When Stanley re-entered Exam Three, he was not surprised to find the room completely devoid of visitors.
Both of Gage’s parents were dead and his best friend was being kept pretty busy—running back and forth to the lab for Hendelson.
He knew John had an older sister who lived and worked somewhere outside of the US. He’d also heard talk of an aunt and uncle, and a couple of cousins, down around San Jacinto.
But the paramedic had no close relatives—er, rather, relatives close enough to be there for him. Even if John’s next of kin had been notified, it was doubtful that any of them would make it there…leastways, not in time.
______________________________________________________________________
Roy returned from one of his many lab runs just then and caught his Captain staring sadly, and silently, down at his partner. “Don’t. You. Even. THINK it,” he softly said.
Hank stiffened and turned his head. His rugged face and damp eyes were filled with sorrow.
The paramedic’s face filled with concern. The sadness emanating from his Captain was so profound it was almost palpable. “Isn’t that what I heard you telling him… back there…in the garage?”
Cheryl glanced up from her patient. That would certainly explain why she couldn’t seem to place the doctor’s unfamiliar face. The stranger who kept popping in and out of the exam room in his surgical scrubs wasn’t a surgeon. He was a fireman.
The Captain’s sorrowful gaze returned to the young man occupying the exam table. “He had that same look in his eyes that Rick had. Like he knew he was dying…and he had already come to terms with it…” Hank hesitated a moment or two, before continuing. “Rick Melchori was my closest friend. We went through the Academy together.
As luck would have it, we got assigned to the same stationhouse. The two of us worked together at 127’s for six years.
Then we found out we’d both passed our Engineer’s exams and our careers suddenly went separate ways.
Even though we were no longer working with one another on a daily basis, we managed to maintain our friendship—off-duty.
On occasion, our companies would get called out to the same incident scene and we’d find ourselves working together again.
It was my final year at 14’s. Both our Houses got toned out to a bad one—an apartment building…fully involved.
Rick’s Company had a rookie Captain…” Hank momentarily halted his narrative.
“The Official Report listed: ‘Failure to properly deploy apparatus upon arrival at an incident scene’.
The entire front of the building collapsed. Rick was buried—right along with his engine.
We managed to get him dug out fairly fast, but he had suffered some serious internal injuries.
An ambulance was on the way and I begged him to hang on.
He heard my voice and opened his eyes. But… when he looked up at me…I could see that he’d already accepted his death as a done deal.
He just gave up…and died…right there in my arms.”
Nurse Norquist wanted to give the fireman, who’d so tragically lost his friend, a big hug. She settled instead for a blurry sympathetic glance.
Stanley glanced back in DeSoto’s direction. “If the state legislature had given you guys the go ahead, just six days sooner, someone like you—or John, here—could’ve been there, to keep him going. If Rick could’ve gotten just a little a’ this stuff,” he tapped Gage’s IV bag, “my best friend might still be here…and the two of us would get to watch our daughters graduate together this year. His youngest and my oldest are the same age,” Hank added, by way of an explanation. Then he quickly returned to his narrative. “I passed the Captain’s Exam that same year.”
The nurse’s mouth fell open. So-o…this guy wasn’t just another fireman. He was Roy and John’s boss! No wonder he kept popping in and out of the room!
“But I waited until there was an opening at a station with paramedics working out of it, before finally accepting my promotion.
It’s funny how things sometimes just…work out. I ended up with the greatest bunch a guys—” the Captain’s voice cracked with emotion.
Roy stepped up to his Captain and placed a comforting hand upon his sagging shoulder. “You’re right. It is funny…how things sometimes just...work out. We ended up with a pretty great guy, ourselves…”
Hank gave his young friend a grateful glance, but then stood there, looking highly skeptical.
The paramedic was suddenly even more concerned. His Captain’s confidence seemed to be shaken to its very core.
Having four members of your five-man crew end up in the hospital, during a single shift—three of them in critical condition and quite possibly dying—could have a tendency to do that to you.
DeSoto decided to take a different approach. “Yah know, you’ve been with us about six years now. And, during that time, I can remember you going over at least a half a dozen different scenarios for an incident at that refinery. You’ve got that building’s floor plans permanently etched into our brains!
But I must have been absent on the day you ran the workman in a chemical-induced psychosis attacks us with an empty booze bottle…and the some ridiculously rare toxic substance—that only occurs when some multi-billion dollar corporation tries to cut costs by hiring an unlicensed contractor to clean their new refinery—poisons us scenarios.”
Hank couldn’t help but smile. Roy was right. Those were two they’d certainly never covered—ahead a’ time. He gave the paramedic another grateful glance. The younger man’s wise remarks had helped put things back into perspective. “I think I’ll go check on the other guys again.”
Roy gave the man’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
As his Captain headed for the exit, his broad shoulders were a bit straighter and the confidence was back in his step.
Gage’s labored breathing was now the only sound in the room.
DeSoto set the latest lab reports down on a counter and stepped quickly over to the equipment stand beside the exam table.
There was a plastic cup filled with half-melted ice setting there.
The fireman fished another ice chip out of it and then held the slippery object up to his gasping partner’s parched lips.
Veronica Gordon had volunteered to sit with Cheryl’s patient, while the nurse took a brief bathroom break.
Stanley re-entered the room just in time to hear the shrink apologizing to Gage, for having failed to examine him when he’d asked her to. “You wouldn’t have found anything, anyway,” John’s Captain assured her.
Gordon was obviously embarrassed that somebody had overheard her apology. “And what medical knowledge do you possess that prompts you to make that statement, Captain?” She’d heard it said, that ‘clothes make the man’. ‘Put a fireman in a doctor’s clothes and, right away, he starts to think he’s a doctor.’
The Captain was forced to smile. “My statement is not based on a knowledge of medicine, Doctor. It’s based on a knowledge of my men. I know my men. So I know—for a certainty—that if this young man had been showing even the teensiest-tiniest little sign of being sick, Roy DeSoto never would have let him leave this hospital.”
