The Seventh Hook

By P.J. Bedingfield

Hank Stanley opened his eyes to darkness and cold damp silence. “Whaaaaa????” he moaned. Groggily, he tried to right himself but stopped at the sudden intense pain that traveled up his leg and into his hips. The darkness around him was complete. “Should have been a cat,” he thought. Something ran down the side of his face and he reached up in a panic, not sure what he would find. His fingers were immediately covered with a warm sticky substance that he realized was his own blood.

“Blood?” he thought in puzzlement. “Musta hit my head on something.” He continued the self-evaluation. “Hmmm…I can move my hands with no problem, so no broken bones there. Back doesn’t hurt, head feels kinda full, concussion, maybe?” He moved his legs and groaned out loud, “Busted leg!”

“How in the world did I end up here; and where the heck is ‘here’?” ‘’ As his head cleared from the pain, memory returned. He had been talking to Chet when the ground opened up, and he fell through to a long tunnel. The last thing he remembered seeing was the burning structure they had been working on for the last two hours.

A sudden squawking noise at his side caused him to jump, and he gave a nervous chuckle when he realized it was just his radio. He grabbed in the area where the sound had originated and felt the shape of the handy talkie fill his grasp.

“Cap. Stanley to HT 51!” Hank waited. “Cap. Stanley to HT 51, do you copy?” Static was his only answer until the radio went ominously silent. Hank felt a piece of the radio fall off. He ran his hand over the radio and found the antenna was broken. He rubbed his face and winced at he bump he found.

A violent shaking and sudden queasiness assailed his senses. He leaned over and vomited. Shock was starting to set in. He huddled into his turnout coat and whispered to himself, “ The guys will find me.” With that thought, Hank Stanley, Captain of Station 51, passed out.

“OK, Cap!” Chet answered when he heard his commander’s voice behind him. He looked around to give a thumbs up but stopped as he realized the captain was no longer there. Chet shrugged and looked off to his left. The tall figure walking away from him did not look like his Commander, but in the smoke he was not sure. Shrugging, he went back to his assigned duty.

Three hours later, the fire was out and cleanup had begun. McConnike looked around for the Station 51 Captain and frowned in annoyance when he did not immediately see him. Seeing the 51 Engineer he tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention, “Where is Stanley?” he asked.

Stoker looked around, startled, “He was talking to Chet and Marco last I saw, sir. Over by the north side of the building.” Mike pointed off to his left.

“Okay, Thanks,” McConnike said.

Stoker watched with as a frown creased his brows. It was not like the Captain to not be around when needed, especially when the Battalion Chief was on the scene. He glanced around but did not see his Captain’s long lanky form anywhere.

“Johnny, Roy!” called Marco to the two paramedics. “Cap’s missing! Have you seen him?”

Johnny and Roy looked at Marco in puzzlement. “No, not recently, anyway.” “ You sure he’s missing?” Johnny and Roy asked together.

“Yeah,” Marco said worriedly, “McConnike’s been looking for him. Seems the last one to see him was Chet, and he said he thought Cap was joining you two.”

Roy and Johnny shook their heads. “Nope, he never came over to triage.” Roy and Johnny shared a worried look with Marco each knowing their commander would never leave the scene of a fire without approval, which meant only one thing.

McConnike called all the firemen together. “We’ve got a missing man. I want you to split up into your groups and check the ruins with a fine toothed comb. If you see anything suspicious, call out. Understood?”

Each man nodded. Word had already gotten around of the missing captain, and all were worried what they would find in the ruins of the burnt out building.

The sun was setting as each company returned and reported in to the Battalion Commander. He shook his head; this did NOT look good. He hated it when any of the men were injured in their work, but to have one just vanish was even worse.

“OK, men, I have the dogs coming in. Report back to your stations. I’ll keep you informed.”

“Ahhh…..Chief,” Mike Stoker said, as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, “We’d like to stay…..?”

McConnike nodded his understanding. “That’s fine. We’ll stand down the station until we can bring in a replacement…..” He held up his hands at the signs of protest he saw coming.

“It will be temporary, of course, but we can’t have this station out indefinitely.” The men let out a sigh.

“The squad will be on call still, as you can respond unsupervised on most runs.” Roy and Johnny nodded, but each hoped there would be no calls.

A group of gawkers stood behind the bright yellow tape with which the police had cordoned the area. One in particular took exception to the fire. She sighed at the loss of the building, and grimaced as the whining voice of the realtor assaulted her ears.

