This is a text version of the original still airing imaged, music soundtracked story. Season Nine, "Movie Four", Episode Fifty Seven 57. The Long Hot Summer. Season Nine - Episode 57. Short summary- The gang survives a difficult summer that tries both their careers and their private lives. Dr. Morton crashes his navy jet onto a nuclear ship at a pier. La Brea Tar Pits catch on fire. ****WARNING**** The long summary to come is very story spoiling and will take away plot surprises if you read it now before reading the longer story below it. Decide now if you want to read this episode's detailed summary before doing so. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Long Summary- The gang awakens in the middle of the night because of extreme heat. Roy and Johnny respond to a young girl's attempted suicide. Joe, Dixie and Kel get wind of a possible major incident over the county scanner. A battle ensues in a Mayfair when the suicide patient's overdose is counteracted. Dixie remains on vigil for the suicidal girl while Roy and Johnny handle their emotions about the call. Station 51 receives a response for a mid air naval jet collison and crash at a pier. Rampart goes on disaster alert. At a staging area for the disaster, Gage and DeSoto receive news of a possible radiological catastrophe in the making from a local pair of volunteering doctors. Gage and DeSoto find the pilot in the cockpit of the crashed navy jet which damaged a nuclear naval ship, the source of an unknown radiation leak. Their patient is discovered to be Dr. Morton. Roy and Johnny manage to aid non-breathing Morton and are soon rescued and decontaminated by sailors on the effected Navy ship. Cap hears from Gage and DeSoto about Morton and so does Rampart who begins to outline a critical care plan when the phone line goes dead. Dr. Morton is assessed upon waking. Roy and Johnny worry about swelling around his heart. A new fire risk erupts around the La Brea tar pits. A doctor from family practice updates Rampart on the radiation leaking from the navy ship and shares the information with Squad 51's paramedics. Morton worsens cardiac wise and help is summoned by the ship's medic. A coolant pipe explosion rocks the ship causing Captain Stanley to summon Fireboat 110's divers to respond by sea. Morton and a navy medic are trapped in sickbay. Two Navy rescue fire teams are dispatched to extricate them. A rogue wave tips the ship and accelerates the radiation leak. Kel and Dixie begin to feel the strain of multiple disasters looming at Rampart and commiserate at her apartment. Roy and Johnny join the navy firefighters in locating the pipe breaches. Rising seawater levels and flickering power fuel a fire in the armory. A torpedo auto launches itself right through the hull at Fireboat 110. The navy captain self destructs the weapon before it hits. Captain Stanley fails to prevent the ship's captain from flooding the nuclear core at the expense of his own life. Roy and Johnny perform a pericardial centesis on Dr. Morton. The family doctor breaks the news of the sacrifice to the wounded ship's medic at Rampart. Roy and Johnny attend the ship's captain's memorial and say farewell to the ship's sailors. They check up on Dr. Morton's recovery at Rampart and play a joke on him. Part Two A few days later, decontaminated of radiation, Station 51 gets an assignment to assess downtown L.A. for hazards when a fire at the La Brea tar pits fails to go out. Dixie enlists Craig Brice to keep tabs on Roy for Joanne DeSoto. The family practice medical team is set up into the museum at the LaBrea Tar Pits to follow up with the fire department working on violations checks downtown. Marco and Stoker have a run in with a Kmart manager. Cap and DeSoto notice an increase of smoke from the ground fire at LaBrea. Dixie handles a medical emergency in the waiting area at Rampart in a little boy exposed to cleaning supplies. In the field, Chet and Gage, Stoker and Marco make rounds inspecting downtown L.A. for hidden ground gas leaks. One is touched off in the basement of a K-mart and catches Stoker and Lopez in a colossal explosion. Mike and Marco get trapped at an intersection surrounded by subterranean fire. Cap and Roy are ordered to oversee operations at the heart of the downtown fire. Gage and Kelly find themselves on search and rescue inside of a Y.M. C.A. Vince Howard rescues Stoker and Lopez from danger. On the route to Triage, Marco's condition worsens. Kel and Dixie prepare to receive Marco as a patient. Cap and Roy remain at their posts as Command Staff, feeling overwhelmed. Gage and Chet effect an evacuation of the YMCA. Roy's wife wakes up inside of the collapsed Kmart store, trapped with a beam lying across her neck. Marco is treated by the family doctors in Triage and is shipped to Rampart by Brice. Chet and Kelly make it back to Incident Command and leave to rendevous with Roy and Cap at Triage. Marco makes it to Rampart. A monarch butterfly finds both Roy and Joanne and visits both. Brice finds out Joanne never made it back home and assumes Triage so Station 51 can go search for her at ground zero. Squad 51 and special search and rescue teams converge at Kmart while Rampart diverts patients. The family practice staff treat a victim of frostbite despite the hot weather. Joanne's trapped location is found inside the Kmart, but a ceiling collapses. Roy has breakfast with his children and reads an article about a new chemical created because of the downtown gas explosion disaster. He imagines he hears Joanne visit him after her death. A monarch with a broken wing disappears into the sunlight in the DeSoto garden. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ************************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Fri 8/09/13 5:28 AM Subject: Bacon Bits Cap was splayed out in the lounge chair in the kitchen, in the dark. In the heat, he was miserably spread eagle, with his boots and trousers sitting in front of him within grab range. He had stripped, right down to his boxers and a T-shirt and he didn't move even when the light switch to the kitchen was flicked on. Chet Kelly saundered in, equally drenched in sweat with his trousers and boots slung over a shoulder like limp trophies. He went straight to the kitchen sink to bury his face in a running stream of luke warm "cold" tap water. "Use a bowl." Hank ordered. "And fill it up for splashing. Water rationing, remember?" Chet reached up to the cabinet blindly without abandoning his faucet water fall. He groped around until he found a very big one to use. Cap noticed and grumbled. "Just how large is your face, Kelly?" "As big as my mouth, according to you guys. Cut me some slack, Cap. I've got a fever." 'We all do. It's ninety eight outside at three in the morning. Are you sure both bay doors are popped?" Hank interjected. "Wide open, Cap." said Gage, dragging himself into the light painfully. His regulation night turnout set was being dragged behind him by their suspender straps with a fist. "And with Boot and Henry guarding the entryways. There's just no wind to make any breeze yet." "That'll change with dawn." Stoker promised as he walked in, wearing his full day uniform. "Aren't you hot?" Chet said, cradling his bowl of water that he had placed on the kitchen table to hug protectively while he scooped water out palmful by palmful to pour over his curly head. Mike just grinned. "Nope. I took a sponge bath with rubbing alcohol." "Smart man." said Roy, joining them as he guided a sleepy Marco into a chair next to Chet. He parked Lopez and then snatched out an ice cream bucket from the freezer. "It's necessary, Cap. He's at 101." he reported. "Here, hug that." he told Lopez as he handed it off. "No, under your shirt, so it's next to your skin." DeSoto ordered grumpily. "Uh,.. I can't think straight." Marco apologized. "I know. That's why we're cooling you down." Roy told him with a