Roy happened to be returning from his latest trip to the lab just then. He didn’t get to hear any of what Dr. Gordon had said, but he’d managed to catch all of his Captain’s comments. The words rang true. But, somehow, they still didn’t make him feel any better.
________________________________________________________________________
Joe Early exited Exam Five. He hurried down the hall and up to the ER’s Nurses’ Station, where Miss McCall and Captain Stanley were conversing, over coffee. “Any news?” he asked.
Dixie frowned and shook her head.
Brackett walked up and tossed a medical chart down on the counter. “Is Hendelson still running around out there?”
The nurse nodded again and glanced at her watch. “So far, he’s gone four laps around the hospital. He must be getting tired. He should have been back from his fifth by now…” Her words trailed off as the tardy runner came jogging up. “Do you want Roy to draw another blood sample?”
The young doctor was breathing too hard to speak. So he simply shook his head. He leaned forward and rested his hands on his bent knees. “I think…I’ve got it!” the sweat-drenched physician finally got out, between gasped breaths. He swiped the perspiration from his sweaty brow. “It has…nothing to do…with changes in blood chemistry…or blood gases!” He glanced up at his colleagues and grinned. “I was just about to call it quits…when it hit me! I was going to quit…because I finally realized…the only thing I had succeeded in doing was…to work up...a good sweat!…And, why was I sweating?…Because my body was heating up!…Don’t you see?…The toxin must be heat labile!…It’s not blood chemistry at all…It’s blood temperature!”
Kel and Joe exchanged thoughtful glances.
Captain Stanley looked both hopeful and amazed. The solution couldn’t really be something as simple as that…could it?
The recovered runner turned to Miss McCall. “Would you happen to have an oral thermometer handy?”
Dixie pulled a sterile thermometer from her pocket, shook it down and then passed it to him.
Hendelson promptly placed the instrument beneath his tongue and pursed his lips.
_____________________________________________________________________
Two looooong minutes later, Dixie snatched her thermometer back and took a careful look at the level of its mercury. “102.2.”
“Okay. We know that at 102.2 the toxin’s progression is slowed—significantly. What we don’t know, is the temperature it’s going to take to destroy it—entirely. I’ll have the labs begin—”
“—While your boys are experimenting in the labs, we’ll be experimenting on them!” Kel announced. “We’ll elevate their body temperatures to the safest possible degree—and then see what happens!” He glanced in Joe’s direction.
“What have we got to lose?” his colleague concurred.
Dr. Hendelson began reaching for a phone.
Dr. Brackett began barking out orders.
Hendelson hung up the phone.
Hank suddenly remembered something—something which he had deemed insignificant at the time, but now seemed pretty darn pertinent. “When I went to check on Stoker and Lopez, I noticed that they'd thrown some extra blankets on their bunks…”
The young researcher flashed the informant a grateful grin. He loved it when missing puzzle pieces came together.
_______________________________________________________________________
Miss McCall entered Treatment Three and stepped right up to the exam table, where Miss Norquist still stood, faithfully monitoring the fireman’s vital signs. “I thought you were told to go home,” Dixie reminded the off-duty nurse.
Cheryl pulled the stethoscope from her ears and glanced up. “I can’t help it. I didn’t want to leave here until I was sure the heat treatment was going to work.”
Dixie stared down at the sweating young man for a few moments and then managed a bitter smile. “That’s understandable.”
“Uhh-ummm,” Gage groaned and began tossing his sweaty head from side to side. “Hot…too ho-ot,” he complained in a breathless whisper. “Too-oo hot,” he repeated and tried to squirm out from under the mountain of thermal blankets THEY had him buried beneath. But his wrists were still restrained and he was too weak to struggle. So he just gave up and lay there, moaning…and sweating.
The door opened again and doctors Brackett, Early, Morton, Tyler and Hendelson came strolling into the room, looking rather pleased with themselves. They studied the patient’s chart and heartbeat monitor for a few minutes, and then directed their attention towards Cheryl.
“His temperature has been 105.5 for a little over an hour now,” the nurse reported. “His pressure has remained steady—right around 93/65. His pulse is currently 80 and regular.”
The physicians glanced at each other and grinned outright.
“The other two firemen’s vital signs have returned to near normal, too,” Hendelson reported right back.
Kel turned to Dixie. “We’ll continue the heat treatment for a few more hours. In the meantime, let’s get them upstairs and put them to bed!”
Dixie nodded and stepped over to the phone on the wall, to place a call.
Dr. Tyler turned to his tired shift-mate. “It’s time for the two of us to go home and get some sleep!”
Miss Norquist flashed the physician a half-hearted smile and nodded.
Mike Morton turned to Hendelson and extended a hand. “Let me be the first to congratulate you on your unusual research methods and positively brilliant—life-saving—medical discovery, Doctor!”
“Why, thank you!” the ‘brilliant researcher’ modestly stated and shook his colleague’s hand, and the hands of the other people that were there in the treatment room. “Actually, I made two discoveries while I was out there running around,” the toxicologist confessed. “I also discovered that I’m not in as good a shape as I thought I was,” he patted his tummy a few times. “I was wiped out before I even completed that first lap! Only my undying dedication to scientific research kept me going.”
His associates smiled and rolled their eyes.
Speaking of going…
He and his fellow doctors began filing from the room.
“Whew!” Hendelson glanced down at his underarms. “I need a shower!”
His colleagues grinned and snickered out into the hall.
Jim stopped in the open doorway and glanced back over his shoulder. He flashed the moaning sweaty fireman a sad, sympathetic smile. ‘Oh well…Being hot has gotta be better than being dead,’ the young doctor silently reminded himself. Then he exhaled an exhausted sigh and headed off—in search of the nearest shower.