“I guess this means you won’t be buying the place.” It was a statement, not a question.

She barely suffered him a glance as she answered, “Now, you are a bright one, aren’t you.” She returned her attention to the gathered men and listened as the Battalion Chief made the announcement of a missing man. Turning to the realtor she asked, “Do you still have those floor plans I asked for?” At his nod she said, “Could you get them for me?”

Hoping for a sale even now, he pushed through the bystanders and trotted to his car where the old and faded plans lay. Guiltily, he wiped the coffee stains from the old brittle paper. He pushed back through the growing crowd and handed her the plans.

She gave him a cursory nod and said, “Can I keep these?” At his nod she pushed through the crowd, and waved a police officer over.

“Yes ma’am? Can I help you?” he asked.

She waved the rolled plans at him,

“ I have floor plans for the building. They may need them in their search for the missing man.”

The police officer smiled in a condescending manner.

“Well, now, ma’am, it seems they already have the floor plans I don’t think they will need yours, but thanks anyway.” With that he turned and walked off.

“Well, I never!” she said angrily. Ducking quickly under the tape, she headed for McConnike and the other assembled men, but was stopped by a rough hand turning her back and shoving her under the police tape.

Now look, I told you they have the plans, not that they will need them. Please stay back and out of the way!”

“Look, you idiot, the plans they have are wrong. They are too new…”

“Look, Miss, the fire personnel have all they need. They don’t need your help, Okay? If you give any more trouble, I’ll put you in the car and haul you in for interfering with a search and rescue!” The officer had his finger pointing at her and an angry look on his face.

“What an a…” she said as she whirled and walked away.

Nurse Prentiss was muttering to herself as she entered Rampart’s Emergency doors. “He’s got to be in the sub-basement. They’ll never find him without these floor plans; they’ll not even know to look for a hidden door. She sighed trying to figure out a way to make the two departments listen to her. She had visited the Police Department and met with failure, and also failure at the fire department headquarters. Each had assured her that the floor plans were accurate, but she knew differently. “Why won’t they listen?!” she thought in frustration.

The men at Station 51 sat around in a quiet mood. None of them felt much like eating the meal Johnny had cooked. They pushed the food around on their plates listlessly, and eventually just scraped their food down the disposal.

“I don’t get it,” Chet said for the twentieth time, “how could he just disappear? I mean, he was right behind me!”

Mike got up and clapped Chet on the back, “Don’t beat yourself up, Chet. None of us realized he was missing. We all assumed he was working somewhere else around the fire.”

“Yeah, but… “ Chet started.

“We all feel the same way, Chet,” Roy and Marco said together.

The tones sounded: “Squad 51, child trapped. 1231 Alameda- 1-2-3-1 Alameda, cross street Lamar. Time out 18:40”

“Squad 51; 10-4 KMG 365”

Mike handed Roy the address slip. “Don’t worry. He’ll be found.” Mike patted the windowsill. Roy just nodded.

Roy flipped on the lights and siren as they pulled from the station and into evening traffic.

Hank moaned. He rolled over to his side and winced as his broken leg reminded him it was still attached. “Still dark?” he thought with confusion. “The sun should be up by now. Guess maybe it’s raining, sure feels wet… Hank drifted back into unconsciousness.

A little while later as consciousness returned, Hank sat up and dazedly felt around. A small lump in his pocket reminded him of the emergency flashlight he always carried for just such occasions. He sent up a silent prayer that it still worked after his abrupt fall and landing. He pushed the button and was rewarded with a bright beam of light. He squinted against the sudden brightness, but felt relief at the ability to see again.

He played the light around, trying to get his bearings. The light reflected off of several shiny objects. A sense of horror filled his gut as he realized the objects he was looking at were stolen turnout coats and helmets. He fought against the pain in his leg and head as he slowly forced himself to rise. Slowly he hobbled over to the hanging coats and read off the stations represented there.

“8, 18, 29, 34, 42, 45,… Hank swayed in shock and fear. He quickly swung the flashlight around, pointing the beam into every nook and cranny he could find. He paused as he saw a man lying pinned on the floor.

“Hey, you OK over there?” he asked. The man neither replied nor moved. Hank made his way to the man’s side, but retreated as quickly as his injured leg would allow. The man’s face was a dusky shade of blue.

