Roy's Run

by E!lf

"What's that stuff?"

Roy DeSoto looked up from the kitchen table, where he had scattered a handful of colorful brochures and was making notes on a Big Chief tablet.  "We're making plans for Christopher's birthday party."

"Oh."  Johnny Gage took a sip of his coffee and seated himself beside his partner, pulling over some of the papers to look at.  "I thought his birthday wasn't until next month?"

"No, it's not.  But you have to plan ahead.  Believe me, Junior, entertaining twenty six-year-olds isn't something to be taken lightly.  We have to pick out a theme and order the cake, decide what kind of ice cream to get and how much."

Chet Kelly came into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.  He wandered over and picked up one of the folders.  "Rent-a Clown?  Uh oh, Gage!  Your partner's looking for a replacement."

"Ha ha ha, very funny Chet!  Hey, Roy!  You don't need to rent a clown.  We'll just dip Kelly here into some whitewash, spray paint his hair and he's set to go!"

Roy grinned faintly at their antics, but his eyes were distant.  "You know," he said, almost to himself, "this is a really big birthday for Chris."

"Six is a big birthday?" Johnny asked.

"Well, yeah!  I mean, it's kinda like he's not a little kid anymore.  Not a really little kid, I mean.  Next year he'll start school."

"I thought he started school this year?"

"Just kindergarten.  That's not like real school.  It's only half a day and mostly they just play and take naps and stuff.  But next year he'll start real school.  He'll be gone all day every day.  We won't have near as much time to spend with him, and when he does come home he'll have homework and stuff."  Roy's voice was sad.  He was quickly working himself into a blue funk.  Naturally his two friends jumped in to help him.

"Only another ten years and he's gonna be wanting a car for his birthday," Chet observed.  "Uh, one that doesn't wind up, I mean."

"You're right!"  Roy's eyes widened in alarm and he quickly scribbled a note to himself.  "I'd better start saving up for that!"

Johnny and Chet glanced at one another and snickered.

"And dating!" Johnny added.  "Have you had that little talk about sex yet, Pally?"

"Well, kinda."  Roy glanced up, blushing a little.  "One of the neighbors has a cat that had kittens and we took him over to watch.  We let him see them being born and we told him about the birds and the bees.  I don't think he completely understood, though, because later I heard him tell the little boy next door that we got his sister out of a cat."

The sound of the tones interrupted Johnny and Chet's peals of laughter.

"Station 51.  Engine 19.  Respond on a second alarm.  Structure fire at the gymnasium.  Carson Junior High.  2121 Ardmore.  Cross street Williams.  Time out 14:23."

As the squad sped along, engine in its wake, Johnny glanced over at his partner and remarked, "you know, it's funny you mentioning ice cream.  I was just thinking about that the other day."

"What?  Ice cream?"

"No, cows.  How come cows don't get mad a lot more, Roy?  I mean, we sneak up on them and we squeeze them and we steal their milk.  Now, that'd make me mad.  Wouldn't it make you mad?"

Roy bit his lower lip.  "Johnny, I don't give milk."

"Well, yeah!  I know you don't.  But what if someone stole Joanne's milk?"

"I don't want to think about that.  And I don't want you to think about it either!"

Johnny shrugged and they finished the drive in silence.

#-#-#-#-

As they pulled up in front of the burning building they could see another squad heading out behind an ambulance.  The battalion chief was there and he had come over to meet their engine as it pulled up.  Now he motioned to the two paramedics to hurry as they pulled on their gear and went to join the group.

"Gage, DeSoto," he said.  "Couple of boys started this thing.  One-ten just took one of them in to Rampart.  The other one's still inside somewhere."

"Right," Roy replied.  "Cap?"

"Let's make this fast," Hank Stanley said.  "Roy, why don't you take the north entrance here?  Chet and Marco will cover you with a hose.  Gage, one-ten has a hose crew already waiting down by the south entrance.  The building itself is mostly stone and concrete so it ought to stand, but there're a lot of flammables in there and they doused it with gasoline, so be careful and don't hang around."

Roy and Johnny each grabbed an HT.  Johnny ran down to the south entrance and Roy, Chet and Marco went in the north.

The north entrance led to a hallway that dead-ended in an alcove with a single heavy door at one side and a staircase climbing from the other.  Roy felt the door first and found it blistering hot.  He motioned to his shift mates and they sprayed the door down with the hose.  Then all three men stood to the side as Roy used a small pry bar from his belt to pop it open.  The room beyond was an inferno and the three men needed only a shared glance and a shake of the head to communicate.  If the victim was in there, he was beyond all help.  Turning away from the door they started to climb.

#-#-#-#-

Johnny would have felt better with his own crew backing him, but one-tens were good guys and he had no complaint.  In the south entrance he found a layout much like 51s had found on the north, but here the room at the end of the hall was not yet completely engulfed and he and his back up ventured in.  The door, they discovered, led to a locker room carpeted in cheap industrial carpet and lined with wooden benches and old metal lockers stuffed with enough towels, gym suits and sneakers for several hundred boys.  The carpet squished wetly beneath Johnny's feet and the smell of gasoline was strong.

They paced down the rows of lockers, paused at an open door to look out into an obviously empty basketball court, and then continued through a shower room to where another doorway opened out to an Olympic-sized swimming pool.

In a corner of the poolroom they found their victim crouched, gasping, shivering and turning blue.  Johnny ran over to him and knelt to give him a hit of oxygen from his own tank.  While he had his mask off he called his captain.

"Engine 51, this is Fireman Gage."

"Go ahead, John."