Chet Kelly had spent the past eight hours or so sort a’ ‘out of it’. He slowly battled his way through the haze of painkillers and sedatives and aimed his dazed gaze up at the pretty, smiling face that had just appeared within his limited field of vision. “Hi, doll…” he mumbled sleepily. “What time is it?”
The nurse’s smile evaporated. “Time for you to eat,” she tersely replied. “And the name is Ms. Banner.”
“Sure, doll…anything you say.”
This time, her entire face vanished.
Chet attempted to raise his head a little, to see where the pretty girl had disappeared to. Mista-ake! Any movement—even just breathing a bit too deeply—produced a horrendous amount of pain. But the hurt caused by that last move had taken Kelly’s breath completely away.
The girl heard him gasp and hurried back up to his bedside.
Her trauma patient was in acute respiratory distress.
Ms. Banner placed an oxygen mask over the young fireman’s nose and mouth and then pressed the panic button.
Several anxious, agonizing minutes—and two hypos—later, the assembled hospital team finally had their trauma patient breathing comfortably on his own again.
The doctors and nurses gradually began filing from the room.
“Don’t move a single muscle,” Ms. Banner sternly ordered. “If you want something, use your call button,” she admonished further and promptly placed the corded device in the palm of her patient’s left hand.
“If I can’t move a muscle,” Kelly quietly inquired, “how do you expect me to press it?”
Ms. Banner couldn’t help but smile. “Is that just your medication talking? Or, are you always such a comedian?”
Chet paid about as much attention to her question as she had to his. “Can you raise this bed up a little?”
“No.”
“But…I can’t see anything, lying down like this.”
“That’s okay. Because there isn’t anything to see.”
“Then I’ll settle for whatever’s out there. For instance, what’s all that ‘beeping’?”
“Okay. Close your eyes and picture three other hospital beds, three sleeping patients and three heart monitors.”
“Cool! I have company.” Kelly slowly and carefully turned his head to the left.
A motionless body was lying in the bed next to his. The guy was buried beneath a mountain of blankets—and his wrists were strapped to the side rails!
“What’s wrong with him?” Chet nervously inquired. “He’s not dangerous, is he?” He’d already been attacked by one whack-o. He didn’t want another turn.
Ms. Banner glanced in the direction of his gaze. “That is what we do to patients who won’t lie still when they're told to.”
“Seriously. What’s wrong with him? I mean, what’s with the straps? He crazy, or somethin’?”
“I heard they brought all three of these guys in earlier this morning. They’re suffering from some toxic reaction, or something. I don’t know all of the details. I just came on duty a half an hour ago. Now, are you going to lie still? Or am I gonna have to sedate you?”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Banner. I’ll be good.”
She flashed the subdued fireman a warm smile and gave the back of his hand a few comforting pats. “I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Kelly…and, the name’s Gwen.”
Chet returned her smile. He heard Gwen exit the room. Which meant he was now on his own. He rolled his head back toward the bed beside his and kept one wary eye peeled on the guy with the straps on his wrists.
A few minutes later, another nurse walked into the room. The woman took vitals from the three sleeping men and then stepped up to her conscious patient’s bed. “Hi.”
Kelly managed a half-hearted smile. “Hi.”
“I’m supposed to find out if you’re hungry…”
“If I had any hunger pains, the hypos must a’ got rid of them.”
“Do feel up to eating something?”
“What can I eat?”
“What do you feel like eating—er, drinking?” the woman quickly corrected, following a glance at his chart.
Her already glum patient suddenly looked even glummer. “That figures,”
“Eh. I’ve heard hospital food is pretty lousy, anyway,” the nurse teased, in an attempt to cheer him up.
“It can’t be any worse than Firehouse cooking,” Kelly assured her.
“Firehouse cooking?” the nurse repeated, sounding somewhat amazed. “You mean to tell me that you’re a fireman, too?”
“What a’ yah mean ‘too’?”
The woman waved her arm around the room. “Your roommates are all firemen.”
Her glum patient suddenly perked up a little. “Oh yeah?”
The nurse nodded. “Maybe you know them.” She stepped over to the bed beside his and picked up its occupant’s chart. “Does the name…John Gage ring a bell?”
Upon hearing the patient’s name, Chet’s body tensed. The pain took his breath away and he gasped.
The nurse heard him gasp and hurried back up to his bedside.
Her trauma patient was in acute respiratory distress.
The woman placed an oxygen mask over the young fireman’s nose and mouth and then hit the panic button.
Several anxious, agonizing minutes—and another hypo—later, the assembled hospital team finally had their trauma patient breathing comfortably on his own—yet once more.
The doctors and nurses gradually began filing from the room.
Chet did not hear them leave. He was too heavily sedated.
Chet Kelly felt his upper arm being squeezed—uncomfortably hard. He raised his heavy eyelids and blinked. His brain seemed to be stuffed with cotton balls and his ‘striking’ view of the hospital room’s ceiling was all blurry. He blinked a few more times and the fuzzy world around him gradually became clearer.
Ms. Banner was in the process of taking her patient’s blood pressure. When the nurse saw Mr. Kelly open his eyes, she stopped what she was doing and snatched up the loaded hypo that was resting on the tray beside her.
A familiar face reappeared within Chet’s exceedingly limited field of vision—along with a hand and a hypodermic syringe.
The nurse’s eyes narrowed into menacing slits and she pointed the long-needled tip of her fully loaded hypo right in the fireman’s mustached face. “Make one wrong move,” she warned, “and I will be forced to shoot you!”
The corners of Kelly’s mouth turned up. He couldn’t help but smile.
The woman grinned and lowered her weapon. “So-o…Marcie tells me you know your ‘restrained’ roommate over there.”
Now, there was an understatement! “We’ve only been working together for the past seven years!” Chet suddenly recalled that there were two other firefighters in the room. “Who else is in here?”
