the oxygen mask.

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

The corridor outside the treatment room was littered with firemen. Hank Stanley stepped forward with a concerned frown as Dixie ushered the dripping, squelching, Roy from the room. “Miss McCall? How is Johnny?”

“He’s going to be just fine, Captain,” Dixie smiled. “But he’ll be our guest for a few days, at least.”

“Anything serious?” Cap enquired, frowning.

“Observation, right now,” Dixie replied. She couldn’t say more than that. “I was just going to get Roy something to wear and shove him under a shower. Can you wait that long?”

“We’ve got to get back to the station,” Hank answered. “But the squad is out of service until I can call in a replacement, so there’s no hurry, Roy. Just come back sometime tonight?”

“Sure, Cap,” Roy grinned. He was shivering in earnest and Chet looked little better.

“Come on,” Dixie urged and Cap took that as his cue, too and led the rest of 51’s crew to the engine.

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

The shower went a long way to making Roy feel better all round. He put on the scrubs that Dixie left for him, but had no other choice but to put on his wet underwear, shoes and socks. However, he found a cup of hot coffee waiting for him at the desk and it began warming him from the inside. “How’s Johnny?” he asked, putting the cup down.

“He’s settled upstairs,” Dixie replied. “Come on, I’ll take you up, but don’t expect too much. He’s had a pretty hefty dose of MS.” Dixie waved to Betty to let her know she was leaving the desk and led Roy to the elevator. “We had to suture several of the gashes on his legs and of course that one on his hand. We’ll keep a close eye on them for infection, but with the antibiotics he’s getting anyway, it hopefully won’t be a problem.”

“Do you think he’ll develop pneumonia?” Roy asked.

“I hope not,” Dixie murmured. “But we all know Johnny’s tendency to it. Let’s not borrow trouble, huh? Let’s be glad the situation wasn’t any worse.”

“Let’s,” Roy agreed.

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

Morning found Johnny running a temperature and still on oxygen. His lungs were congested and it looked as if his hand had an infection. Brackett switched his antibiotics to a broad-spectrum variety, hoping to kill all the bugs off at once. Johnny was under a moderate sedation, allowing him to rest, something he desperately needed after a miserable night when his stomach had rebelled more than once and he had to sleep in an incline position to help his breathing. Thoroughly worn out, Johnny had begun to fret and Brackett had sedated him.

The other members of Station 51 had arrived shortly after they got off shift, but only Hank and Roy had been allowed a brief peek at Johnny before they were urged to go home. All of the men looked exhausted. It had not been a quiet night for them, between nuisance runs and worry over their shiftmate.

It was mid-afternoon before Johnny stirred again. His body ached fiercely all over and his chest was tight. He coughed painfully and cranked open reluctant eyelids. It came as no surprise to see Roy sitting by his bed. “Hi there,” Roy smiled.

“Hi,” Johnny muttered, realising that his voice was muffled as much by the oxygen mask as by his dry throat. His eyes fell on the cup of water by his bed and he started to reach for it, but Roy had already guessed and brought the straw to Johnny’s lips, moving aside the oxygen. Johnny sipped gratefully. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Roy looked at his partner closely. Johnny was pale apart from two hectic patches of colour in each cheek. “How’d you feel? Pneumonia, huh?”

“Yeah.” Johnny coughed again. “I’ve felt better.” He looked back at Roy, seeing that his partner looked a good deal warmer than he had the night before. “You all right? You were pretty cold last night, it seems to me.”

“I’m not sure my feet aren’t still cold,” Roy joked, grinning, “and my shoes are squishing yet.” The answering smile on Johnny’s face told Roy that his partner still remembered his squishing shoes from a past rescue. “But apart from that, I’m fine.” He patted Johnny’s arm. “So it’s just you we’ve got to get fine.”

“What about the kids from the rescue?” Johnny whispered. Talking seemed to sap what little energy he had left.

“They’ll be here for a few days, but they’re gonna be fine,” Roy assured him. “Now how about we concentrate on getting you better?”

“Sounds good,” Johnny agreed. He closed his eyes for a minute and when he opened them again, it was dark outside. “Did I fall asleep?” he asked the nurse who was taking his vitals.

“Indeed you did, Mr Gage,” she smiled. “I’m Ruth, your nurse for tonight. How are you feeling?”

“’M hot,” Johnny mumbled. He pushed irritably at the blankets covering him, only then noticing for the first time that his injured hand was suspended in mid-air and had a drain. “When did that happen?” he asked.

“This afternoon,” Ruth replied. “Dr Brackett says you did speak to him briefly while he was here.”

Somewhere deep in Johnny’s memory, a bell went off, but it was very faint. “I don’t really remember,” he faltered. He felt awful, although his chest seemed less tight and the cough that had plagued him earlier was less bothersome. The thought, however, seemed to summon it and he was gasping for breath when the bout eased. Ruth gave him some water and resettled him against the pillows, which she had turned over. They felt blessedly cool and Johnny realised once more how hot he was.

Ruth moved efficiently around, wetting a cloth for Johnny’s head and surreptitiously summoning the doctor. Johnny’s temperature had risen almost a whole degree while he slept – it was now 103^o. The antibiotics weren’t working.