"Cap, we've got him.  We're coming out."

"Ten-four.  Good job!"

#-#-#-#-

The steps that Roy, Chet and Marco climbed opened out into the bleachers above the basketball court.  Another opening, like the one they'd emerged from, faced them at the other end of the bottom row of seats.  At the top of the bleachers, rising away to their left, there were two more doorways, one at each end.  Thick, black smoke roiled around their heads.  With Roy in the lead they climbed the steps, peering through the smoke down each bench they passed, trying to see if the victim was unconscious between them.  They could feel the heat from the fire below them through the soles of their boots, but the floor was concrete and they were praying it would hold long enough for them to do their job and get out.

At the top of the bleachers they came to the first doorway.  Flames shot out and a metal sign on the wall was beginning to melt from the heat.  Realizing that here, too, the fire had beaten them, Roy turned and started along the narrow aisle at the top of the bleachers, headed for the other doorway.  He was about halfway there when his HT beeped and he stopped to answer it.

"Engine 51 to Fireman DeSoto."

"DeSoto here.  Go ahead engine 51."

"Roy, Johnny's got your victim.  You guys go ahead and get out of there now."

"That's great.  10-4, Cap!  We're on our way!"

He returned the HT to his belt, gave Chet and Marco a thumbs-up gesture and started back towards them.  At just that moment the wall behind him blew up.

Chet and Marco could only watch in horror as Roy tumbled down the bleachers, slammed his head into the metal railing at the bottom, flipped over it and disappeared into the basketball court below.  They dropped their hose and ran down the steps, heedless of their own safety.  At the bottom they pulled up and looked fearfully over the side.  Roy lay below on the hardwood floor, a sprawled figure, silent and unmoving.

#-#-#-#-

Johnny carried the teenager out and lay him down on the orange rescue blanket that was waiting.  While one of the guys from 110s started him on oxygen Johnny checked his vitals.  Cap set up the biophone and contacted Rampart for him.

"Rampart, this is rescue 51.  We have a male victim, approximately thirteen.  He's experiencing respiratory difficulties and we've started him on four liters of oxygen.  Rampart, he was in an arson fire and at this point it's difficult to say if he's suffering from smoke inhalation or if he's been overcome with gasoline fumes."  He took the paper Johnny passed him and read off the boy's vitals.

"Fifty-one, do you have parental consent?" Dr. Kelly Brackett asked over the biophone.

Captain Stanley glanced over at Deputy Vince Howard.

"He's under arrest," Vince said.  "That makes him ours for now.  Go ahead and treat him."

"Uh, affirmative, Rampart.  Victim is in police custody at this time, so we're clear to treat."

"Ten-four, fifty-one.  Start an IV, saline, TKO.  Keep him on O2 and transport."

#-#-#-#-

With no radio -- Roy had been carrying it -- fifty-one's engine crew had only two options.  They could return the way they had come in hopes of getting help to reach their fallen comrade in time or they could continue on and try to find their way to his side.  They already knew that there was no entrance to the basketball court the way they had come.

One quick glance and, by unspoken consent, they hurried on across the bleachers and exited by the stairway on the opposite side.  This led them into a maze of offices and classrooms.  They followed a long hall, checking every door without finding what they were looking for, until they finally emerged into the room with the swimming pool.  The fire hadn't taken over this side of the building yet and Chet pulled down his mask for a second, wincing at the gasoline fumes, to shout.

"This place is a deathtrap!  Who the hell designed this thing anyway?"

Marco only nodded, shrugged grimly and continued on.

From the poolroom they found their way into the showers and then through to the locker room, unwittingly following John Gage's footsteps.  In the locker room they finally came across an opening into the basketball court.  They ran across the floor, their footfalls resounding on the boards.  Somewhere high overhead another fire crew vented the building and the smoke abruptly rose and dissipated.  Chet and Marco stopped in shock and dismay.

Their busted HT lay in the middle of the floor, but of Roy DeSoto there was no sign.

#-#-#-#-

Roy came up behind Cap and Johnny as they were loading the boy into the ambulance.  If either of them had been looking at him they might have noticed that he was limping, might have marked the way his left arm dangled awkwardly at his side or seen the thin stream of blood that trickled like sweat down the side of his face.  They were busy with the victim, though, and didn't afford him so much as a glance.

"Kid's not too bad," Johnny said.  "Doc's got him on saline, TKO.  I'm thinking he's taken in too many gasoline fumes.  We're gonna run him in.  You ready to follow me?"

Cap answered for him.  "Yeah, he can go ahead and go.  Now that we've got the victims out the chief is going to release us.  We'll see you guys back at the station."  He slammed the ambulance doors closed and slapped them twice, then fell back to stand beside Mike and Roy and watch them drive away.

Cap was thinking, if that was my kid I'd make him rebuild this damned gym with his bare hands!

Mike was thinking, kid's lucky they got him out when they did!

Roy was thinking, bananas are nice.

With the ambulance gone Mike turned his attention to shutting down the engine's systems and Cap wandered off to talk with the chief.  Roy was left alone, listing slightly as he stood unsteadily beside the squad.  Acting more on muscle memory than anything, he unhooked his tank and breathing gear and shrugged out of them, leaning against the little red truck as he maneuvered the straps past his injured arm and shoulder.  Then he pulled his turnout coat off.  Leaving them heaped in the dust, he climbed behind the wheel of the squad.  He took his helmet off and tossed it on the seat -- a long crack down the side bore witness to just how hard his head had hit the metal railing -- started the engine and drove away.

#-#-#-#-

"Cap!"