sigh. "Pants!" Cap said, without moving from underneath his face slung arm as he tried to doze. "Huh? Oh." DeSoto said unenthusiastically. He blinked away some sweat. Gage covered for him by lifting a set of fingers to his mouth. He blew through them, whistling piercingly. Boot happily trounced in seconds later, pulling DeSoto and Marco's pull ups and boots that had been tied to his collar. Roy collected them and gestured to the bay door. "Go back to guarding, pal. Thanks." Boot barked once and scampered out of the room to his duty. "Clever." grinned Mike. "About time he started pulling his own weight." Kelly bubbled, still smearing water lovingly over his face and head. Nobody yelled at him for getting water on the floor. Johnny eyeballed Cap. "Marco's not sick, Cap. He's just..." "...boiling in my skin. Who would have thought a Mexican like me could get a sun burn. Ouch!" Lopez complained when Roy felt his face again with an assessing back of a hand. "Will he need supplies and a report?" Hank asked. "Burn salve? Nah. He's got nothing that a little time won't cure. No blisters anywhere." Roy shared. "Don't I wish this was fire caused." Lopez groaned. "Then I'd get a sick day to go jump in the neighbor's pool." "There's always standing under the hose tower. The lines are still dripping." Stoker offered, smelling water and concrete wafting through the kitchen door he had propped open. "What about the mosquitoes?" Kelly asked, pointing at it. "They can't see where we are. The air's the same temperature as us." Stoker told him. Gage laughed from where he was draped over and hugging the coolish table top with alternating cheeks and his forehead. "My kingdom for an A/C." Cap whined, curling a few steaming toes. "Inadequate budget." Chet countered. "Remind me to burn McConikee's hat again A.S.A.P. in protest." Cap ordered neatly. "We could always blow off a few fire extinguishers on your chair, Cap. That'll freeze it up in a pico for a couple of hours." "Shush.. That's custom leather, Stoker." Gage chided. "Bite your tongue." "I'm sorely tempted to say yes." Hank said, holding up a finger. "But.. the other shifts would kill me for cracking the Corinthian throne." "Tell them you found a rubber snake in it and thought it was real." Kelly suggested. "You can blame me then." Hank just snorted and continued to suffer silently. Soon quiet reigned as the gang continued to sizzle like bacon on the outside. Finally, Chet echoed what they were all thinking. "Man, this is going to be one long, hot summer." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Chet grinning from the couch. Photo: Boot begging on the floor. Photo: Roy and Marco standing in the kitchen. Photo: Cap sitting in his chair. Photo: The station at night. Photo: The gang sitting around the kitchen table. ******************************************************* From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Subject: Jaded Sent: Sat 8/10/13 10:52 PM The tones went off. ## *EEEeee oh OOOoooooo* Squad 51. Woman down. 425 West Burbank. 425 West Burbank. Cross street Alameda. Time out: 0335. ## DeSoto and Gage pulled on their pull up trousers and boots and made for the door. Roy turned and shouted a request. "Kelly. Keep that on Marco. Make him eat some if you have to!" he said about the ice cream bucket chilling out his sunburn fever through his chest and abdomen. "I hate vanilla." Lopez groaned, growing uncomfortable with the frozen ice cream in contact with his skin. "Tough." barked Cap. "Will do. Will listen." promised Cap, picking up the handy talkie he was clutching with a hand while he dozed. "Roll with your windows down. Should be cooler." Bark! Bark! said Henry and Boot as they greeted the paramedics jogging for the squad in the apparatus bay. "To the wall, boys!" DeSoto ordered them with a sweeping gesture towards the county map hanging by the office. The two dogs dutifully moved aside. They began sitting to let the squad out. Roy called in their reply. "Squad 51. 10-4, KMG 365." on the radio mike inside the squad cab. Gage looked into his rear view mirror as they pulled left onto the boulevard. "Huh, would you look at that. They're not even going to chase us to the foot of the driveway tonight." "Would you?" Roy grinned, shaking his helmeted head as the hot breeze roared into the cab as they accelerated. "They're pretty smart for a pair of hot dogs." "I guess." said Gage, turning forward again to watch where they were going. "Our next turn's eight blocks up to the right. I think it's gonna be a house on the corner." he said, sighing as the hot wind began to dry at least some of the sweat pouring down his face. "Maybe they'll have air conditioning." he hoped. DeSoto chuckled, moving over to the slow lane on 223rd Street. "We won't be in the house long enough to enjoy any of that. Load and go, remember?" "Maybe we can stall a little if she's not that critical. You know, two I.V.s instead of one, an extra neat bandaging job to plug all of the holes if they're any..." Johnny said wistfully. Roy shook his head in disbelief. "I'll let you hang out in the morgue for a few minutes at Rampart. Will that be cold enough for you?" Soon, they rounded a turn and arrived at their address. Other red flashing lights greeted them through the thick trees. "Say, isn't that Vince?" Johnny said as they hurried to the curbside to park and unload their gear. "Yeah." Roy frowned. "I didn't hear about a police intercept. Did you?" "Nope." Gage answered, quickly pulling out the datascope along with the rolling oxygen apparatus to go along with the red biophone and black I.V. and drug box that Roy was gathering. "Scene must be safe, though, or we would have heard about it from L.A." The two paramedics in T-shirts, suspenders and trouser boots swiftly threaded their way through the dark wooded yard towards the front door that they could see was propped open with a foot stool. It was one of Vince's usual tricks to speed up paramedic arrival times. It seemed like every light was on in the house. A sign that each room had been thoroughly searched for missing people. "Vince?! Whatdiya got?" Johnny hollered as they entered the house. It was blessedly cool inside from central air. Immediately, he and Roy felt their senses sharpen as the cold plastered their wet clothes to their skin, raising goosebumps. It felt wonderful. "Don't know. She's not breathing too hot. We're in the kitchen!" came Howard's shouted reply. They rushed past the stark white, high end furniture to the rustic ranch brick design of the kitchen off the dining room. They spotted Vince using an ambu bag strung from his small car trunk oxygen tank. It looked like he hadn't much time to do anything else except keep his patient alive. Gage quickly set down his equipment and got on the woman's head for a quick carotid pulse quality check. "Any trouble ventilating?" "None. Color was always good. Even when I found her. But she's only fighting maybe one out of every four breaths I'm giving her. Gasps have been sporatic." the policeman reported, keeping the young woman's head back in the correct position with both knees while he bagged her carefully. The woman's skin was damp despite the chill in the house. An unnatural gray pallor paled her elegant Asian features. Johnny reported. "90 and thready." He rubbed a few knuckles into her breast bone, hard. There was no reponse. "No reaction to pain." he said, planning ahead for an airway. He swept two hands quickly along her arms and legs looking for bleeding or other obvious problems. "No wounds or fractures." Then he got back up onto his feet to take another look around the room. "Vince. What was the call that brought you here?" "Domestic disturbance. Neighbors reported some yelling ten minutes ago." Vince told him. "Who was she fighting with?" Roy wondered. "Nothing's broken or out of place." he said. "Maybe the guy left." Johnny said, continuing his search for