“I’m sorry, man. I wish I could have helped.” Hank looked around for something to cover the man’s face, as he did not like the empty look of the dead man’s eyes staring into nothing. He found a torn and dirty shirt, and gently placed it over the man’s face.

Hank turned his attention back to the coats hanging neatly along the wall. He slowly made his way down the line, knowing the names of each man to whom the coats once belonged. He came to the end and saw an empty hook. Above the hook was written a name and the station from which the next coat would come. Hank swallowed convulsively and stepped back, his injured leg giving out and collapsing under him. He landed on a dirty mattress and rolled on to his side, trying to get his leg straight, instead of curled under him. Hank felt himself giving in to the darkness, and had just enough sense of mind to switch off the flashlight before succumbing to the inevitable blackness.

“Hey, Nancy, one of the paramedics left his turnout coat behind. Pete said he found it laying next to the parking spot where one of the squads was a little over an hour ago,” Carol said to her friend. They were both getting ready for their shift on the Pediatrics Ward and Carol still carried the coat.

“Really?” Nancy asked. “Let me see it. Normally there’s a name on the back.” Nancy turned over the coat, “Ummm, thought so, see right here,” she pointed. “Desoto, I think he’s with 51. Why don’t we give it to Dixie and she can get it back to him?”

Carol nodded her agreement, “Good idea.”

Suddenly a very agitated nurse, brunet hair flying, came barreling around the corner nearly knocking Nancy down. “Oh, jeez, Nan, I’m sorry, didn’t see ya there. Hey Carol. Y’all working Pediatrics tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah, Marsha. Hey, can you get this to Dixie for us? Seems a paramedic lost it this afternoon, what with all the rushing around going on.”

“Sure, no problem. Whose is it?”

“The name says Desoto. Doesn’t he work out of 51?” Nancy asked.

Marsha nodded, “Ummm Hmmm…sure does. Here, I’ll get it to the right person for ya.”

“Okay. Thanks, Marsha.” Both girls hurried off to get to their assigned stations before the head nurse came looking for them.

Marsha paused in her headlong flight. She stared down at the coat hanging over her arm. A sudden noise caused her to jump in alarm until she realized it was the two-way radio in the pocket. She reached down and flipped the off switch. An idea began to form in her mind as she hurried to the Nurse’s Lounge.

Roy was searching through the squad in an almost frantic manner. Johnny watched silently for a minute, then curiosity got the better of him and he asked, “What are you looking for?”

“My turnout coat is missing. I had the handy talkie in the pocket. Both are missing,” Roy’s voice was muffled as he searched in the equipment compartment. “I gotta find it or be in big trouble! Cap’ll kill me!” Roy stopped speaking as what he said dawned on him. Johnny saw the stricken look that crossed his partner’s face, and knew his own face reflected the same emotion.

“Awwww……you’ll find it,” he said, “and we’ll have Cap back, too.”

Roy ran his hand through his already disheveled hair and sighed heavily.

“I always sweat it out when you come up missing or hurt, but Cap? He’s only gotten hurt once or twice since I’ve known him, and not much on the job. But to just vanish?”

Johnny nodded in agreement, “Yeah, it’s kinda strange; almost like something from the Twilight Zone, ya know?”

“Well, maybe your coat’ll turn up later. Probably dropped out of the squad somewhere. Someone will find it and return it.”

“I hope so.” Roy’s shoulders drooped as he walked away from the squad to join the rest of the group in the day room to wait.

Marsha pulled her truck in behind the last remaining wall and parked. She scanned the area to be sure no searchers remained at the site. Rummaging around in the glove compartment she found the flashlight she used in emergency situations. She flicked the switch and was gratified to see the light shining brightly and steady.

She stumbled across the debris towards the place where she thought the hidden door would be best located. At one point she spotted a small hole and quickly ran her light down into the darkness, only to see a shallow depression filled with rocks and dirt. She sighed in relief.

Marsha kept her light on the ground in front of her. She scanned each shadow and crevice, not wanting to miss anything. Finally, her eye caught the vague outline of a possible door. She knelt and wiped as much of the debris away as she could.

“Great,” she thought.” Some of this stuff is too big to lift.” She spied a broken shovel, half the handle still attached. Quickly she tackled the pile of rubble, and soon had a small area clear. Kneeling once more, she ran the light across the ground. Her fingers came in contact with a slight depression in the old floor. She traced it and let out a soft cry of jubilation.