"Cap!"

"Cap it's Roy!  We've gotta go find him, Cap!  Form a search party!  Get another squad!  Call for an ambulance!"

Cap and the chief turned in surprise as Chet and Marco bore down on them, shouting all the way.

"Guys!  Guys!"  Hank Stanley waved his hands at his men, trying to calm them down.  "Come on, settle down now!  What in the world is going on?"

"We need a search party, Cap!"  Marco found his breath first.  "We've gotta find Roy!"

"DeSoto?" Cap asked in disbelief.  "He just took the squad to Rampart to pick up Johnny."

The two firemen froze and stared at him as if he'd sprouted horns.  "He made it out?" Chet asked finally.  "And he was okay?  He wasn't hurt or anything?"

"He couldn't have been okay!" Marco objected before his captain could answer.  "He probably fell twenty-five or thirty feet all together.  And the way his head slammed into that railing . . . "

"Now wait a minute!"  Cap interrupted their excited chatter.  "Are you telling me that Roy got hurt in there?"

"Hurt?" Chet echoed.  "Cap, he got blasted!  We were up in the bleachers, right?  All the way at the very top.  Roy just answered your call to evacuate and started back when the whole damn wall behind him blew.  Threw him all the way down the steps --"

"Cracked his head on the metal rail at the bottom," Marco cut in.  "Hit it so hard you could hear it over the fire from thirty feet away!"

"And then he fell into the basketball court," Chet finished.

"Why didn't you call for help?" Cap asked, and then answered his own question.  "Because Roy had the HT."

"Right!"

"It was too high to jump out of the bleachers," Marco said, "and we didn't have any climbing gear, so we had to hunt for another way to get down to him.  It took us forever to find a door onto the court floor and when we did, Roy was gone."

"He must have gotten up and made it out on his own," Cap said.  "And he didn't say a word about it!"

"Well, how did he look?" Chet asked.

"You know, I wasn't really paying attention.  Mike?"

"Sorry, Cap.  I wasn't either."

They glanced together towards where the squad had sat and noticed, for the first time, the pile of gear left on the ground.

"Had to be something wrong," Cap said.  "He left his gear behind."  They walked over and picked up the coat and breathing apparatus.

"Look, Cap," Chet said.  "See this?"  He held up Roy's mask.  There was a long crack across the faceplate.  Marco wordlessly pointed out several dents in the metal oxygen tank and Mike indicated the regulator, busted beyond repair.

"Well, hell," Cap said.  "Why didn't he say anything?"  Going back to the engine he raised the radio.

"Engine 51 to squad 51.  Come in please!"

#-#-#-#-

On a deserted back street, in an area that would be crowded with commuters in another couple of hours, Roy drove slowly along in the little squad, his thoughts as disorganized as the world that drifted past the truck's windows in an out-of-focus blur.  A familiar voice came over the radio.

"Engine 51 to squad 51.  Come in please!"

Roy blinked and addressed the squad.  "Some . . . some . . . some . . body's . . .   talkin' . . to you."

"Roy, are you listening?"

"Oh!"  He blinked again.  "Somebody's talkin' to me.  Hi!"

"Roy, if you can hear me, pick up the microphone and answer me!"

. . . pick up the microphone . . .

. . . microphone . . .

Roy's gaze wandered around the cab's interior and more or less settled on the little turtle-shaped . . . thing . . . that hung on the . . . other thing.

Microphone!  Right!  Gotta pick it up and push on its nose to talk.

Since his left arm still hung useless, picking up the microphone meant letting go of the steering wheel altogether.  At this point, that made very little difference.  Leaving the squad to its own devices, he reached over, picked up the microphone, pushed the button and said . . .

#-#-#-#-

"Do you like clowns?"

Captain Stanley looked down at the radio in dismay as his senior paramedic's voice finally came from the speaker.  "What was that?"

"'Cause they say that everybody loves a clown, but me, I think they're kinda scary myself.  Christopher doesn't like them too."

"Roy, where are you?"

"I'm right here."

"Where's here?"

"Uh . . . here in the squad."

"Okay, but where's the squad, Roy?"

"It's right here too, Cap!"

"Oh, man!" Mike breathed.

The fire chief raised his own radio.  "L.A. this is Battalion fourteen.  We have a fireman with an untreated head injury driving around the Carson area in a rescue squad.  He needs to be gotten off the road and to the hospital as soon as possible."

"Roy," Cap was still trying to communicate, "I want you to look out the window and tell me what you see, okay?"

"Okay."

"Roy?  Are you there, Roy?  What do you see, pal?"

"A . . . a dog.  I think it was a dog, Cap.  It's kinda hard to tell 'cause everything's so blurry.  The . . . the . . . the baby musta . . . musta gotten into the . . . into the . . . finger paint again."

"Roy," Cap said firmly, "pull over!"

"No, Cap."  Roy spoke slowly, obviously putting a lot of concentration into it.  "I got . . . I got a . . . a jacket.  For if it gets cold, y'see."

Cap sighed and closed his eyes.

"Cap?" Roy asked.

"Yeah pal?"

"Do you think dogs like clowns?"

Cap looked to the chief and the chief nodded.  "Go on.  See if you can catch him.  I'll send you all the help I can."

#-#-#-#-

It was a lovely afternoon.  The sun was lovely, the breeze was lovely, and the three young nurses who stood outside the emergency room entrance drinking soda pop and enjoying the weather were loveliest of all.  John Gage stood with them, enjoying the view, and though he wondered what was keeping his partner he wasn't too concerned about it.  In fact, he was secretly hoping that Roy would take his time.