evidence while Roy opened the woman's silk blouse and patched her in to a cardiac monitor. "I don't think anybody else was here. Dispatcher said this gal's the sole house owner. Unmarried." Vince added. "A break-in?" Gage wondered. "Doesn't fit. All the windows are intact. I had to break down the front door when I spotted her on the floor." answered the policeman. "It was still chain latched." "She's getting brady but it's still regular." DeSoto reported, turning the EKG monitor screen up so Johnny could see it while Gage rapidly investigated the kitchen's counters, cabinets, and sink. "Huh. Air conditioners aren't furnaces, so fumes are out." Johnny said, making sure the gas stove and oven wasn't turned on. Then DeSoto saw it on the window sill. "Johnny. Over there above the sink. A pill bottle. Looks like it's empty." Gage hurried over and swept the brightly printed floral curtains aside to snatch it up. "Name's Anabelle Tanaka." he said, reading its label. "Prescription for Valium. A week old. Twenty tabs." "Matches the photo I.D. I found in her wallet." said Vince, keeping on giving breaths to the girl through the bag. A girl's photo matched the smooth, petite beautiful features they saw on their patient. The only difference was her collapse tangled, sweaty, long hair that had fallen out of a bun that had been kept in order with a jade hair stick. Johnny pulled it out for safety and tossed it aside. The wallet was on the floor next to her head. Roy picked it up and rifled through its pockets. He found a business card to a psychiatrist's crisis line inside of it. "She might have a psych history." DeSoto said, holding up the doctor's card. "Our first guess? Let's go with a probable suicide attempt." Gage's face fell at the chance answer. He placed a hand on her struggling chest to monitor her breathing attempts. "She can't be more than nineteen or twenty. I wonder why she decided to--" "Whoa, that's not right." Vince interrupted, noticing a change in lung resistance. Johnny moved his hand down to her abdomen and stomach and felt sudden knots there. "Roll her over, Vince. She's trying to vomit." Gage warned. "Okay." said Howard quickly, worried. His hands were shaking as he tossed aside the ambu bag to help out. Roy turned on the suction unit on the resuscitator to get it ready for use as Tanaka's stomach began to rock back and forth ominously. They soon had Anabelle on her side. DeSoto bent low and smelled the breath coming out of the purge valve of the tube he began using to clear some frothy debris that was pouring out of her mouth. "Smells like Diazepam." "Oh, d*mn." Vince said under his breath as they worked quickly to get her cleared out and under ventilation again. "Did she choke?" he asked, gagging slightly on the sour odor of stomach acid and partially dissolved pills. "Lungs are clear." Roy said, listening to the limp woman's bare back with a stethscope. "She hasn't been down long. All right. I got it all. Roll her back and Vince, catch up by hyperventilating her for a few breaths. Then fall back to a normal vent rate on her. I'll call it in." Johnny finished cutting away Tanaka's bra from around the EKG electrode patches and wires to prepare for possible CPR. He dried shock perspiration off her torso with a towel and turned on the defibrillator. Then he placed its paddles on her chest and left them resting in place to take a manual reading to back up the automatic one on the screen to get a finer reading. "She's dropping off. Forty six a minute. QT's are looking odd." "It's vaso-vagal. Sorry, Johnny." Roy said as he set up the biophone. "I bumped the back of her throat with the suction tube." "She still might need pacing if that coma sets in any deeper." Gage suggested, planning further ahead. "Good idea. Leave 'em there." said Roy. Then he opened a channel. "Rampart this is Squad 51, how do you read?" ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- At Rampart, Dr. Early noticed the base station light buzzing red with a new transmission arrival. He entered the enclosed glass alcove and pushed the reply button. "Unit calling in please repeat." ##Rampart, this is Squad 51.## "I read you, 51. Go ahead." Early said, reaching for a note pad as Dixie McCall finished a phone call outside at the desk and joined him to listen in. ##Rampart, we have a female in her early twenties around 140 pounds, a victim of apparent benzodiazepine ingestion with no other signs of trauma. She is exhibiting moderate overdose symptoms with a suppressed breathing reflex but with reflexive vomiting. We have the patient's prescription bottle for Valium 10 mg each, with twenty total pills. All are missing. She is under manual ventilation on fifteen liters of O2. Chest is clear. No pain reponse. Pulse is bradycardic and Rampart, she's still hypersensitive to upper airway stimulation cardiovascularly. Stand by for pupillary responses and a strip.## "Standing by, 51." said Joe. Dixie frowned. "Doesn't sound good. Shall I call Respiratory down?" Early nodded. "She's not going to improve until we counteract whatever she's taken. Set up for a gastric lavage." "I'll set up Treatment Five." McCall nodded and left the room. Roy returned to the airwaves. ##Rampart, pupils are sluggish with evidence of nystagmus. We're ready to transmit an EKG.## "Go ahead on an EKG, 51." Early reported. ##This will be Lead II.## DeSoto shared. Early pushed the receive toggle and a paper record began to stream out of the station's biophone receiver unit. He picked up the cardiac strip and read its rhythm. He toggled back to Roy. "51, I concur your finding of bradycardia with prolonged QT intervals. Search the house for any other possible medications. If none are found, start an I.V. of Normal Saline and administer 0.2 mg Flumazenil over 15 seconds. If she doesn't regain consciousness within 45 seconds, administer another dose every sixty seconds up to three attempts. Once she's awake, the effect should last about fifteen minutes. She may return into a highly agitated state, so be ready. You have permission to use restraints.Then transport A.S.A.P. If re-sedation occurs in transit, continue breath support on oxygen but do not intubate. Consider cardiac pacing if her rate falls below thirty with a loss of brachial pulses. We'll try the antidote again in twenty minutes." ##10-4, Rampart. Uh, .2mg Flumazenil / Normal Saline I.V., push every minute until consciousness, or times three. Continue breathing support and necessary cardiac pacing if pulses fall to carotid only during transport.## Roy repeated back. He lifted his head at the sound of a Mayfair's approaching sirens. ##Rampart, our E.T.A is ten minutes.## "10-4, Squad 51." said Joe. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ In the lavish kitchen, Gage nodded that he had heard the orders and began preparing Anabelle's antidote treatment. He kept one eye on her face for signs of airway distress. ::Wow is she pretty.:: he thought. ::I wonder why she's been depressed.:: he wondered again. "Can she really kill herself with these pills?" Vince said, watching the bag he was using to keep the girl breathing. "Not by themselves. Valium takes a while. They would have eventually, but not today." Gage replied, handing over a prepped I.V. solution bag to his partner. "I'll go raid the medicine chest to see if we have to change our game plan. I'll be right back." he promised. Anabelle's body began to tremble even through her unconsciousness and Roy saw sudden goose pimples flush across her skin. Roy leaned a little closer into their patient's ear as he began to swab her arm down with alcohol for an I.V. start. "Easy there. Anabelle, I know you can hear me. You're not alone any more. I'm Roy DeSoto, a paramedic your neighbors just called. I'm here with my partner, Johnny Gage, and a very caring police officer named Vince Howard. We're going to wake you up now. Your house is okay. Don't be