“The other two firemen work with him—er, you, too. Besides Mr. Gage, we have a Mr. Stoker…and a Mr. Lopez.” Noting the steady increase in Mr. Kelly’s anxiety level, Gwen raised and re-aimed her loaded weapon.
Kelly recalled the pretty nurse’s warning—er, promise and remained incredibly calm—well, at least on the outside. Chet also seemed to remember something about his friends being ‘exposed to a toxic substance’. The firefighter fought desperately to maintain a calm demeanor. “They gonna be okay?” he inquired, his voice betraying him with a slight quiver.
Ms. Banner clasped the concerned young man’s hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll know soon…”
Mike Morton stepped into the room. The young man glanced around and frowned. “Whose idea was this?” he suddenly demanded, sounding every bit as displeased as he looked.
Ms. Banner winced and turned in the unhappy young doctor’s direction. “Their Captain wanted us to keep them all together,” the nurse nervously explained. “He said that it would be good for their morale.”
“Oh he did, did he,” Morton came back, sounding completely unimpressed.
“Yes…He did,” Gwen parroted. “Dr. Brackett agreed. And this was the only four-bed ward available.”
The young man heard his boss’ name mentioned and suddenly seemed impressed.
Speaking of his boss…
Dr. Brackett, Dr. Hendelson, Miss McCall and two more nurses entered the ward.
Kel spotted Morton. “Mike, you wanna give us a hand. It’s been over five hours since they’ve been symptomatic. We’re going to discontinue the heat treatments and see what happens.” He stepped up to Marco Lopez’s bed, examined its occupant’s medical chart for a few moments, and then began un-piling the thermal blankets from the patient’s peacefully sleeping form.
A nurse started removing the restraints from his wrists.
The sweat-drenched fireman was soon freed—of both the blankets and the straps.
Morton had liberated Mike Stoker from his thermal coverings, and Hendelson had done the same for John Gage.
Dixie, and her team of nurses, began swapping sweat-soaked hospital gowns and bed linens for clean, fresh, DRY ones.
The doctors had been shoo’ed out of their way. The three men stood in the center of the ward and watched while the three women worked.
“What if the toxin wasn’t entirely destroyed by the heat treatments?” Morton speculated. “What if the symptoms recur whenever their body temperatures decrease?”
“You mean, something along the lines of an LSD flashback?” Hendelson wondered.
Mike nodded.
The three physicians exchanged somber glances.
“That’s a risk we’re just gonna hafta take,” Brackett determined. “And I think they would agree. After all, they can’t go around wrapped in thermal blankets for the rest of their li—”
“—Mike!” a woman’s distraught voice suddenly interrupted. Karen Stoker had barged into the hospital room and up to her husband’s bed, which was the first one on the right, just as you came through doorway. She latched onto the motionless man’s limp left hand and called out to him again. “Mike?” When her spouse failed to respond, she aimed her alarmed gaze at the three doctors. “What’s going on? Why isn’t he awake yet?”
Hendelson took it upon himself to answer the concerned young lady’s questions. “For the past twelve hours, these men have been run—repeatedly—through the ringer. The toxin put a tremendous amount of strain on their cardiovascular systems. The workload their hearts had to handle was nothing short of phenomenal! These guys gotta feel like they’ve just run back-to-back Boston Marathons. The three of them are suffering from complete physical exhaustion. They’ll wake up...when their bodies are ready to.”
Karen’s attention returned to her husband. She now felt ‘somewhat’ reassured.
Apparently, one of the bodies had deemed itself ready…already.
John Gage’s eyes suddenly fluttered open. He aimed them up at the person who was taking his vital signs. “Shee-eesh!” the shivering man croaked—er, complained, in a voice just above a whisper. “The price the hospital charges…for these beds…you’d think THEY could…at least…give a guy…a blanket!” Gage shivered again and shut his eyes. He wanted to draw his arms up tightly to his chest and roll himself up into a nice, warm ball, but those four big—invisible—guys were back. They weren’t sitting on his chest anymore. No. Now, they appeared—or, didn’t appear—to be holding his arms and legs down. He could hear a lot a’ commotion going on around him and reopened his eyes, to investigate what was causing it. Judging by the group of doctor’s and nurses that had gathered around his bed—it was he, himself!
Dr. Brackett smiled down at him. “Johnny, how do you feel?”
“C-C-Co-old,” Johnny told him, truthfully. He was so cold, he had to clench his teeth, to keep them from chattering.
Dixie covered the complaining patient with a nice, warm blanket. “How’s that?” she wondered, once she got him all tucked in.
“B-B-Better…Thanks, D-D-Dix’.” The fireman suddenly forgot all about being cold. “How are Mike and Marco?” he anxiously inquired, and attempted to rise. He couldn’t seem to move. Either he was as weak as a baby, or those four big invisible guys were awfully powerful.
Being a firm believer in the adage ‘A picture is worth a thousand words’, Miss McCall pressed the UP button on the side rail and proceeded to raise the head of the worried young fireman’s hospital bed. “See for yourself,” she invited with a wry smile and a wave of her arm.
The people standing around him all stepped to one side and two other hospital beds came into view. In them were two peacefully sleeping bodies.
John saw Stoker’s wife standing beside one of the beds and knew which one each friend occupied. “Hi, Karen.”
Mike’s young bride greeted him back. “Hi, Johnny.”
Gage’s slight smile suddenly vanished. “What about Chet?”
The group of people that were standing at the right side of his hospital bed parted and Chet Kelly’s mustached face appeared.
John saw that his friend’s eyes were open and aimed in his direction. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. I’m just dandy,” Kelly sarcastically came back. “In fact, I was gonna check out a’ here this morning. But then I decided I’d stick around…just to keep you guys company.”
His paramedic friend suppressed a slightly crooked smile and rolled his tired eyes. “Hey…What’s goin’ on?” he suddenly wondered, as his blood pressure was taken for the third time in as many minutes. He glanced across the room and saw that Mike and Marco’s vital signs were being continuously monitored, too.