The door slid open behind them and Kelly Brackett came out, face grave and eyes shadowed.

"Doc?" Johnny asked.  "Is there a problem?"

"Well, I'm not sure," Brackett hedged.  "I was hoping to see some sign of your partner."

"He oughta be here any minute.  What's going on?"  Johnny's eyes narrowed, his voice darkened.

"Apparently he got hurt at that fire."

"Hurt?  Well, how bad?  Did he go back inside after I left?"

"That's just it.  I don't know, Johnny.  I don't have any details.  From the chatter on the fire department radio, it sounds like he's driving around in the squad with a head injury."

The door opened again and Dixie McCall came out.  "Fellas.  Any sign of him?"

"There he is!" one of the young nurses said suddenly, pointing.  They turned to look and sighed with relief as squad fifty-one turned in the entrance and drove slowly towards them.  Brackett tapped one of the girls on the arm.

"Run in and get me two orderlies with a gurney."

"A gurney, Doc?" Johnny asked.  "He can't be that bad.  After all, he made it here!"

Dixie gave him a wise, slantwise look.  "You haven't been listening to him on the radio," she said.

Once through the tunnel that led in from the street, Roy made the usual right turn and they waited, expecting him to back into place.  Instead he kept driving.

"What?  What?  Where's he going?" Johnny demanded.  He and the Rampart staffers watched in disbelief as Roy drove in a big circle around the parking lot.  When he passed the emergency entrance for the second time Johnny ran after him, the others trailing.

"Roy!  Roy?  Hey!  Roy!  Stop, man!  Come on, now!  Roy?"

Johnny got just close enough to see the blood trickling down his partner's cheek, but not close enough to be certain where it was coming from.  When he was a few feet from the squad Roy looked over and his eyes showed recognition.  He raised his right hand from the steering wheel and waved very slowly.  Then he turned the truck the wrong direction down the entryway and drove off trailing a ragged tail of pursuers.

As he came to the wide street Johnny froze in horror and tried to brace himself for the sight of his best friend getting killed in front of him.  Brackett, close behind, swore furiously.  The girls screamed and Dixie covered her face.

"Oh!  I can't look!"

There was a Volkswagen Beetle coming from the right and a tractor-trailer coming from the left.  The squad entered the street.  The Beetle swerved.  The semi thundered down.  Tires squealed, horns sounded.  The trucker let forth a mighty blast of his air horn.  The street cleared and . . .

The squad trundled peacefully over the parking lot across the street.

"I'm gonna kill him," Johnny breathed.  "I'm gonna get him well and then I'm gonna kill him!"

"He's gotta stop soon," Brackett said from behind him.  "He's almost out of pavement."  Even as the words left his mouth Roy reached the edge of the lot.  The squad jounced up over a row of parking blocks, rolled across the grass, bounced down off the curb and continued up the street, still moving at the slow, steady pace of a kiddie carnival ride.

A horn from beside him yanked Gage's attention back to his immediate surroundings.  He looked down and found Vince Howard in his cruiser.

"Gage!  Get in!"

Johnny yanked the door open, then froze.  "My gear!" he exclaimed.  "All our gear is still back --" he gestured towards the hospital.

"Go on," Brackett said.  "Catch up to him.  I'll get you your gear.  Go on!"

#-#-#-#-

By the time Johnny and Vince came up behind the squad the street they were on had dwindled to one narrow lane, affording them no opportunity to come up beside it.  A sick feeling settled into the pit of Johnny's stomach.

"This is Chickaree, Vince.  Another four blocks and it merges with the 405.  If he pulls out on the 405 going --" Johnny glanced over at the speedometer, "eight miles an hour it'll be a disaster.  We could have a thirty or forty car pileup.  And Roy won't have a chance."

"Yeah, I know.  Look, maybe I can nudge him enough to make him drift off into one of these side streets."

"No!" Johnny practically shouted.  He gripped the dashboard and turned in his seat to address the deputy directly.  "He's got a head injury, maybe a bad one.  There's blood running down the side of his face and I couldn't tell where it was coming from.  If it's from a cut on his head it might be relatively minor, but if he's bleeding from the ears then he's probably got a skull fracture."

"And that's serious."  Vince nodded to show he understood.

"He could drop dead any second," Johnny said.  "Every jolt, every bounce, every impact, no matter how slight increases the chances that that will happen."

Face set in a grim mask, Vince reached for the radio.  "I'll see what I can do."

#-#-#-#-

On the 405, two miles north of the Chickaree Street entrance, four marked CHP cruisers met up and jockeyed for position until they were traveling abreast.  Coordinating their movements they hit their lights and began to slow, forcing the traffic behind them to slow as well.  A pair of motorcycle cops swung out around them and rode ahead, waving anyone who seemed inclined to stop to keep moving.  Just shy of Chickaree the rolling barricade came to a standstill.  The vehicles in front of it disappeared in the distance and the southbound lanes of one of southern California's busiest freeways stretched bare and empty.

Alerted by the chatter on the scanner, two news helicopters vied with an official copter for airspace above the freeway.  News vans waited, parked illegally along the verge of the access road that paralleled the highway and vehicles in the northbound lanes slowed or pulled off and stopped to see what was going on.

#-#-#-#-

Johnny and Vince, still trailing after Roy, were both getting edgy as the freeway entrance loomed near.  Vince had tried flipping on his lights and siren to get Roy's attention, but it had had opposite the effect he was hoping for.  Instead of slowing to a stop, Roy turned on his own lights and siren and speeded up.  Vince quickly turned his siren off, leaving his lights on to warn the occasional passing motorist that something not quite normal was going on.