“I knew it was here!” she said to herself, and began to push, pull and poke until she was ready to cry in frustration at the stubborn door. Giving it one last stomp she jumped back as it swung open with a loud screech of protest.

“YES!” she cried. She fell to her stomach and leaned over the opening, “Sir! Hello? Can you hear me?” She listened. A low moan came from the underground room. “Sir, lie still. I’ll be there in a minute!”

Marsha pushed away from the opening and eyed the clutter of fallen bricks and other rubble. A ladder was what she needed, but since one was not available she would have to make do with whatever she could find. She spied a large cross-section of the ceiling that had fallen in. Carefully she walked around it, studying the way it was laying, the direction she would have to move it, and the distance that it would need to be shifted. She would need the truck to move the heavy beam, but first it needed to be moved closer to the opening.

She trotted to her truck and pulled out the ‘come-along’ she had bought several days previously. Along with that came out rope and a tack box of medical supplies. ‘Okay,’ she thought, so it was for horses. She then took the coat with Desoto’s name on it and added it to the pile.

She carried the supplies to the area where she would be working, then went back and moved the truck into position. The moon came out and bathed the area with its soft blue light. She was glad of the light and made good use of it. She put on the turnout coat and went to work. Quickly fastening the come-along to the truck, she then ran the line to the beam and secured it on a piece of wood still attached to the crossbeam. She heaved on the come-along. It took an hour, but soon the beam was in place, ready to be slid into the hole.

She rigged the beam with the come-along again, this time using a metal crossbeam to loop the rope across it and raise the wooden beam. With careful precision she maneuvered the truck around until a soft thump was heard and the truck was jarred to a halt.

Moving quickly, she jumped from the truck and undid all the ropes and trappings. Taking her tack box and attaching two lead lines to the handle, she lowered the box to the floor of the basement. She found Roy’s gloves in the pocket of the coat and pulled them on. Her hands were so little, the gloves just swallowed them. She grinned at the sight.

She started down the beam when the ground shuddered and the beam shifted. A fierce pain jabbed up her leg and the surprise made her lose her grip on the beam. She fell and landed on the tack box, the wind knocked from her lungs.

She lay there, stunned. Gradually her breath returned and her head stopped its spinning. She sat up and winced as her leg sent pain signals upward from her leg to her brain. She raised the leg of her jeans and shone the light on her calf. A large ugly red welt was forming. She reached for the tack box and opened it to dig around and find what she needed. Taking her hemostats and X-Acto knife, she carefully sliced away the skin over the part of the splinter she could see.

“Oooowwww, oww,ooww!” she cried when she pulled the splinter out, “Jeez wheeze, that hurt!” She rested her head on her knee and waited for the spots to stop forming in her eyes. She treated the wound and wrapped it with a soft 4x4 bandage and vet wrap. Finally she was able to move around and search for the missing man she knew was there.

She found him laying on a dirty mattress with a dirty army blanket over him. Quickly. she assessed his condition and started pulling supplies from her tack box.

“Sir?” she said, shaking him softly, “Sir, can you hear me?”

“Hun??” Hank said, “Is it time to get up already?” Hank rolled over, away from the bothersome voice, but the shaking continued.

“Wake up, sir!” the soft voice was firm, almost steely. “I need you to open your eyes and look at me!” the voice commanded.

Hank sighed and tried to do as the voice commanded, but found it hard to obey. His head hurt, as did his leg and chest. Finally, he forced his eyes open and tried to focus on the face with the soft but firm voice.

“Who are you? Where’s the paramedics?” he asked, troubled, but not sure why.

“They’ll be here shortly,” she answered. “Now, tell me where exactly you hurt.”

“Head, Ummm, ribs? Leg….” Hank lost consciousness briefly then roused enough to ask again, “Who are you?”

“I’m called Li’l Angel,” she told him, just so he would have a name to call her. It was an old handle she had used when working on the big rigs and talked on the CB.

“Humph…….you sure are an Angel,” Hank said on a sigh and passed out once more.

Marsha smiled to herself, “Such a charmer.” She pulled a moist towelette from the box and cleaned Hank’s forehead where it was cut. She put a 4 x 4 bandage on it and strapped it in place with bright pink, self-adhesive wrap. She grinned, pink, on a man?