The three doctors ended the huddled conference they’d been holding in the middle of the ward and stepped back up to his bedside.
“How do you feel?” Kel inquired once more. “Do you have a headache? Or any other complaints?”
“No-o. I’m not hurting...anywhere,” the patient wearily replied. “I’m just really really tired. I don’t seem to have any energy. What’s goin’ on, Doc?”
‘So far, so good…’ “We are going to leave now,” the physician informed him. “You are going to sleep. We will be more than happy to answer any, and all, of your questions—when you wake up!”
Two of the three physicians in the room began to file out.
Dixie injected something into their really really tired patient’s IV port.
John suddenly felt even more tired. His drooping eyes roved around the ward, moving from one of his roommates…to another. “This should be…interesting.”
Mike Morton caught the paramedic’s quiet comment. “If it gets TOO ‘interesting’ around here,” he warned, “we’re going to have to split you guys up! Understood?”
Gage and Kelly glanced innocently at one another. Then they turned back to the young doctor and nodded.
The physician wasn’t fooled by their ‘apparent’ innocence. He gave them each an icy no-nonsense glare and then left the room.
John stared after him, looking both sleepy and thoughtful. “I wonder what he considers TOO ‘interesting’…”
Miss McCall saw Chet Kelly nodding thoughtfully, as well. “I have no-o idea,” she nervously replied. “But I have a feeling we’re going to be finding out. Are-en’t we…”
The two firemen glanced at each other again, this time looking somewhat mischievous.
The sedated one suddenly exhaled a couple of weary sighs and closed his eyes. He fell asleep with a sly smile on his face.
Dixie exhaled a weary sigh of her own. “Yup!”
Roy DeSoto entered the ward and exchanged smiles and nods with the three nurses who were continuously monitoring his shift-mates’ vital signs.
He stepped up to his best buddy’s bedside and then just stood there, staring silently down at him.
Suddenly, Roy smiled. He couldn’t help but smile. After all that gasping, it was truly joyous to finally see his friend breathing so easily. The paramedic glanced up at the heart monitor and his smile broadened into a grin. Sinus rhythm had never looked so beautiful before!
“Thanks…for waitin’ around,” Roy told his peacefully sleeping partner. He gave Johnny’s unrestrained wrist a reassuring squeeze…and then left.
Less than a minute later, Hank Stanley poked his head into the room.
The Captain had just had a long talk with the doctors. He was tremendously relieved to hear that his men were doing fine. He was equally relieved to find the four of them resting comfortably. He could leave the hospital now. Now, he wouldn’t have to worry…quite so much.
The four of them were together. They’d watch out for each other.
True to his word, when Gage woke the following morning, Dr. Brackett was there, along with his young colleague, to answer any—and all—of his questions.
“What’s goin’ on, Doc?” the still slightly groggy paramedic re-pondered.
“Johnny, I’d like to re-introduce you to Dr. James Hendelson,” Brackett motioned to the young man standing at his side. “Dr. Hendelson is responsible for saving your life. I’m sure that he will be glad to explain ‘what’s goin’ on’…”
Gage gave the young doctor a look of undying gratitude.
The physician flashed him back a ‘you’re welcome’ smile and promptly proceeded to fill the fireman in on everything that had transpired in the past 32 anxious hours.
Several informative minutes later, Hendelson finished his explanation and opened a small black notebook. “Now, it’s my turn to ask a question. How do you feel? Do you have a headache…or any other aches and pains?”
John was lost in thought. He suddenly noticed it was quiet and aimed his no longer blank gaze in Hendelson’s direction. “Huh?…Uhhh…No. No. I’m just still awfully tired. I still don’t seem to have any energy—at all. I can’t even lift my arms and legs off the bed…” His gaze went back to being blank. “We should’ve tried harder to get that night watchman to come in,” he bitterly determined. “If we had, he might still be alive…” he sadly added.
Kel looked extremely skeptical. “I doubt seriously if you could’ve ever convinced him to come in. The autopsy revealed he had an abnormally high blood-alcohol level. It was probably his bottle the workman used to brain Chet. He’d obviously been drinking on the job and was probably afraid of being fired if anyone found out. You can’t blame yourself for his death, Johnny. Even if you guys had gotten him here, I don’t think he would have let us examine him—not in his condition.”
Gage gave Brackett a grateful glance. “I gue-ess…” He turned back to stare up at the ceiling. “So…three people are dead…all because of this toxic junk I can’t even pronounce.”
“DMCST,” Hendelson told him. “I can’t pronounce it, either.”
John managed a bitter smile.
“A-And three firemen are still alive,” Brackett reminded his sad young friend. “Instead of dwelling on the fatalities, maybe we should just be grateful for that…”
“You’re right, Kel,” Hendelson solemnly agreed. “We should be very grateful for that. Until now, exposure to DMCST was one hundred percent fatal. This time, we have a fifty-percent survival rate and, who knows? With what we’ve learned here in the past 32 hours, perhaps no one will ever have to die from this particular toxin again.”
Gage gave both of his doctors a grateful smile.
The doctors had no sooner departed, when an orderly brought Mr. Gage a breakfast tray.
John declined to accept it. The fatigued—famished—fireman just didn’t have the energy to eat.
Ten minutes later, J.T. and his paramedic partner, Don Lorey tapped on the open door to their station-mates’ room and then came strolling in.
“Well, well, well…” Lorey said, as he took in the scene. “Looks sort a’ like the dorm—back at the Station. Don’t it…”
J.T. nodded. “What a sorry lookin’ bunch,” he teased.
Gage pretended to be highly insulted, but then broke into a broad grin. “What are you two paramedical school dropouts doin’ up here?”