Johnny looked around and was grateful to see his engine fall in behind them, closely trailed by an ambulance and another squad.  Roy had dropped down to five miles an hour, but even at that speed it seemed to his partner that the deadly freeway entrance was rushing towards them.

Vince raised the radio.  "L.A., we're approaching the 405 very fast!"

"Ten-four," came the response.  "You're clear to enter the 405."

The road curved, climbed slightly and then dropped down to become an onramp.  They came over the crest and saw flashing lights and empty pavement."

"They blocked it!" Vince grinned suddenly.  "They blocked the whole damn freeway!"

#-#-#-#-

In the break room at Rampart, Joe Early and Mike Morton were watching the drama play out on the small screen of the television set.

The picture, taken from one of the news helicopters, showed what seemed to be a small, impromptu parade as the squad led the way slowly down the onramp and onto the empty freeway.  The news announcer spoke over it.

"Now, for those of you who have just joined us, what we're seeing here is a scene happening right now on the southbound 405 at the Chickaree Street entrance.  According to official sources a firefighter -- and, of course, they're not releasing any names at this time -- a firefighter received a head injury at a fire about thirty-five minutes ago and for some reason -- again, we don't have a lot of details at this time -- for some reason he got into this rescue vehicle and drove away.  Now, they were in contact with him earlier, but he was very disoriented and confused and they haven't been able to convince him to stop.

"When he got on Chickaree Street, which as you know, or maybe you don't, is a very narrow, one-lane street that merges with the highway, at that point the decision was made by someone, I'm guessing someone high up in the State Police, to close down the highway until this situation is resolved.  Bob, can you tell us what's going on out there?"

The next voice spoke against a background of rotors beating the air, telling them that they were hearing someone in one of the helicopters that hovered over the scene.

"Well, Mac, the vehicle involved is a fire department rescue squad.  The number on the door is 51, but whether the fireman driving it is from station 51 or just happened to climb into that squad, we don't know.  The engine following it is also from station 51, so that would suggest that it is one of their men, but, again, we just don't know.

"In addition to the engine, the squad is being pursued by a deputy sheriff, two motorcycle officers from the California Highway Patrol, a rescue squad from station 110 and an ambulance.  Now, this is not official, but I've also gotten an unconfirmed report that Dr. Kelly Brackett, who is of course the head of emergency medicine at Rampart General, and a nurse are riding in the ambulance."

"We'll have to tell Dixie she needs to work on her PR," Joe said dryly.  "Kel gets mentioned by name, but she's just 'a nurse'."

"What I can't get," Mike said, "is that this is DeSoto!  I mean, if it were Gage it'd seem, somehow, I don't know.  Normal, almost.  You know?  Like, there goes Johnny again.  But Roy's so calm and so low-key.  You know, we're gonna have to try to get a tape of this broadcast so we can show it to him after this is all over."

Joe Early didn't answer and after a moment the younger doctor looked over.  "He is going to be okay, you know."

At that Joe smiled a little.  "Yeah, Mike.  I know.  Can't help but worry, though."

On the television the studio announcer came back.  "I've spoken with Evan Houts, the fire chief for battalion fourteen and we have a little more information about how this situation came about."  The squad reached the highway and drifted along between lanes.  The sheriff's department vehicle drew abreast on the driver's side while the engine came up on the passenger side.  "Chief Houts has confirmed for us that the fireman in question was injured in an explosion at the Carson Junior High Gymnasium fire that we reported on at noon.  Now, they're still investigating, but they believe that what happened was, he was standing beside the wall that ran between the top of the bleachers and the concession stand when a CO2 tank inside the concession stand blew up.  He was caught in that blast and was separated from the other firefighters.  By the time they got to where he had been thrown he had left the fire on his own, gotten in the squad truck and driven away."

The three vehicles drove along, more or less abreast.  The sheriff's car and the engine were trying to get close to the squad, but they didn't want to bump it and Roy's steering was growing increasingly erratic.  Mike's eyes widened as a familiar figure rose from the passenger window of the police car.  "Is that Gage?  It is!  What does he think he's going to do?"

On the engine, Marco and Chet were also, obviously, trying to gauge the timing for a jump onto the little squad.

"I don't think I can watch," Joe said.  "We're going to end up with an ICU full of firemen!"

#-#-#-#-

"Gage!  Are you out of your mind?  Get back in here!"

"We've gotta do something, Vince!  That's my best friend over there!  If we don't get him to a hospital he's gonna die!"

"Well, what do you think you can accomplish?  You're not gonna try to climb in the window?"

"No, but if I can get onto the running board I can hang onto the mirror and reach through the window and steer.  Then maybe one of the guys can get in the other side and get him stopped."

"You're gonna get yourself killed!"

"You got a better idea?"

Vince thought about it.  "How much gas is in that thing, do you know?"

"A lot.  We gassed up on our morning supply run and this is only our second call of the day.  He'll run out of time before he runs out of gas."

The deputy sighed.  "Okay.  What do you want me to do?"

"Just get as close as you can and try to match his speed.  Going this slow, this oughta be a piece of cake."

Vince did as Johnny asked and Johnny carefully maneuvered himself out the police car window until he was sitting on the windowsill, holding onto the roof and side mirror while the road spun slowly below his dangling feet.  Vince matched Roy's speed, now in the neighborhood of fifteen miles an hour.  The squad drifted over towards them and Johnny braced himself, started to jump but then caught himself at the last minute as the squad abruptly veered away again.