She dug out her scissors and cut Hank’s boot from his foot, then split his pant leg. She pulled a leg splint from the box and again used the hot pink wrap to splint the leg. She could not help it, she had to laugh at the sight of hot pink on a man.

Marsha pulled the BP cup she used on the horses and took Hank’s blood pressure; then checked his pulse. It was strong and steady. He had a slight fever, but that was to be expected under the circumstances.

Once she had done all she could, she decided to look around before calling in the ‘Cavalry.’ She stood and looked around the dark room. Hank’s flashlight lay at her feet, so she picked it up and used it to help illuminate the area.

The first thing she saw was a body shrouded in a dirty blue T-shirt. She slowly approached the body and removed the cloth from the face. Dead eyes stared upward. She followed his dead stare and saw above him, written in what she decided was his own blood, was a single statement, “All but one…….” She dropped the shirt back onto his face and turned away. The lights caught the coats and helmets hanging from hooks on the dirt wall. She approached and looked at the coats and read the names on each one. The helmets obviously went with the coats. Marsha glanced back at the dead man.

“Why?” she wondered, but no answers were forthcoming. She kept looking; counting six coats and helmets. On the wall one remaining hook was left open, waiting for the coat to which unlucky fireman? She stepped closer to read the name scratched into the dirt. She gasped and stepped back. “What kind of sick mind did he have?” she thought angrily, then as quickly lost the anger, after all, the man was dead So what did it matter whose name was there?

Hank moaned. He tossed around on the mattress and mummered in his fever induced sleep. She returned to his side and wiped his forehead. His fever was rising.

Marsha pulled the radio from her pocket and called, “LA this is HT 51, do you read?” She waited, then tried again, “LA this is HT51, DO YOU READ?”

“10-4 HT 51, we copy. Who is this? Please identify yourself.”

She ignored the order, “LA there is a Code I at 2661 Watchtower Drive. Also know there is a Code F at scene. Please send an ambulance and rescue team.”

“10-4 HT 51,” said the dispatcher’s voice. “Please identify yourself; how are you on this channel?”

“Look, just send help, ok?” she said, “I’ll stay until they get here.”

The dispatcher was upset, but obviously the person on the other end knew their codes and sounded sincere. He toned out the stations and contacted the police. He told them an unknown woman had called in the rescue.

At Station 16 the klaxons sounded, lights came up and the men scrambled for the trucks.

“Station 16 Code I at 2661 Watchtower Drive, 2-6-6-1 Watchtower Drive. Time out 3:40.”

The call was acknowledged and the trucks barreled from the station.

Station 51 came to life at the call. The men jumped from their bunks and crowded into the day room. Captain Howard waved them all back to the dorm. The men protested. Watchtower Drive meant Cap had been found and the rescue was in progress. Shortly there after the tones for 51 rang out,

“Squad 51 respond with Station 16, Code I x 2. 2662 Watchtower Drive Time out 4:07”

“10-4 KMG 365” Captain Howard responded.

Roy jumped in the driver’s seat and Johnny jumped into the passenger side. Captain Howard gave Roy the address slip, “Keep us informed,” he said. Roy nodded.

Roy applied the brakes and the squad screeched to a halt. Both paramedics jumped out and began pulling equipment from the compartments.

Dwyer came over and said, “Jim’s hurt. I’ve got him covered, but you need to get to Cap. He’s down the hole.” Neither of the men understood what Dwyer meant until they got to the scene.

Night-lights were up and the area was flooded bright as day. “Roy, Johnny,” the Captain of 16 said, “ You two will need to go down. The ground is unstable, so be careful. Hank is off to the side on a mattress, according to Dwyer.”

Roy and Johnny nodded. “Where’s the rescuer that called it in?” Roy asked as he fastened his safety harness.

The Captain of 16 shook his head, “She left just as we came up on the scene. But she did stay until we arrived.”

The two paramedics looked down the hole. They looked at the large crossbeam leading into the hole and Roy asked, “Is that beam stable enough to use?”

“Yes, Dwyer and Jim used it, but the ground is shifting, so be quick and careful. Jim fell off the beam when things shifted.”

“Okay, let’s go, Johnny,” Roy said to his partner.

Johnny was looking at something overhead. Roy looked up. There on the end of the ragged beam was Roy’s missing turnout coat.

“Well,” Johnny said as he slipped over the edge, “You got your coat back.”

“Yeah,” Roy said looking up, “What a way to have it returned.”