Lorey winked and rested a hand on their colleague’s wrist. “We’re supposed to be giving Dixie a message,” he replied—er, lied, in a hushed tone. “But that’s just an excuse we came up with so we could come up and see how you guys are doin’. THEY have this room as OFF LIMITS to visitors. So, for the record, we’re ‘messengers’.”
John looked highly amused.
Miss McCall came into the room just then, with two other nurses in tow. Judging by the fresh linens in their arms, her followers were there to change the bedding.
Suddenly, the HT in Lorey’s left hand began ‘bleeping’. The sound of muffled tones closely followed. He and his partner tensed up and listened.
Unfortunately, they weren’t the only firefighters who heard the alarm.
John tensed, too. He attempted to rise up from his bed, but failed.
Chet stiffened and then lay there, grimacing in agony from the pain produced by his sudden movement.
Mike and Marco flipped their blankets off. The pair bailed out of their hospital beds and then collapsed into two crumpled heaps on the floor.
There was a blur of activity in the room, as linens were dropped and patients were picked up.
Stoker and Lopez were returned to their beds and quickly recovered. The two men lay there, looking like they were in a state of shock. They were! They were both shocked by what had just happened and completely confused by their strange surroundings.
J.T. gave Dixie an apologetic look. “Can you manage now without us?” he inquired and held up their HT.
Dixie completed her preliminary check of her patients and was relieved to discover that—amazingly enough—none of their IVs had been compromised. She nodded. “When you get downstairs, send a doctor up, will you?”
They nodded.
“Oh…and, guys?” Dixie called after the departing paramedics.
The two men halted and glanced back over their shoulders at her.
“The next time you come up to ‘give me a message’, try to remember to leave your radio in the Squad. Okay?”
The pair flashed the feisty nurse a couple of guilty grins and gave her another two nods of assurance.
Dixie suppressed a slight smile and then started reattaching electrodes to her still stunned patients’ chests.
Mike finally overcame his initial shock. “How on earth...did we get here?”
“In an ambulance,” John smartly replied. “Hey, Mike! Marco! It’s about time you two woke up.”
Marco glanced around the ward in amazement. “I have an even better question. What are we doing here? What’s goin’ on, John?”
“Well. It’s a long story…and quite incredible, actually.” Gage turned to Kelly. “Wouldn’t you say it’s an incredible story?”
Chet’s hastily injected hypo was beginning to have its pain-killing effect on him. He unclenched his gritted teeth and nodded. “Quite.”
Dixie rolled her eyes. “You guys were exposed to an extremely toxic substance and for the past—” she paused to glance at her watch, “—33 hours, you’ve been experiencing a severe toxic reaction, which nearly killed you. But now it’s all over—hopefully—and your conditions are stable.” She smiled reassuringly down at her still astonished patients.
Mike and Marco exchanged thoughtful glances.
“He wasn’t drunk,” Lopez realized, aloud. Then he turned to Gage. “That wasn’t such a long story.”
“Yeah,” John was forced to admit. “But she only gave you the Reader’s Digest Condensed version.”
Stoker stared anxiously up at their nurse. “Has someone called my wife?”
Miss McCall smiled warmly down at him. “Karen’s been here the entire time. We finally got her to lie down for awhile. She should be back up in just a bit.”
Mike looked tremendously relieved and finally allowed himself to relax…a bit.
All four firemen relaxed a bit.
When the summoned physician finally arrived, Kel found his patients sleeping…peacefully.
The three still completely-exhausted firemen slept away the better part of two days.
John Gage was sitting up in his hospital bed, sorting through his mail.
His thoughtful partner had swung by his apartment, picked it up and delivered it to him during his latest visit, which had just ended.
When the paramedic got to his latest issue of Popular Mechanics, he stopped sorting and started paging through the periodical. He flipped through a few more of its pages and then froze. “Humph!” he grunted. “Imagine that!”
His three roommates heard his quiet comments and turned their gazes in the mail sorter’s direction. They saw Gage staring down at his magazine in amazement and their curiosity was piqued.
John was too busy reading to notice their questioning stares.
So Marco finally came right out and asked, “Imagine what?”
Gage glanced up from his magazine. “Ah, there’s an article in here all about fires and toxic fumes,” he replied and then returned to his reading.
“Oh yeah?” Stoker looked even more curious, and suddenly set his National Geographic aside. “What’s it say?”
The interrupted reader glanced up again.
His friends were all staring at him, waiting expectantly for a reply to Mike’s inquiry.
“How should I know?” John asked right back. “I haven’t read it, yet.”
Mike looked annoyed. “Well, what’d yah say ‘Imagine that!’ for then?”
Gage shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I just thought it was kind a’ interesting that I should open my Popular Mechanics and find an article all about fires and toxic fumes—I mean, after what just happened to—”
“—Never mind,” Marco interrupted. “Just go ahead and read it.”
John shot him an irritated glare. “I’m tryin’ to. Believe me, I’m tryin’ to.” He gave his head a quick shake and then went back to reading the article.
Lopez exhaled an exasperated gasp. “Out loud, John. Out loud!”
The reader slowly raised his gaze from his magazine. “Out lou-oud?”
“Sure!” Kelly, who was now allowed to sit up a little, came back. “We wanna hear what THEY have to say about what happened to us.”
Gage saw their grins and nods, and suddenly felt a bit uneasy. “You sure?”
He got a trio of impatient glares and just as many more nods.
“O-ka-ay.” John’s gaze returned to his magazine. He drew a deep breath and then began reading—aloud. “The Home Inferno—Now It’s Deadlier Than Ever.
New materials emitting toxic fumes, plus phenomena like cold fires and flashovers, make any fire in your home a serious threat to life. By Ed Fales.
The idea of fire breaking out in your home has never been a pleasant one. Unfortunately, the evidence mounting up now, in reports from fire investigators, insurance companies and municipal officials, points to an entirely new syndrome of fire in the home.