In the back of the ambulance, behind them and to one side, Dixie McCall sat with her hands over her face as Kelly Brackett peered out the window.  "Oh," the nurse moaned.  "Tell me when it's over!"

The squad came towards the police car again, slowly edging closer and closer until no more than two feet separated them.  Johnny took a deep breath, jumped for the running board and reached to catch himself on the squad's side mirror.  He wobbled a little on landing, but got his arm around the mirror support struts and anchored himself firmly to the driver's door.  As Vince moved the police car away again, Johnny reached in the window and got a good, solid grip on the steering wheel.

Johnny's sigh of relief was short-lived.  Roy abruptly leaned forward, his head resting on the wheel and his foot pressing down on the gas.  The squad sped up.  It was all Johnny could do to keep it going straight ahead.  He couldn't tell if Roy was still breathing and he couldn't spare a hand to check for a pulse.

"Roy?" he said.  "Roy?  Take your foot off the gas, Roy!  Come on now, Pally.  You're scaring me here!  Roy?"

Roy's shoulders shook slightly, but he made no reply.

Now the engine roared up on the squad's off side.  With Johnny steering it was simple for Mike to pace them, provided Roy didn't suddenly speed up or slow down again.  When they were level Chet and Marco jumped, in quick succession, from the engine to the back of the squad.  They landed in an awkward sprawl, half up on the tops of the compartments and half down in the narrow well between them.  They pulled themselves up and made their way up behind the cab.

Chet was wearing climbing gear and Marco had a rope coiled over his shoulder.  Now Marco took the rope, passed it around the metal railing on the driver's side of the squad and then handed the end to Chet, who clipped it to his belt.  With Marco acting as his anchor, Chet squatted on the edge of the compartments, then lay on his side and stuck his legs in the passenger side window.  Marco played out just a little rope and Chet wiggled backwards, his upper body dangling precariously above the pavement, and went in the window feet-first.

As soon as he was in the window, Chet unhooked his rope, slid over and slipped the squad into neutral.  The motor racing, it began to slow immediately.  Then Chet managed to get one foot across Roy's right leg and press down on the brake.  The little red Dodge slowed to a stop and the car chase was over.

Johnny jumped down long enough to yank the door open, then leapt back up and used both hands to gently ease Roy back away from the steering wheel.  He was alive -- that was the first thing that registered, even before it dawned on Johnny that his partner was crying.

Roy was crying, weeping brokenly with the unselfconscious abandon of a child.  Tears washed the blood from his face and he raised his forearm awkwardly to wipe his eyes.

"Hey, now!" Johnny said, gently.  "Don't cry.  It's all right now.  Everything's gonna be just fine.  I promise!"

"Johnny?" Roy sobbed.

"Yeah, Pally?"

"Johnny?  Is it . . . it is me that the cows are mad at?"

#-#-#-#-

Brackett and Dixie, with the ambulance attendants, pulled the gurney from the back of the ambulance and met Wheeler and Kirk from 110 beside squad 51.  With Brackett supervising, Johnny and the other two paramedics made short work of getting Roy out of the squad and onto the gurney.  One of the news helicopters came down low, trying to get a clear shot of the action, and they had to huddle over the injured man to protect him from the prop wash until officials had ordered the chopper away.

Even as they strapped him down and headed for the ambulance, they were working on him.  Dixie took his vitals while Brackett checked his pupil responses with a penlight and looked at his nose and his ears.  His expression grave, he started issuing orders.  "Wheeler, start an IV, D5W.  Kirk, get his shoes off so we can check his reflexes.  Johnny, set up the biophone."  They loaded him into the ambulance.

While he set up the biophone, Johnny was still talking softly to his partner.  ". . . in fact, the cows think you're a really cool guy!  I promise.  Okay?  Rampart, this is squad 51, how do you read?"

Brackett dismissed 110s paramedics with a short nod and a "thanks guys".  They jumped down, slamming the doors and slapping them twice.  As the ambulance started for Rampart, Brackett took the phone from Johnny.

"Joe?  We've got blood and SF in the nose and ears, pupils unequal and sluggish, negative Babinskis on the right, Babinskis on the left."

"Right, Kel.  I've got an operating room on standby.  I think we'd better take him straight to surgery, don't you?"

"I do.  We'll be there in --" he looked at Johnny questioningly.

Johnny was almost in a daze himself.  He sat with one hand protectively on Roy's shoulder, looking down at his friend and trying to grasp the fact that he was in such bad shape.  He shook himself a little when he realized Brackett was waiting for him, glanced out the window and said, "uh, ETA is about two minutes."

"Two minutes," Brackett finished over the biophone.  He hung up the phone and clasped a hand on Johnny's arm.  "We're going to take good care of him.  I promise."

Johnny nodded and forced a smile.  Lying on the gurney between them, Roy squinted up and blinked several times.  "Dr. Brackett?"

"Yeah, pal?"

"Where are we going?"

Brackett leaned over, speaking slowly and trying to make it easy for Roy to understand.  "We're going to Rampart," he said.  "We're going to take you to surgery."

"Oh."  Roy blinked again.  "Will there be party hats?"

The doctor smiled down, a very small, affectionate smile.  "Yeah, hose jockey.  I promise there will."

#-#-#-#-

With the car chase over and the roadblock removed, the local TV stations had returned to their normal scheduling.  Two hours later, though, when the evening news came on, Roy's run through Carson was the main story.