afraid. I want you to relax and keep taking in that oxygen. In a minute or so, I'll give you a medication that'll make you feel a lot better than you do right now. Don't try to fight us. Nobody's going to hurt you. We're trying to help you. Okay?" He placed a warm hand briefly on the side of her sweat chilled porcelain face. The twitchy movements under her eyelids seemed to ease and slow just a bit. Johnny returned, a little breathless after his rapid search. "There're no other pills. She's extremely healthy judging by the scale of the exercise room I just left. I found just some vitamins and a tube of toothpaste." he said, holding them up. "Good deal." Roy replied. The Mayfair's attendants entered the house with their mattressed cot and paused nearby to await orders. Gage waved them in immediately. "Load her up but cover her with just a sheet. It's too hot outside for blankets." "There's no airway in, fellas, for a reason." Roy also shared when he saw they noticed Anabelle being resuscitated. "She'll start breathing again on her own real soon. We're going to be administering an antidote to Valium once she's safely strapped in." he told them so they wouldn't be surprised if a struggle happened. Vince turned to the Mayfair EMTs. "Could I bum a new E tank off you boys for my next medical call? Mine's almost empty here." "Sure, we'll fill your old one once we get to the hospital." said one of them. "Keep the new one. We keep trading bottles all day anyway." "Don't we have the same suppliers?" Gage asked the three, still fighting being highly distracted by the mystery of their young patient. "Yeah. Northside Medical. For fire, ambulance and police oxygen." the EMT confirmed. As they left the house, Johnny noticed a picture of Anabelle standing with an older, very handsome Oriental lady who was obviously another family member. He snatched up the picture frame and tossed it onto the cot at Anabelle's feet on a whim. He shrugged at Vince about it as the officer locked up her home using her keys he had found in a purse. "I've got a hunch about her." he explained, shrugging half heartedly as he began to sweat in the heat again. Vince nodded. "Maybe it'll help." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Inside the moving Mayfair, Roy DeSoto got the first injection of Flumazenil ready and paused with its needle at Anabelle's I.V. port. He could see the red lights above Johnny, following behind in the squad through the window. A glance at the EKG monitor showed that Tanaka had recovered from her accidental vasovagal heart symptom fully and was ready for Early's prescribed antidote attempt. "Okay, Malcolm. She might wake up very fast and fight us once this takes effect." DeSoto told his EMT helper who was bagging oxygen into the girl's lungs. "I'm set." replied the man, tossing his head at the suction device and at additional cotton lined restraints he had lying neatly over his lap. DeSoto put his mouth near Anabelle's ear. "Anabelle? It's time to open your eyes." he told her. Then he pushed the medication home. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Gage looking worried outside. Photo: Roy looking down, close, treating. Photo: Vince, intent on a scene. Photo: An Asian girl being bag valve resuscitated. Photo: A valium prescription and pill bottle. Photo: A needle stabbing an I.V. port's rubber chamber. Photo: The back of a Mayfair ambulance. ********************************************************************* From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Subject: Shattered Sent: Tue 8/13/13 7:58 AM Back at the station, the rest of the gang kept sniping. "Oh, that's so much better." sighed Marco as he sagged even further down into his wooden chair at the kitchen table as Roy's improvised instant chilling solution took effect. "Are you fine now? Give it here. I'll dish us out some of that." Chet offered with an eager set of gimme fingers. "You can have it back when I'm done." "No." said Marco, hugging the frosty ice cream gallon blissfully. "Go chew some ice cubes." Bark! said Boot entering the kitchen. He sat down at Kelly's feet and started licking his chops with measured patience. "Cap." sighed Kelly as he blinked away cool water dribbling down his face. "Whose turn is it for dog chores duty today?" "Uhhhh, that would be me." Hank admitted, absently scratching an itch under his boxers' waist band with a thumb. "I'll get out a Rival in a bit. I think I'm finally getting comfortable." he yawned, his face damp with perspiration. "Two cans, Cap." Stoker reminded. "Uhhh,... Why two?" asked Stanley, still a bit sleepy from the heat. "That's over budget." "We now have two dogs. Did you forget already?" Kelly asked him. "Boot wandered in yesterday. Looks like he's going to be staying a while, too. I saw the bed he's already made using all of our mop heads in the closet. "Hey, Cap. You want a date with this? Your memory's foggy." asked Lopez, holding up the ice cream bucket. "You did order us to keep an eye on each other in a medical watch." "Fine. I did say that and yeah, I know I need some icing." snapped Cap irritably, getting up from his recliner. "But only after I feed the mutt." "Mutts." Chet corrected. "Mangy mascots..." grumbled Hank as he stomped over to the cupboard in his bare feet to get out the cans of horse meat. "Who eats at three thirty in the morning?!" "Cap.. heh. We d- " began Chet, grinning hugely. "No, don't answer that. I walked right into it." Stanley retorted, rubbing his face as his own stomach growled in hunger. "Resident firefighter's stomach speaks sooth." chuckled Mike Stoker from where he was reading the newspaper in a mock headline announcement. Chet nudged around Cap's elbow and under the cabinet door Stanley had opened to reach the freezer to grope into an ice tray. He thoughtfully drew out a cube and tossed it into his mouth. "Can we ditch the T-shirts and bunker pants at night for a while?" "Do you feel like sleeping in your day uniform and ironing out the wrinkles on the run so the public doesn't see them and lodge a formal complaint to the chief about sloppy looking firefighters?" Stanley shot back. "That's better than having a bunch of roasting ones." Chet shrugged, crunching ice hopefully. "We already stink." Hank's eyes blistered. "Kelly, go take a shower if you smell. A very cold one." "Cap, what about the water restric--" "Now!" Kelly slunk out of the room, edging around the happy, scampering pair of dogs. Boot and Henry danced excitedly with enthusiastically wagging tails as they smelled supper being served. They paused only long enough to pounce and hitch a ride on the bunker pants Chet morosely dragged behind himself as he disappeared from view. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dr. Brackett joined Joe Early in the enclosed base station. "Anything exciting?" he asked, yawning, as he ruffled his silver hair in fatigue. The day's heat related jump in patients had succeeded in filling Rampart's Emergency Department and tiring out the whole staff involved in their care. "Possible pill popper. Nothing major. They got to her in time." Dr. Early reported. He sighed and sipped his iced coffee. "Sometimes I wonder what the world's coming to with the suicide rates this month. Do you think it's because of the Conflict?' "Vietnam? Probably. It's unnerving to think journalists and reporters have brought that kind of thing into our living rooms via TV sets. Makes me sick." Kel said. "Dr. Morton said pretty much the same thing yesterday." Joe said ruefully. "Where is he tonight?" Kel wondered, reading over the notes Joe had taken on 51's young patient. "He's busy recertifying." Early said. "Oh?" Brackett said with surprise, both eyebrows raising. "Not for us." Joe clarified with a smile. "For--" "Doctors.." said Dixie, peeking her head into the room. "The scanner's going off. Something's up. Might be big." "Where?" asked Brackett, his face growing serious. "On the piers off Terminal Island. I don't know all of the details yet." McCall replied. "Keep on it. If this is a mass casualty incident, I want to know about it." said Kel. "Oh, and Joe, five's set for you." "Thanks, Dix." said Dr. Early on the update. Dixie nodded, getting back to her desk and the county wide monitor. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The lights and sirens of the Mayfair shattered the steamy night neighborhood's quiet as they traveled quickly to their drop off at Rampart General Hospital. DeSoto tossed away his empty syringe of antidote into the sharps bin at his shoulder. Then he took hold of Anabelle's upper arms firmly in cautious preparation. "Anabelle? Can you hear me? Take a breath for us." he ordered loudly. Malcolm's ambu bag had delivered another hissing ventilation to the girl under his hands when it happened. Both of the young woman's legs shot up underneath the cot's safety straps and her back arched up as the sedative in her system swiftly reversed. Anabelle sucked in a huge bubbling gasp and let out an animal shriek as she began to struggle blindly against Roy and the EMT's grip on her. "No, no... Anabelle! Don't fight us. You're just a little groggy because you're waking up." DeSoto said to her. Blood began to ooze out the corner of Tanaka's mouth onto her contorting face as she suddenly bit the inside of her cheek underneath tightly pressed lips. Her panic began to intensify at the taste of iron. Her struggles grew more violent when she realized that it was the smell of blood. Breathing became huge and painful. "Is this a seizure?" asked Malcolm, throwing himself on Anabelle's head to keep her airway open as she fought for breath. Roy shook his head, grunting with effort. "She's angry as h*ll. These are withdrawal symptoms. Pull over!" DeSoto yelled to the driver. They fought to keep the girl's bucking body on the cot. Then he snapped out orders. "Keep her airway clear of that blood, Mal." "When I can." said the man, trying to get a wrapped tongue depressor in between Anabelle's cheek and gums to get a space wide enough for a suction tube. The Mayfair screeched to a quick halt along a curbside. DeSoto heard the squad's siren fall away as Gage flicked it off and pulled up behind them. Seconds later, his partner snatched open the rear doors. "What do you got?" "Abscission! Half awake! Watch her I.V. line!" Roy grimaced, his hands already full. Johnny shouted as he grabbed the effected arm. "Anabelle! Stop moving around! Listen to us. You're in an ambulance!" he yelled, protecting the catheter in her vein. The arm board Roy had used had dislodged. Gage used a knee to pin her hand down as he rebound its ties over her upper arm and forearm to keep plastic from breaking off into her bloodstream. Tanaka suddenly flipped onto her side with super human strength and two seconds later, it was as if a light had flicked on. Her rage turned to instant mortification and surprise as full awareness of what she was doing returned. The picture framed photo Johnny had tossed onto her feet for reference flew off the cot and shattered on the floor of the Mayfair. The unexpected sound of breaking glass made Anabelle suck in a hard won breath. Then she began to hold it as her face paled. It was fear. Roy and Malcolm immediately let go of their patient and took steps to put a new oxygen mask on her face. They watched as agonizing clarity and a very recent mental memory returned. The girl quickly opened her leaking amber colored eyes. Johnny climbed off the cot, gasping in the heat that had been let into the Mayfair from its open doors. He realized what he was seeing on her face was actually intense grief. "Annabelle? What-?" "....grandma... oh, ....Nai Nai.. Why did you leave me? Why did you have to die?...." she cried, coughing on the trickle of blood she had caused. And then the real flood of tears came. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Johnny Gage rushing to the back of a Mayfair. Photo: Roy and Johnny treating a woman in an ambulance. Photo: A girl being bag valve mask resuscitated. Photo: A Mayfair ambulance attendant, Malcolm. Photo: Dixie, Joe and Kel at the base station at Rampart. Photo: Stoker, Chet and Cap looking dubious in kitchen chairs. Photo: Chet looking irritated in the kitchen at the station. *************************************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Subject: Hot and Cold Sent: Thu 8/22/13 9:18 AM Roy and Johnny wheeled Annabelle efficiently into Treatment Room Five, led there by Dixie at a brisk walk. The young Asian woman lay quietly on the gurney with Malcolm supporting her airway with a palm's light grip lifting up her jaw. Joe Early raised an eyebrow at their switch to a non-rebreather mask. He and the respiratory therapist set up next to him exchanged looks of relief. "How's she doing?" Early asked as he waved over Toxicology to get a blood sample from the I.V. line. Roy looked up from moving her I.V. to a hospital pole. "She's compensating. But she's in and out. We dosed her times two. Her pressure and her rhythm are holding. 90 systolic and SR, regular at 54. We didn't have to pace. But she did struggle waking up at the beginning. She's bitten the inside of her cheek or her tongue a bit. The bleeding's stopped." Gage eyed up Dixie ruefully. "We found out the reason why." he shared. Roy held up their H.T. still turned to a police channel. "She just lost her grandmother three days ago. Apparently, the two were living in that hillside mansion by themselves. Vince also found out for us that Annabelle was apparently raised by her. Might explain a lot." "Thanks." Early nodded, moving to the sweaty woman's head to take a look at the collatoral damage inside of her mouth with a tongue depresser. "Do you need us any more?" Johnny asked Joe, his eagerness to leave the room betrayed by stiffly executed professionalism. He passed over the emptied prescription bottle bearing Tanaka's name, also taking the radio from Roy as DeSoto gathered up their medical gear. Early shook his head and gestured to the two orderlies and a security guard waiting discreetly by a wall. "We've got it handled." The presence of the guard startled Johnny a bit. But then the necessity of it quickly sank in. Roy leaned into Annabelle and spoke once more into her ear. "Annabelle, these people will take very good care of you. Don't you worry. You're safe now." The semi-conscious girl didn't react through her recovery stupor. Johnny turned back as he and Roy opened the door to leave. He pressed the shattered portrait frame of Annabelle and her grandmother into Dixie's hands. "This is hers. I... thought we were going to need it to find her next of kin. It broke on the way in during the fight." DeSoto sighed softly, his eyes both worried and empathetic. "Could you tell her we're sorry for her loss?" "I will." McCall promised, softly caressing the web of cracked glass over the photograph. "I'll have this sent to Psych, after we get her admitted, to put into her room." The two paramedics didn't hear Joe snapping out orders to the support staff as they stabilized Annabelle and got her set for a gastric lavage. The door closed shut behind them. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Once in the hallway, Gage and Roy stopped at the usual water fountain alcove but they didn't drink. Their minds were still very much on their recent patient. Johnny fingered the antennae on their handy talkie. "I know I've said it in the past, but being on that call just now, drives it home real bad." "You mean how you feel about going on peds runs?" Roy asked. Gage nodded painfully. DeSoto sighed again, glancing back at the door. "I can see how. She almost could be child-like. She's not very big for her age. She's about the same age as my d--" he broke off, uncomfortable with the comparison and the corollation. "Yeah." Johnny agreed. "But your daughter's not the one who's suicidal. Maybe that's what made it worse for me this time, the fact that Annabelle decided to be that way, so fast." "Johnny, we don't know her previous mental history. Don't blame yourself for something someone else did on their own. You know they're going to hold her for evaluation for at least 72 hours. That will give the psychologist team and the grief counselor a good block of time to figure out exactly how emotionally stable she is. She won't be permitted to try again." Gage shifted unhappily and looked at the floor. "Hey. It's okay. Maybe we can stop by to see how she's doing later on." Roy said, absently studying the oxygen apparatus and the drug box he carried in his hands. Not saying anything, Gage abandoned the wall and started heading back towards the squad at first. Then he changed his mind and pointed towards the nurse's lounge. The idea of getting coffee, at any temperature, was suddenly overwhelmingly appealing. Roy followed him eagerly. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Twenty minutes later, the gastrointestinal team had finished pumping out Annabelle's stomach, completing the treatment that saved her life. "Stay with her until we get the second set of lab results." Early told McCall. Then he left. Dixie busied herself around her newest patient, gathering up damp towels and procedure wrappers and general tidying up. All the while, she kept a soothing expression on her face for Tanaka's benefit as she woke up bit by bit and began blinking blearily up at the overhead light. The young woman didn't even question the loosened cotton restraints still wrapped around her wrists. "So I'm not dead." she said dead pan. "Did you really want to be?" McCall asked her softly, wiping away some blood from the girl's cheek with a cool towel. This brought a spate of tears and Annabelle suddenly looked down at her hands. An attempt to fidget with her nails was brought up short by the cloth manacles sharply. Their reality seemed to stun Annabelle then. Sharp distress filled her features. "I'm so sorry!" she sobbed. "I didn't mean.. I..I.. didn't-- Oh, G*d. What did I try to do to those firefighters and that police officer? They were only trying to help me." Dixie drew up a stool and sat down by her side. A subtle backwards glance was enough to send the security guard and the orderlies out of the room. Once they were alone, Dixie took Annabelle's hand. "Absolutely nothing. The only one hurt was yourself. And that was just a side effect of the Valium being counteracted in your blood stream. I'm sure they knew you weren't being violent intentionally." "Wasn't I?" Annabelle glared tearfully. "I was trying to commit the worst disgrace anyone in my family has ever tried. I tried to kill myself. Smother my own soul." she choked, terrfied. "Nai Nai will never forgive me." "Heyyy." Dixie said. "You're sick with grief, Annabelle. This was just a stupid, impulsive reaction to suddenly losing family. We never think straight when that happens. You'll work this out. Maybe not today, but soon, after you're back on your feet." Tanaka screwed her eyes shut tightly, sobbing. "I can't see how." "We'll help you learn how. All we have to do is talk about it." Dixie smiled. "Now can you sit up a little? That might help your breathing improve even faster." Tanaka sighed, and then she took that first active step on the way to healing. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dr. Brackett had abandoned his office, what he had learned from the active scanner was dire. He quickly gathered around the E.R. desk with a group of interns and orderlies. "The nurses are all tied up with the day's patients. Here's the scoop. They've got a navy jet exercise that backfired. Two planes collided in mid air. One crashed into the sea. The other plowed into the beach. But not before it took out a shipping pier. Fire Department Headquarters is still in its initial response stages, rolling out its people. I want this whole department expedited to Condition Orange. A.s.a.p.! Grab everything you can and get it ready!" he ordered. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Out at the main E.R. entrance, Roy and Johnny were still belting in, when Squad 51 got its call. ##Squad 51, This is L.A.. Are you available for a response?## "L.A, Squad 51. We're available." said Gage, mentally kicking himself for not clearing them status wise a little sooner. ##Squad 51, Engine 51, Station 127, Foam 127, ..Aviation accident near the Gerald Desmond Bridge. Explosion and fire with casualties. At the intersection of Long Beach Freeway, SR-710, and Terminal Island, Port of Long Beach. The Coast Guard and Station 110 have been dispatched to assist. Meet Battalion One at Incident Command on Pier Two. Time out: 4:06.## "Squad 51, 10-4. Our E.T.A. from Rampart, twelve minutes." Gage replied when there was a radio transmission gap. They heard Cap's tired voice come over the speaker as he, too, acknowledged the call. ##Engine 51, responding, KMG 365.## "Chet's probably freaking out. A pier fire in full turnout and scba? In this heat?" Roy grinned as the two of them put on their helmets. "Yeah. I just hope Marco's okay. He's barely had time to cool down from our last fire call." Gage agreed. "Let's hope Rest and Recovery has a good set up this time around. It wasn't their fault the water ran out." DeSoto said, glancing at his partner as they quickly pulled onto the night blackened boulevard with full lights and sirens. "Maybe we'll get to do a little ocean swimming." Johnny hoped. "In that water?" Roy eyed him up, incredulous. "Sure. It's cold, isn't it?" Johnny smiled, leaning up against the wide open window. "Relatively speaking. The nuclear plant's right there. Have you forgotten? All of the piers in that neighborhood are surrounding a hot discharge pond." Roy insisted. The smile on Johnny's face instantly fell. "D*mn it. We just can't win today, can we?" he said suddenly serious and irritated. Roy didn't say anything at all, concentrating on the road flowing before them. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: A crying Japanese woman. Photo: Roy and Johnny looking serious at Rampart. Photo: Dixie looking down with concern. Photo: Joe Early in a treatment room. Photo: Fireboat 110 on the water. Photo: Station 51 responding down a freeway. Photo: A night pier fire, boats burning, with water cannon plumes. ***************************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Subject: Out of the Fire Into The Flames... Sent: Sat 11/09/13 7:24 AM Tense minutes passed as Roy and Johnny listened to the buzz of radio transmissions tangling themselves around their call to gain more clues about what they'd be facing. "That's a relief. We're not going to be first in." Gage resigned himself to listing off possible scene complications he knew they might be encountering as the hot wind from their open windows snagged his shirt. "Magnesium fires..." Roy countered. "Sea water nearby to control them or push them away from the pilots. Surviving jet's on the beach." he reminded. "Okay. How about the shipping pier? Unknown bills of laden, fumes." Gage frowned, ticking off the possibilities on heat sweaty fingers. "SCBA with our extra bottles lined up next to our medical supplies. If we're lucky, we'll be doing triage as paramedics and not as full out firefighters with initial search and rescue." DeSoto planned ahead while he hoped for an easier outcome for them. "They know how busy we've been the last shift or two. Keep drinking water." he prompted, sucking down a whole water bottle from the crate they had buckled in on the floor between them beneath the radio. He still drove deftly, peering around it skillfully while he drank it dry and then reached for another. Gage's face flashed a surprise. "Water? Oh, yeah. I know I am, but I don't feel thirsty." Johnny admitted. "That's because you're still coming down from Annabelle. An overdose reversal like that would disturb anybody. Your adrenalin always stays longer than mine." "Mine's been high all week." Gage groaned, cracking open a water bottle and just sipping it. "Crazy calls. Hot fires. Too many calls. This drought." Roy glared at him convincingly. "Guzzle it. We're losing three times more hydration than we think we are." Johnny finally smiled. "Brackett's mantra?" "In a pinch. Before one or both of us gets pinched by being stupid because of a hotter than H*ll summer on top of the job." DeSoto added with weight. "Heaven forbid. A sign of weakness before the chief or Cap? That'll keep all of us smart." Johnny laughed. "I'll park near R and R before we check in and get ourselves deployed. That way their folks can do a preliminary once over on us for the skinny on how we're doing condition wise." "Outside eyes, Roy. I like that idea." Gage sighed, wiping heavy perspiration from his brow. "It's hard to think straight today." Roy nodded in agreement as Squad 51's sirens crackled in the heat. He squinted painfully when even the red lights of the overhead Twin Sonic on the dark pavement seemed too harsh to handle. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Squad driving down the freeway at night. Photo: Flames burning on concrete. Photo: L.A. Headquarters dispatcher pushing 51's call button. Photo: Roy and Johnny driving the squad with helmets on, windows down. ************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sun 12/01/13 1:05 AM Subject: The Other Kind Of Hot.. Captain Stanley peered out his window on the Ward and into the darkness. They moved towards Staging as Mike Stoker turned off its sirens to keep listening ability intact for responders already on scene. Through the star burst of Fire Boat 110's and a coast guard cutter's search lights combing the area, he could see moderate smoke rising off a recently wrecked pier near a naval ship. A protruding tail of a crashed navy jet was embedded into the pier structure itself from a subterranean loading chamber underneath it. Very little additional damage was visible. "That other one's a fatality, Cap." his engineer reported, aiming a spotlight at a rainbow smear of oil and jet fuel spreading on the surface of the ocean at the end of the pier. Bits and pieces of a second plane, all smaller than suitcase size were getting tossed about in the waves while the Coast Guard sent in two divers in bright orange to investigate. Noticeable was a crushed and bloody flight helmet,trailing communication wires among the floating, tumbling debris. There were no bubbles marring the stain's widening center visible in the flashing red lights of other fire vehicles pulling up quickly alongside them. "No air left." Hank muttered. "All right. Everybody out. Gear up with full scba and torches. Then report to Accountability. No doubt we'll be getting our assignment orders from there. Mike, keep her running hot. Let's start dragging out all our medical gear and air bottles for whoever needs them in future." Stoker nodded as he put the engine in park and turned off all lights except for proximity flashers. He jumped down to the ground and was jolted seconds later when Marco, landing next to him, stumbled out of balance."You okay, Marco?" he asked, steadying the Mexican firefighter. "Yeah, just lost my balance for a second on a rock." he replied, bending over and picking up what he had stepped on with a gloved hand. Chet Kelly joined them in a similar leap, pulling on his air bottle harness. "Piece of the pier. Must have been one h*ll of a crash for that second fighter pilot." Captain Stanley sniffed the air. "I'm not smelling any fuel spilling over there. If the tanks emptied out, there should be at least something coming upwind." "Nothing." reported Stoker as he read the glowing panel of a gas detector he had retrieved to backup Hank's theory. "Let's count our blessings, Cap." Lopez remarked, carefully placing the debris chunk back where he found it for future investigators. "Maybe that fire around the crash site's just a pile of burning crates." "Black smoke." Mike observed. "More than just wood. Probably organics." Chet's stomach felt sick at the possibility of any casualties who didn't make it. "We'll find somebody to rescue." he spat, bolstering his resolve in the heat of the night that was stifling with humidity because they were near the water. "Quit being such a downer, Stoker, you're ruining my perfect night." Hank moved a short distance away to prevent feedback squelch in all of their radios. Taking in a deep breath, he pulled up his HT antennae and hit his talk toggle. "L.A, Engine 51's on scene at Staging." ## Engine 51. Arrival at 23:06 hours.## replied San Lanier at Headquarters. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- At Rampart Hospital, Joe Early and Dixie McCall had left Annabelle Tanaka in the care of psychologists and the psychiatric doctors on the Psych floor. She was no longer in medical danger. "I hope she gets over it." said Dixie to Joe as they arrived at the E.R. main desk. McCall immediately reached over for the ever present coffee pot that was there, tucked in behind the EKG receiving station. She poured mugs for two and offered him one. "I'd hate to think this is the start of a tragic trend for someone so young." "Hard to say." said Early. "She's in a tough spot. If her grandmother was for sure her last surviving family member, things are going to be difficult to cope with for a long time yet." "She's not that strong, Joe." Dixie said, fingering the rim of her coffee cup. "I got that impression very clearly. She picked up that picture of herself and her grandmother, and wouldn't let it go, even during her lavage care." Early pursed his lips as he eyed up the county radio that was chattering above where Kel Brackett was standing as he wrote down notes on the latest alert bulletin broadcasting from the fire department channels. "She was intelligent enough to know what she did was really stupid, fresh out of unconsciousness, Dix. Nobody I know who's ever been genuinely suicidal feels that way so fast." he shared, taking a savored sip of his coffee. "She'll snap out of it, most likely, before she tries to harm herself again." Dixie lofted her coffee mug. "To Annabelle." she sighed. Joe matched her uncharacteristic toast soberly. "Save some for the rest of us, guys. Looks like it's going to be a long night." grumbled Kel. The dark haired doctor turned down the county radio a notch and held up a brand new triage organization slate. "Getting hotter by the minute here. And I'm not talking about the weather." he declared. "What's happened?" Dixie asked. "I heard the administrators put us on Orange Alert over the intercom." Kel nodded. "A pair of navy jets pier crashed fifteen minutes ago. There are complications." Joe puzzled. "Two pilots.." Then he snapped his fingers in an idea. "Ground casualities?" "Some, they think." Dr. Brackett said. "But the fire department hasn't entered the hot zone yet for some reason despite there being an active fire." "They haven't? I wonder why?" asked Dr. Early. "Who knows? Not my job to worry about it." Kel replied, grabbing up his own mug for coffee. Joe kept on rubbing the many rings on his fingers as he considered the possibilities. He ignored his hard won coffee. Dixie just rolled her eyes and scoffed at him. "Don't waste energy by wondering. We're always the last ones to get any kind of straight answers from County. Drink up, or you'll regret it later." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "We're here." said Gage when he spotted a dim rosy glow filling the roadway. "It's to the left." Roy let himself be guided by newly dropped cherry flares to the place in Staging set aside for paramedic and ambulance units. "I don't see the Engine." he said. "It's too foggy with all of this steam coming off of the water." "Doesn't matter. We can hear them." Johnny said, hefting up their radio mike. "L.A., Squad 51 at scene." ##Squad 51. Arrival at 23:11 hours. Chief McConnikee relays an order. Report to R and R for a pre-engagement assessment.