It wasn’t long before Kel Brackett appeared, smiling slightly at Johnny before concentrating on the chart in front of him. “Johnny, you’re not doing as well as we had hoped,” he remarked. “So we’ll start cooling measures and add another antibiotic to your cocktail.” He sighed. “The good news is that your chest is sounding clearer, so I think the trouble is coming from something you picked up from the water, or the infection in your hand. I’m just going to check your legs.”

Peeling back the blankets, Brackett looked closely at the gashes on Johnny’s legs. One or two of them had been right down to the bone and he was very anxious lest infection should reach the bones. However, although they were slightly red – only to be expected with the infection that was in Johnny’s bloodstream anyway – they didn’t give any cause for concern.

“Doc, give it to me straight,” Johnny gasped. “What’s wrong?”

“You’ve got an infection in your bloodstream, Johnny. We’re testing it against antibiotics to see which one to use. The pneumonia seems to be getting better, although I’m sure you don’t think so. Don’t worry – we’ll do everything in our power to keep you comfortable and make you better.”

“Thanks,” Johnny breathed. “Where’s Roy?”

“I sent him home to get some rest a few hours ago,” Brackett replied. “He’ll be back in the morning. Now, how about I give you something to help you sleep so that you feel better when he does get here?”

It was a rhetorical question, Johnny realised, as Brackett wiped the IV port and smoothly shot something in. The reawakening aches and pains began to disappear as Johnny drifted towards sleep once more. He felt a momentary resentment that Brackett hadn’t waited for his consent, but as he drifted away, he was unable to hold onto any emotions and the world became a soft and merciful place.

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

Voice swirled through the world that surrounded him, but they meant nothing to Johnny. They were just one more thing he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why he was so hot or so cold; why sometimes he hurt and sometimes he was floating. Hands touched him, sometimes searing his skin with their warmth, but more often feeling like ice. Initially, he tried to move away from the hands, but after a while, he was unable to move more than a few inches. Then it all became too much for his fevered mind to take in and he blacked out once more.

Eons later, he opened his eyes and realised that he felt a bit better. He rolled his eyes, as moving his head was too much effort for him, and saw Roy sitting sleeping by his bed. Johnny recognised ICU and could hear the beeps of the monitors that kept the nurses apprised of his condition. An oxygen mask covered his face and a slight movement of his body told him that his hands were restrained and he had a Foley catheter in. Whatever had happened to him hadn’t been good.

A nurse came in, alerted by the change in his heart rhythm and smiled when she saw he was awake. “Welcome back, Mr Gage,” she beamed. “We thought you’d be waking up soon.”

Opening his mouth to speak, Johnny realised his throat was as dry as the Sahara. He emitted a strangled croak, but the nurse was already bringing the cup to his lips, a straw at the ready. Johnny sipped gratefully.

The activity woke Roy, who blinked several times before realising that Johnny was awake. The utter relief on his face was something of a revelation to Johnny, who suddenly realised how sick he had been. “Hi,” he breathed, relieved to find that his voice did work after all.

“Hi yourself,” Roy responded. He barely noticed as the nurse left to alert Dr Brackett. “I thought we agreed you were going to get better?” His tone was teasing, but there was something in his voice that told Johnny just what his partner had endured.

“How long?” he asked.

“How long have you been here?” Roy clarified. Johnny nodded. “The last time we spoke was three days ago.” He let his partner absorb that shock before continuing. “Dr Brackett saw you that night. You took a turn for the worse before the new antibiotic was started and they had to bring you here. You were delirious, so they had to restrain you.” Roy indicated the padded leather cuffs that had caused him such distress when he first saw them. Although he knew they were for Johnny’s own safety, he hated to see them. “Your fever finally broke this morning and we’ve been waiting for you to wake up since then.”

Before Johnny could muster anything to say, the door opened to reveal Dr Brackett. “Well, Johnny, I’m glad to see you awake again,” he greeted the paramedic. “The nurses are a little tired of having all those firemen underfoot.”

“Aw, doc, they don’t mind the unmarried ones,” Roy teased. But it was true – there had been several firemen at the hospital at all times, waiting to see how Johnny was.

Shooting Roy a sideways glance, Brackett fought to keep from smiling and lost. He didn’t mind. “How’re you feeling, Johnny?” he asked. The nurse quietly unbuckled the restraints and removed them.

“Exhausted,” Johnny whispered. His eyelids were drooping.

“You’re on the mend,” Brackett assured him. “Sleep is what you need most.” He smiled softly as he saw that Johnny had missed his last words. He was already asleep. He glanced at Roy. “Well, he’s done it again,” he commented.

“Sure has,” Roy agreed, but neither asked what the other meant by their cryptic comment.

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

It was several weeks before Johnny was well enough to return to work. The infection had been virulent and had sapped Johnny’s strength dramatically. He had slept almost continuously for the first 24 hours after his fever broke and for several more days after that, his only other activity had been eating.

“No visit from The Phantom, Chet,” Cap had warned and so Johnny had been able to spend his first shift back without any torments – or not many.

Life wouldn’t be the same without Johnny and Chet ‘arguing’, Roy thought, as the sound of their voices echoed out into the engine bay.

The End

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