Johnny paced the out-of-the-way conference room where they had been allowed to wait, away from the press of reporters that now swarmed the hospital.  On the television screen a commercial ended and abruptly Chet Kelly appeared, still in his wrinkled uniform, against a background of people and 51's squad and engine.  The channel 5 news logo floated in the lower right-hand corner of the screen as Chet said, " . . . he got blasted!  Just blasted!"

Chief Houts, thinking fast, had gotten Joanne DeSoto past the reporters by having her wrap her arm in a bandage and sending her in with his wife.  Fifty-one's engine crew, however, had been waylaid at the hospital entrance.

The picture switched to the now-familiar shot of the squad trundling down the 405 and the announcer said, "this evening on Five News at Five, more information on that injured firefighter who led police and rescue officials on a chase through Carson and caused the 405 to be temporarily closed down.  I'm Grant Blakely and this is Five News at Five."

Giving up his pacing, Johnny went to sit with his station mates and watch the show.

"Good evening," Grant Blakely said.  "The firefighter who drove away from the Carson Junior High Gymnasium fire with a head injury earlier today has been identified as Firefighter/Paramedic Roy DeSoto out of Fire station 51 in Carson.  We spoke today with Firefighter Chester B. Kelly, who was present when DeSoto was injured."

The door to the conference room opened to admit Mike Morton and they all gave him their attention.  He was wearing scrubs and he went over to lay a hand on Joanne's shoulder before he spoke to all of them.  "This is just an update," he said.  "I went up and looked in on them in surgery.  It's going to be several hours yet.  Cal Forrest is handling the surgery.  I don't know if you know him, but he's one of the top brain surgeons in the state, maybe in the country.  Joe and Kel are both in there too and both of them are going to stay with him all the way.

"He does have a skull fracture and they're taking care of that.  There're also some internal injuries that they're concerned with.  Actually, he's undergoing two operations at once."

"What kind of internal injuries?" Johnny asked.  He'd been so concerned about the head injury there hadn't been time to consider collateral damage.

"Three fractured ribs, for starters, a tension pneumothorax and some internal bleeding that they're having trouble locating."

"This nightmare just gets worse and worse," Joanne said quietly.  Mike gave her a kind smile.

"Naturally it's much too early to make any promises, or even any predictions, but I talked to Joe and Kel and they feel pretty optimistic.  He is in rough shape, but he's standing up to the surgery well.  His heartbeat's strong and they're maintaining his blood pressure.  You've just gotta hang in there and have faith, okay?"

The door opened again and this time it was Dixie who came in, carrying a paper grocery sack full of folded notepaper, mostly, with a few envelopes peeking out here and there.  "Mail call," she said.

Cap went over to take the sack from her.  "What's all this?"

"Fan mail.  Probably only the first wave.  This happens every time we get a celebrity patient.  You'll probably be getting it at the station, too.  That'd be my guess.  The envelopes all came separately, I just put them in the sack to make them easier to carry.  The sack full of papers was delivered by a teacher from Bentwood Elementary.  You know the place?"

"Yeah," Johnny said.  "We do fire safety talks there a couple of times a year."  He reached into the sack and pulled out a piece of paper at random.  It was a crude picture of a fireman standing by a fire engine, done in crayon with "get wel" scrawled across the top in childish print.  Johnny grinned.  "Roy's gonna love these!"

Joanne had opened one of the envelopes and her face darkened.  "Dear Mr. Fireman," she read.  "I was stuck in traffic for half an hour.  I think you are stupid and I hope you die."

"There's a waste basket in the corner," Dixie said, the corners of her mouth drawn down in disapproval.  Johnny took the letter from Joanne, tore it in half and threw it away.

"Hey, guys!  Listen to this one," Chet said.  "Dear Fireman DeSoto, I well remember when you and your partner were my angels in my time of need.  Know that the children and I are praying for you now and I doubt not that the Blessed Mother will guard well one of her finest champions.  God Bless.  Sister Barbara."  He leaned over to hand that letter to Joanne.  "That's more like it!"

"By the way," Mike Morton asked, "what is it with the cows?"

Everyone but Johnny blinked in confusion.  "Cows?" Mike Stoker asked.

"Yeah.  On the way up to surgery he kept asking us if we were sure the cows weren't mad at him.  Oh, and," Morton tipped his head quizzically, "does the turtle mind when we push its nose and talk?"

#-#-#-#-

Roy DeSoto opened his eyes a tiny slit and found the light blinding.  He winced away and a voice coaxed him back.

"Come on, now, sleepyhead.  Time to wake up and face the world again."

Blinking against the glare, he forced himself to look around.  When his eyes had adjusted he realized that the blinding light was nothing more than a shaded lamp, turned down low.  Dixie McCall was leaning over the bed smiling at him.

"Well!" she said.  "It's about time you decided to come back to us."  She turned away long enough to hit a button on the wall and announce, "Dr. Brackett to room 304 stat!  Dr. Early to room 304 stat!"  Returning her attention to Roy she asked him, "How do you feel?"

He tried to answer but his mouth was dry and the only sound he could come up with was a strangled croak.  Understanding the problem, Dixie moved to the other side of the bed.  Roy heard a slushy rattling sound out of his range of vision and then she was feeding him ice chips with a spoon.  By the time the doctors rushed in he was able to talk a little.

"Wh'appened?" he asked.

"Well, what do you remember?" Kelly Brackett asked him.

Roy thought about it.  "Clowns," he said.  "Dip Chet Kelly in whitewash 'n' paint his head."

Brackett's brow furrowed in concern and he exchanged a worried glance with Joe Early.  "What was that?" he asked the paramedic.

