Disclaimer:  The guys from Emergency! don’t belong to me.  As usual, I’m having a little fun with them.

Uh . . . Gobble, Gobble?
By: Vanessa Sgroi
 

“So, are you looking forward to tomorrow?”  Roy DeSoto looked inquiringly at his partner, John Gage.  Having just come on shift, they were performing a quick inspection of the squad for any needed supplies.

Johnny looked up from his perusal of the drug box.  “What?”

“Tomorrow?  You know—Thanksgiving.  Are you looking forward to coming over?”

“You bet I am!  I can’t wait.  All that turkey and stuffing.  Oh, and mashed potatoes!  We are having mashed potatoes, aren’t we?”

“Of course, it . . .”

“And gravy.  It just wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without mounds of potatoes and gravy.”

“Well, rest assured . . .”

“Hey!  Biscuits!  Do you think Joanne would make some biscuits?”

Roy rolled his eyes; sorry he’d asked his question to begin with.

“All I can do is ask her.”

“That’d be great!” Johnny grin made a quick appearance, “Oh—can I bring anything?”

“Nah.  Joanne says to just bring yourself.”

“You’re sure?  Really sure?  I feel bad not bringing anything.  Maybe I could grab some wine or something.  I mean, there’s got to be something I . . .”

“Cheese.”

“What?”

“Cheese.  Bring some cheese for the cheese and cracker tray.”

“Oh.  Okay.  Cheese.  Uh, what kind of cheese?”

DeSoto was saved from answering when the tones sounded.  He breathed a sigh of relief then immediately felt contrite.

“Squad 51, unknown type rescue, Salvatore’s Meat Market, 4141 Talley Road, cross street Markum.  4-1-4-1 Talley Road, cross street Markum.  Time out – 8:35.”

The paramedics hopped into the squad and rushed away from the station.

The sight that greeted them ten minutes later at Salvatore’s Meat Market caused both paramedics’ jaws to drop in disbelief.

“Uh . . . Roy . . . I’m . . . I’m not seeing things, am I?”

“Well, if you are than I’m having the same hallucination.”

The two men sat for a second staring out the windows.  There were turkeys everywhere!  Not frozen, pop-in-the-oven turkeys, but real live red-wattled turkeys.  Gobble Gobble.  White feathers drifted on currents of warm air.

Exiting the squad, the two men went in search of the reason behind the call.  A short, harried-looking man in a dirty white apron came wobbling over.  Ironically, he bore a striking resemblance to the roaming birds scattered about the parking lot.

“Sir, what’s the problem here?  Uh . . . besides the . . . uh . . . turkeys, I mean?”  To his credit, Roy was able to keep a straight face as he yelled his question over the gobbling.

The rotund man stood wringing his hands.  “Oh, just look at this mess!  It was . . . it was a promotion, you see.  For Thanksgiving.  But, these . . . kids . . . thought it would be funny to let them out of their cages.  It was chaos.”

“Sir, why did you call the paramedics?  Are you hurt or in pain?”

“Me?  Oh, no.  No. Not me.  But . . . some people fell.  You know, running away from the turkeys.  And then some tried to chase them.  Oh, it was carnage!”

“Can you show us where?”

“What?”

“Can you show us where the injured people are?”

“Yes, yes.  They’re this way.”

Johnny and Roy quickly grabbed some supplies off the squad and followed the store owner.  When they rounded the corner of the building, they immediately saw four, no, five people down on the ground.  All were groaning.

Observing the melee, Roy turned toward Johnny.

“Why don’t you call for the Engine?  We could use the help, I think.  And a couple of ambulances too.”

“You got it.”  Gage headed back to the squad to call for back up.  While he was doing that, Roy began assessing the victims.

Johnny returned moments later, having dodged through the flock again.  “What do we have, Roy?”

“Looks like we have a broken arm, a broken wrist, a twisted knee, and back pain here.  I haven’t gotten over to the last person yet.”

“I’ll get him.  Then I’ll contact Rampart.”

Johnny approached the fifth victim.  As he bent down to begin an exam, several turkeys wandered over and began a little investigating of their own.  Gobble Gobble.

“Go on.  Shoo.  Shoo.”  But the turkeys were stubborn and refused to move.  Johnny reached out and pushed them away.  Feathers flew as a couple of the offenders tottered away.

Satisfied, the paramedic again bent over the patient.  “Ma’am?  My name’s Johnny.  I’m a paramedic with the county.  Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“It’s my ankle.  I . . . I twisted it when I tried to get away from the birds.  I think it might be broken.”

“Well, let me check you out here.”

The dark-haired paramedic completed a quick exam and picked up the biophone to apprise Rampart of their situation.  He’d just finish hailing the hospital when he noticed a half dozen or so turkeys approaching him.  Oddly enough, he could swear each bird had a determined expression on its face; that is if turkeys could have expressions.

“Shoo.  Go away.  Shoo.”  Johnny vigorously waved his arms trying to scare the birds away.  It didn’t work.  In fact, more turkeys joined the groups.

“Uh . . . go on . . . git.”  When they still didn’t quit advancing, Johnny rose from his squat and began to back away.  What he didn’t count on was the fact that there was a turkey right behind him.  He felt himself falling backwards and couldn’t do a thing about it.

Gage hit the ground hard and the back of his head connected with the blacktop.  His vision grayed.  When next he opened his eyes, Johnny came face to face with the beady eyes of a turkey.  The bird was sitting on his chest malevolently staring him in the face.

“Ahhhhhhhh!”  In a flash, he pushed the bird off his chest and regained his feet albeit a little unsteadily.  Roy was at his side an instant later.

“Oh, man.”  Sirens announced the arrival of Engine 51, and Johnny breathed a sigh of relief that his nemesis hadn’t been there to witness that last little incident.

“You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.  Yeah, I’m fine.  Just a bump on the head.”

“You were out.”

“Only a couple of seconds.”

“Yeah, only about 30 to 40 seconds, but you need to get checked out when we get to Rampart.”

“Roy . . .”  Johnny tried his best whining voice.

“I mean it.  Or I’ll tell Cap.”

“Oh, all right.  Geez!”

Johnny turned away still grumbling, leaving Roy to brief Captain Stanley.  After a few moments of consideration, the rest of the Station 51 crew rounded up what turkeys they could and managed to herd them back into the pen while the two paramedics finished treating the victims.  It wasn’t long before the victims were on their way to Rampart.  Salvatore stood thanking the remaining firemen profusely, all the while insisting they should take a turkey for their trouble.  Captain Stanley politely declined.

* * *

“Well, Johnny, no signs of a concussion,” commented Dr. Brackett, “Just a nice size bump on the back of your head.  Other than a headache, you should be fine.  How’d you say this happened again?”

“I . . . I . . .”

“He tripped over a turkey.”  Roy couldn’t resist sharing.  His generosity earned him a glare from his partner.

“He tripped over a turkey?  How in the world . . .  No.  Nevermind,” Doc Brackett held up his hand, “I don’t want to know.”

“I swear, Doc, it was like they were after me.  And they had this look in their eyes.”

Kelly Brackett couldn’t hold back a chuckle.  “Maybe they were getting back at you for tomorrow.”  Still chuckling, he left the treatment room.

Roy and Johnny exited the treatment room a few seconds later.

Johnny was conspicuously quiet all the way to the squad.

“Hey, Roy?  I have a question.” Johnny said as he slid into the passenger seat.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Joanne would consider serving tofu at dinner tomorrow—you know, instead of turkey?”

* * *  The End  * * *

Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone!

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Stories by Vanessa       Thanksgiving Stories