In brief, these fires, which can cause death in a number of ways, are deadlier than ever.” He glanced up to see if the guys were still paying attention.
They were.
So he went back to reading. “From these reports, the consensus describes the new fire syndrome as a new pattern of toxic or combustible gases being generated, sometimes leading to an explosive inferno from which there can be no escape.
Day after day, newspapers are reporting: ‘House explodes as firemen arrive.’ ‘Seven die. Puzzled firemen find family dead but no one was burned.’
Fires weren’t always like this. You’d smell wood smoke. (Now there may be no wood, no smell at first.) You’d hear the crackle of flames. (Now there may be silence—right up until the booming phenomenon known as ‘flashover’.) And before, there would be time to phone firemen, or use a garden hose or fire extinguisher. (Now, says the National Fire Protection Association, you’re lucky if you have 20 seconds in which to act.)
The trouble is: We fill our homes today with plastics and flammables and fluids, some of which are toxic, others explosive.
Experts say some plastics burn in weird new ways, much hotter and faster, emitting deadly fumes that if inhaled, can alter the senses and kill by asphyxiation. Two breaths of some of these fumes and you’re in serious trouble, firemen say.
Homes Can Seal In Fumes: To make matters worse, many homes now are almost virtually sealed—for heating and cooling efficiency. Fumes can’t escape.
Meanwhile, we keep filling them with wonderful new devices and decorations not realizing that we’re virtually priming a bomb—” Gage grinned and glanced up. “Get a load a’ this,” he told his listeners. “Today’s firemen are magnificent,” he read and then looked up again.
The four ‘magnificent’ firemen exchanged broad grins.
Stoker hoisted his Styrofoam cup of ice water. “I’ll drink to that!” he declared and took a long draw on his straw.
“Where was I?” John mumbled. His eyes searched the article. “Ahhh. Yes. Today’s firemen are magnificent,” he re-read. “They—meaning us—arrive in seconds and readily risk their lives. But more often, houses and apartments are infernos even before firemen get there. And even if firemen can still get in, they can’t see. ‘Smoke is often oily and thick!’ they say, quote: We just have to pass our hands over the beds and ‘feel’ for people.’ endquote.
Officials didn’t begin to piece together what was happening until one day in Washington, D.C., three years ago.
At 10:30 a.m. firemen received an alarm. It came from building 213 at the U.S. Navy Yard, where a common office copying machine had overheated and caught fire.
It wasn’t much of a fire. Firemen didn’t even use masks. They doused the machine and had the fire out in a jiffy. Within 20 minutes they were on their way back to the station.
Then began a strange series of events—” his cheery demeanor suddenly crumbled. “Back at the firehouse, firemen began falling ill. Some described it as a tightness in the chest,” he swallowed hard. “Others had splitting headaches—” he glanced up at Mike and Marco.
The three of them exchanged extremely solemn glances.
John’s somber gaze returned to the article. “—dizziness, vomiting. Next day, an engine driver fainted.” Gage glanced up at their engineer again and hesitated. He really didn’t want to read any further—least ways, not aloud.
“A-And?” Mike urged, sounding on the edge of his seat—er, hospital bed.
The reader exhaled a resigned sigh and reluctantly continued. “Then he came to, said he felt fine—” the paramedic winced, “—and dropped dead.”
Gage, Kelly and Lopez immediately riveted their eyes upon Stoker. The three were anxious to witness the engineer’s reaction to that disturbing bit of news.
Mike was looking slightly pale and he was feeling somewhat queasy.
John gave him a sympathetic look and went back to his reading. “Shocked two Washington physicians—” he stopped suddenly. “Sorry. I didn’t see the comma. Shocked, two Washington physicians, Drs. Robert Dyer and Victor Esch, began a long, careful investigation.
The finger pointed not at CO (carbon monoxide), the old familiar cause of fire death, but at a gas which develops whenever polyvinyl chloride (PVC), a common household plastic, burns. The gas was hydrogen chloride (HCl), a real killer.
Before long the inquiry had also turned up other poisons: chlorine, phosgene, nitrogen dioxide, sulfur dioxide, and ammonia.
As a service to doctors and firemen, the Journal of the American Medical Association has decided to devote eight pages to fire dangers, including a five-page report from Drs. Dyer and Esch.
‘Practically every structure today contains plastics capable of producing lung-damaging gases,’ the physicians warned, ‘The firefighter faces a great, new risk.” He stopped reading again. ‘Man! No one knows that better than us.’ He let out a long, exhausted sigh and stared down at the article, looking bored. “So? What else is knew?” he insincerely inquired. He flipped the magazine shut and tossed it on his bed’s meds’ tray.
His associates exchanged disappointed glances.
“That’s it?” Marco exclaimed. “That’s all it says?”
“No-o,” the reader’s eyes closed involuntarily and he pressed the button that lowered his bed. “That’s not all it says, but that’s all I’m gonna read. That article is six or seven pages long and my eyes are too tired.”
“Well, mine aren’t,” Lopez determined. “Toss it here!”
Gage stopped lowering his bed, forced his weary eyes back open, grabbed his magazine and whipped it across the room.
It landed with a loud ‘smack’…on floor at the foot of Marco’s bed.
Chet heard it hit and turned to the guy in the bed beside his. “Oh. Nice throw,” he commended, his words filled with sarcasm.
“Great!” Lopez declared, his voice oozing sarcasm, as well. “Now how am I supposed to get it?” he pouted.
Kelly couldn’t leave his hospital bed, and the three of them were not allowed to leave theirs—un-assisted.
“You’ll just hafta do what I hafta to do,” Chet glumly reasoned. “Ask a nurse to get it for you.”
Marco didn’t particularly care for Kelly’s suggestion. He didn’t want to bother the nurses for such a ridiculous reason. Besides, they were probably busy. He turned to Stoker and saw him staring blankly off into space. “Hey, Mike? Can you toss me one of your National Geographics?”