Marsha waited until the men had the area well lighted, and in the general excitement she slipped away and drove home. She hummed to herself as she drove. Once at the apartment building sudden fatigue hit her. She barely made it to her apartment before falling onto her bed and slipping into a deep dreamless sleep. She never heard the pounding on her door or the phone ringing off and on for two hours.

When she awoke the next day she was stiff and sore. Her leg ached somewhat. She quickly checked the wound; redressed it and jumped up ready to get going.

She hobbled around the apartment getting gear together. She decided that with four days off, she would go to her favorite hiking trails and spend time outdoors. She did not even check her answering machine and missed the flashing red message light that indicated several messages had come in.

The note that had been pinned to her door had flown off and landed in the bushes next to her apartment. Marsha closed and locked her apartment door and headed out with no thoughts on her mind but some much-needed rest. She would think about the consequences of her actions when she went to work on Wednesday.

Roy and Johnny landed on the floor and found Hank laying on the mattress Dwyer had mentioned. Bright pink vet wrap was wrapped around his head and leg. A horse blanket covered Hank from chin to toes. Johnny grinned at his Captain and told Roy, “Pink on a man?”

“What?” Roy asked.

Johnny pointed to the bandages, “Pink vet wrap.”

The implication was lost on Roy for a minute, then a smile played across his face, “Pink, huh, well, could be worse, I guess. Think we should tell him when he feels better?”

Johnny grinned, “Wouldn’t the Phantom like to see this?” Roy just shook his head as the two set to work. Johnny contacted Rampart as Roy got the vitals of their commanding officer.

“Rampart, this is Squad 51, how do you read?”

“Go ahead, 51,” came Brackett’s voice. He and Dixie had heard the call and were waiting for the squad to contact them.

“Rampart, we have a Code I, male 35 years. old. Be advised victim is Captain Hank Stanley of Station 51.”

“10-4 Do you have the vitals?”

“Vitals to follow,” Johnny said. Johnny looked over at Roy.

“BP is 135/90, Pulse 90, respiration 20 and even. Pupils sluggish but equal and reactive to light.”

Johnny repeated the information to Rampart.

“10-4, 51, start an IV D5W TKO, wide open. Also start another of Ringers, also wide open and transport as soon as possible.”

“10-4 Rampart,” Johnny said, and repeated the orders. Roy was ahead of him and had the first IV started as Johnny started the second one.

“Send down the stokes!” Roy called. He dodged as some loose dirt and rock fell from the ceiling. “Careful!” he cried.

A low rumble shook the ground. Roy and Johnny threw themselves across their prone comrade to protect him. A large chunk of the ceiling fell, and Roy heard Johnny grunt in pain.

“Johnny, you ok?” Roy asked.

Johnny grunted again, then tried to hide the pain as he said, “Yeah, I’m ok. Let’s get Cap out of here before the whole building falls on us.”

Roy went back to the opening, which was now larger. “Okay, send down the stokes!”

The stokes made its way slowly down. Roy grabbed it and he and Johnny placed Hank carefully in it and strapped him down. Roy looked over at his partner, whose face was pale and had a light sheen of sweat on his upper lip.

“You sure you’re ok?” Roy asked him again. Johnny just nodded, wanting to save his breath for the climb out. Roy tied a guide rope to the stokes and kept it from hitting the edges of the ceiling as the men on top pulled the injured man to safety.

The ground shook again and more dirt and rock fell. Roy yanked Johnny away from the wall. Just before the wall came down both saw the coats and helmets hanging from the hooks pushed into the dirt. They looked at each other briefly then made a mad dash for the crossbeam and climbed up and out.

“Get out of here!” the Captain yelled at all the men. “Now! It’s going down!”

The ground shook and rumbled as the overly wet ground collapsed and folded in on itself. A black cloud of dirt and rocks belched from the hole and filled the air. The last of the walls fell with a crash. Lights fell from their stands; the sound of exploding bulbs could be heard.

All the men stopped and stared. Each had the same thought running through their heads. Another few minutes, and no one would have made it out alive. A low moan broke the momentary spell that had fallen on the men. Hank was waking up, and feeling every bump and bruise his body had sustained.

The men quickly loaded Hank into the ambulance. “You want to ride with him?” Roy asked Johnny.

“Sure, see you at Rampart,” Johnny said. Roy closed and locked the doors, then pounded on it twice to let the driver know he could go.