"Johnny's idea," Roy clarified.  "'Steada hiring a clown.  Christopher's birthday."

"Oh!"  Nodding in understanding, the two doctors exchanged another significant glance.  "And is that the last thing you remember?" Brackett persisted.  "Do you remember a run?  A fire that you went to?"

"No."  Roy looked around, suddenly frantic.  Concern clouded his blue eyes.  "Johnny?  My guys?"

"Don't worry," Joe said.  "Johnny and your guys are fine!  You just relax and take it easy.  You've had major surgery and you need to give your body a chance to recover."

"Oh."  He thought about this a little.  "My wife's not here?"

"She was here earlier," Brackett told him kindly.  "You probably don't remember, because you were still pretty out of it, but you talked to her a couple of hours ago.  She didn't want to leave, but she was falling asleep on her feet so we finally convinced her to go on home and get some rest.  She'll be back first thing in the morning and you can see her again then."

"She was sleepy?"  Roy's soft voice was concerned.  "You didn't let her drive, did you?  I don't like her to drive when she's not completely alert.  The roads can be so dangerous!"

Oddly, from Roy's perspective, the two doctors broke out in peals of laughter.  Dixie giggled until there were tears in her eyes.  "What did I say?  Why is that funny?"

Brackett's laughter finally died away and he wiped his eye with the back of his hand.  "Don't worry about it.  We'll tell you later.  Right now you need to get some more rest and I need to go find some party hats."

Still chuckling, the two doctors left the room.  Roy turned his bewildered blue gaze on Dixie.  "Party hats?"

"Sure," she said.  "So we can celebrate.  Now you go to sleep like the doctor ordered.  I have a phone call to make."

"What time is it?"

"About three in the morning.  Johnny and your guys had to go back on duty after you got out of surgery.  I promised I'd call and let them know when you woke up."

#-#-#-#-

Ten days later Roy sat in his hospital bed, propped up by pillows, wearing a party hat over his bandages.  His wife sat on one side of the bed and his partner on the other.  Both of them were also wearing party hats, as was everyone else crowded into the room.  All of Station 51's A-shift was there, along with Drs. Brackett, Early and Morton and Dixie McCall. 

In addition to the party hats there was a sheet cake decorated to look like the rear end of the squad.  An icing bumper sticker read, "don't follow me -- I'm lost!"  A black and white spotted cow piñata hung from the curtain rod.  The guys at the station had made it by fashioning a cow out of balloons, with a blown-up rubber glove for the udder, and then covering them with papier-mâché.  It carried, in its mouth, a heart-shaped balloon that had "Roy" written on it in magic marker.  There was also a stuffed turtle that Joanne had made, though none of them, including Roy, had figured out where the turtle came from.  Joanne had found a voice box at a craft store and fixed it so that when you pressed on the turtle's nose it giggled.

Roy dropped a copy of the paper that carried his accident as a front-page story onto the bed.  "I still can't believe I did all that," he said.  He still had no memory of the gymnasium fire or the events that had followed.  "I kinda half believe you're making it all up and this is just a joke paper."

Johnny snorted.  "Do we hafta play you that radio tape again?  Anyway, believe what you want.  The TV station is making us a copy of that newscast, so pretty soon we're going to have proof!"

"Oh, I believe you.  It's just . . . weird."

"It was that," Cap agreed.

"Anyway," Roy said, "I am sorry that I caused so much trouble."

"We-ell," Johnny looked at him askance, considering.  "I reckon you're worth it," he allowed.  "Besides, it's been interesting being a celebrity for a little while.  You know, we all got a ton of fan mail after that happened!  And Chet even got a new girlfriend out of it, didn't you Chet?"

"Shut up, Gage," Chet said.

Roy suppressed a smile.  "Dare I ask?"

"Well . . ."

"Shut UP, Gage!"

Johnny ignored him.  "You know, Kelly here went and got himself interviewed on television?  Well, a couple of days later when we went back on duty he had a letter waiting for him at the station.  It said, let's see now . . . 'Dear Fireman Kelly, I saw you on TV today.  You were very brave when you jumped off the fire truck to save that man.  Were you scared?  I think that you are really cute, too.  XOXOXO Candie.'  So, naturally, he's all excited seeing as how a female of the species actually noticed that he exists."

"Shut up, Gage!  Anyway, I have more luck with chicks than you do!"

"So," Johnny continued, undaunted, "he writes her back and invites her to visit the station.  And she did.  Her mom and her teacher brought her.  In fact, they brought the whole second grade."

Everyone laughed and then Cap raised a hand for attention.  "I think that we have to give Kelly credit, though.  He handled it very well when he realized his dream girl was only seven."

"Yeah," Marco chimed in.  "He didn't cry until AFTER they left."

"Look on the bright side, Chet," Mike offered.  "In only thirteen years she'll be just half your age instead of a quarter your age."

Roy laughed along with the rest of them, but he was beginning to tire and Brackett noticed.  "Folks," he said, "I hate to bring the party to an end, but I think we need to let our invalid get some more rest."

Calling out well wishes, the visitors reluctantly left.  Cap lingered though, to talk to his senior paramedic.  "Roy, I just wanted to say that I'm glad you're safe now and that you're going to be okay.  We're all looking forward to having you back."

"Thanks, Cap.  I'm looking forward to coming back too."

"There is one thing, though.  Will you do me a favor?"

"Sure, if I can.  What is it?"

"Well, I want you to try really hard not to get hurt anymore.  But if you do get hurt again . . . will you just fall down?"

The End

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Stories by E!lf                 November 2007 Picture