The engineer didn’t hear the request. He was too lost in his thoughts.
“Mike!”
Stoker snapped back to reality and turned in the shouted voice’s direction. “Did you say something?”
Marco rolled his eyes. “Man! Where have you been?”
“I, uh…was just thinking…about that article. That engineer died three years ago. That’s about the same time the Department came out with the new regulations on SCBAs. Remember? Prior to then, it wasn’t mandatory to have our tanks and masks in place before entering a structure fire. Yah know, according to Dr. Hendelson, there are dozens of other deadly toxins—besides DMCST—that we could be exposed to now-a-days. And, with modern technology coming up with more and more new chemicals all the time…this job is becoming more and more hazardous—every day!”
John heard the degree of alarm in Mike’s voice. He forced his concerned eyes open and aimed them in his direction. “This job has always been a high risk occupation,” he reminded his deeply troubled friend. “It’s not a whole lot riskier now than it was a few days ago. It just seems that way, because that little ‘incident’ at the refinery fire brought it to our attention. Sure, toxic gases are a definite threat, but we could buy it anytime. Any fire could be our last. Fires are a lot like women—totally unpredictable! And, that makes fighting them…extremely hazardous…” his eyes began to droop and his words began to trail off. “Not to mention… challenging...”
Kelly couldn’t help but grin. “Ga-age, everything you know about women—and fires—could be put on the same dot of micro-film with room left over for all 27 volumes of The Encyclopedia Britannica and both the Old and New Testaments.”
Marco snickered.
If ‘Ga-age’ could have opened his eyes, he would have given Chet a look of feigned insult. As it was, he merely smiled.
Stoker stared at the smiling man in amazement. “So-o then you honestly don’t think it was safer to be a firemen in the past?”
John stifled a yawn. “I don’t think it was SAFE to be a fireman at ANY time. Each period of fire fighting history must’ve had it’s own special hazards. Toxic gases just happen to be ours…” his words trailed off once more. ‘About the only ‘safe’ place to be a fireman, would be in a desert, where there wasn’t anything to burn.’ He rolled onto his right side and curled himself up into a warm, cozy ball. Then he exhaled a long, relaxed sigh and did his level best to present the appearance of someone who did not wish to be disturbed…any further. ‘Man! This bed sure is hard! I’ve slept…on softer…ground…’ With that discomforting thought, the overly fatigued fireman finally succeeded in drifting off.
Seeing that John had just dropped off to sleep—and out of the discussion—Mike’s attention turned his ‘tractioned’ associate. “What do you think, Chet?”
“Huh? Oh. I dunno. I can sort a’ see both a’ your points. But I’m hopin’ Gage is right. Because, if this job is getting more hazardous everyday, just think what it’ll be like in one or two more years? Man! I don’t even wanna think about it!” he hinted and closed his eyes. Chet had no use for scientists—or the deadly chemicals they kept concocting. THEY—and their stupid DMCST—were responsible for putting him in his even stupider hospital bed. He managed a bitter smile, as he suddenly realized something else. Scientists were also responsible for saving his three friends’ lives. His roommates served as a reminder that not all scientists were either mad—or bad. Some, like Dr. James Hendelson, actually devoted their lives to saving others.
Stoker took the hint and turned to Lopez. “What about you?”
Marco stared back at him in confusion for a few moments and when he finally did reply, his comment was completely irrelevant to the topic at hand. “I just wanted you to toss me one of your National Geographics.”
Mike looked tremendously disappointed and flung one of his periodicals at his un-opinionated pal.
Marco caught the magazine in self-defense. “Thanks.” He flipped through its pages and found some interesting photos from some British museum, showing the various suits of armor that knights had once worn into battle. There were even pictures of elaborately costumed people at some ‘Renaissance Faire’, where women—dressed as fair damsels—watched while men—dressed as knights and mounted on horseback—painstakingly re-enacted some kind a’ ‘jousting’ tournament. As he stared at the article, the words began to blur and his eyelids began to droop.
Stoker couldn’t get to sleep. His mind seemed to be stuck on toxic gases. The thought of inhaling deadly toxins into his lungs didn’t exactly lend itself to relaxation.
He exhaled a frustrated gasp and decided to finish the article he’d started reading earlier. It was a rather boring piece—perfect for putting someone to sleep. It was all about the restoration of damages done to ancient landmarks, by both malicious vandals and souvenir seeking tourists. He re-opened his National Geographic and stared down at a photo of a modern sculptor attempting to restore the face of a priceless nude statue that someone had taken a sledgehammer to. Another picture showed masonries trying to patch the Coliseum, in Rome. Tourists have been chipping away at its walls for centuries, taking chunks of the ancient ruins home with them, in place of postcards. He gazed down at the enormous stone structure, looking thoughtful. ‘It must’ve been a breeze to be a fireman in a city where the buildings were all made of concrete and stone,’ he reasoned. ‘After all, rocks don’t burn.’ It took a few more paragraphs, but the words finally began to blur and Mike’s eyes finally started to close.
Author’s note: If something is said to be heat labile, that means heat has a deleterious effect on it. Kind a’ like how kryptonite has a deleterious effect on Superman. :D
Additional note: The Popular Mechanics’ article that Johnny is reading—aloud—is actually a real Popular Mechanics’ article that I found in my own personal issue of the magazine, sometime back in the late-seventies.
Reading that article, is what first prompted me to write ‘A Work In Progress’. I am extremely grateful to Mr. Ed Fales for his inspiring article. :D
Additional Additional note: The all too realistic extremely vivid dream that Mike Stoker is about to experience, is a lingering side effect caused by his exposure to the DMCST toxin.
Once the guys wake up from their DMCST-induced hallucinatory dreams, the story picks right back up with the four of them all still in the same hospital room and causing their doctor (Morton) and the nurses fits and conniptions. :D