## "10-4, L.A.. Squad 51 copies R and R order." Johnny replied, neating hanging the mic back onto its spigot. "Something tells me that this'll be the best thing going for us for days." Roy deftly put the rescue truck in park and got out, following Johnny towards the tent they could see erected by a pumper truck filling a wading pool from an open valve. "We're not alone. Whatever told you that many hands won't make for a light load?" "That did." Gage gestured to the sign-in table. "He's not smiling." Johnny said, pointing a glove towards the Accountibility Officer seated there. "Last time that happened, we ended up working a brush fire for forty eight hours straight." "I remember. Let's hope you're wrong." DeSoto sighed. The two paramedics took off their helmets and set them down onto the table, displaying their number. Then they both handed over one of two metal tags that were attached to their turnout jackets next to their small halligan tool. "Johnny Gage." "Roy DeSoto." they announced. The young, tense faced lieutenant eyed up the green numbers on their helmet plates. "Paramedics. Okay, thanks. That makes eight so far all total. Go on inside. There's a doc waiting to speak to you." said the curly haired officer. Johnny startled. "What about?" "I'm not the one who can tell you. Next!" said the fireman, gesturing for another team of arriving paramedics to hurry up into the growing line. "Okay, yeah. You predicted the big brush off accurately enough." said Roy to Johnny. DeSoto took off his gloves and shoved them into a pocket. Then he unbuttoned his coat as they left the front of the line. "Say, Johnny, are you giving away any of that paranoia? I think I'm getting in the mood." he said. They entered the tent full of recuperation gear and cots after stripping down to their T shirts and uniform pants. Roy blinked in surprise. "Dr. Welby? What are you doing here?" Marcus eyed up his new arrivals. "Doing my job, young man. I'm not just family practice. I'm volunteering my time for a new state run program I developed. Like it?" he said, gesturing around the tent. "It's for unexpected environmental emergencies." he said significantly. It was only then Roy and Johnny noticed that there were more things present around them other than just ice chairs, water bottle cases, and blood pressure cuffs. He immediately recognized a basket of pocket dosimeters and an isolation cubicle being hastily lined in brown paper off to one side by volunteers. DeSoto's face fell from one of greeting to one instantly sobered. "Oh, no. For that ship out there?" "Yes." said the kindly balding doctor. "It's got a nuclear reactor on board that's in sudden alarm mode." "How bad?" Gage frowned, taking a seat on a stool near a nurse who began taking his vital signs they knew were necessary before deployment. Roy took a second stool by Johnny for a similar exam, just listening quietly with tight focus. Another doctor nearby replied. It was Doctor Steven Kiley, Dr. Welby's business practice partner. "Nobody knows yet. They're checking it out from a distance with geiger counters. We've got some time to kill." Steve told them. "There are a few navy officers on the ship who are relaying to the fire department I.C. about what they have going on. Not much is known yet. But what we do know is changing how we're going to tackle this. None of it's pretty. Here, clip these to your shirt pockets." said the tall, dark eyed M.D, handing out a pair of chrome dosimeters. "About chest high. Just in case." Marcus angled his head. "Once we reaffirm that you're not already dehydrated or compromised by all this heat in some other way, you'll be joining the first-in team in the yellow zone. Are you prepared to accept the additional risks?" Gage swallowed dryly. "I didn't sign on with the department with exceptions listed, Doc." Roy equally acknowledged that he had been informed to the letter of the law. "I understand the nature of this current incident. I'm still a go." he said seriously, trying not to think of his wife and children. The two nurses attending the paramedics both nodded at Dr. Welby as they took off their stethoscopes, signaling that they had found no problems on either firefighter. "Sign here." a new, stocky, blond haired nurse said pleasantly, holding out a slate of signatures already signed on a form that had a radiation symbol stamped in yellow and black at the top. It was Nurse Consuelo Lopez. "It's a consent form. We've just cleared you for work." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Photo: Cap talking on his HT at night. Photo: A burning car at night. Photo: A Battalion Chief near an Accountability table at night. Photo: Dr. Marcus Welby in a close up. Photo: A downed fighter jet on a beach. Photo: A pier at night. Photo: Nurse Consuelo Lopez holding a chart. Photo: Dr. Steven Kiley looking serious. Photo: Johnny Gage looking less than happy. Photo: Roy looking concerned at night. Photo: Firefighters pouring foam on a jet fire at night. Photo: Mike Stoker looking startled in the engine cab. Photo: Coast Guard helicopter search light spotting divers in water. ************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Wed 2/12/14 2:39 PM Subject: Sizzle And Bake Roy DeSoto and Johnny Gage left the staging medical clinic tent wearing new red metal tags hooked to their jacket fronts off of buckles. "Don't I feel special?" Gage said, grasping his radiation assignment marker. "Tell me again why we're doing this." "Ask me tomorrow, Johnny. Maybe then I can come up with a real good answer to that." Roy replied, licking equally dry lips. He passed off a couple of foiled wrapped water bottles to his partner from a knapsack that Dr. Kiley had given them to take with them. "What's this?" the dark haired paramedic asked. "Iodine solution. Potable, I hope." Roy sighed. "This stuff never is." Gage made a face, but immediately started guzzling. "I hope it works." "Your thyroid's going to be happy. Never fear." DeSoto quipped seriously as he chugged down his own preventative measure. "Well, at least there's a good reason for my nausea now besides the heat." Gage tried to smile. "It's okay to be scared. I definitely am." Roy said truthfully, gripping his partner's shoulder in comfort and bonding. Gage covered the grip with one of his own gratefully. "We'll both stay sharp." Johnny promised under his breath as real fear began to pour into his boots almost faster than his sweat was already doing. The two paramedics didn't anse on gearing up into full scba. They soon joined Engine 51 to face the assignment that Cap invariably had for them already from the I.C. "Cap?" DeSoto shouted through his air mask as they left Squad 51 behind, carrying all of their medical gear. Hank turned around wearing his own, steamed heavily from his breath. "The fire's out. The only unknown danger now is instability. There's no one on the pier. That smell was from charred food from the hotdog stand the jet hit when it crashed. A Coast Guard helicopter spotter says that naval ship's hull has been torn open towards the stern and that the plane is lying half inside and half out of it on the beach beneath the pier. Go in and see if the pilot's alive. You have exactly ten minutes. Then bug back out here to the yellow zone for decontamination. If your handy talkies fail in the heat, use light signals with flashlights. Stoker's got them ready." "Right, Cap." Gage said, abandoning their paramedic gear at his feet. "Good luck, guys." said Mike, clipping a torch and holster to each of their air bottle harnesses. He followed up with a pair of lifelines tied around their waists. "It looks pretty smoky over there so feel your way in. Tug if you lose sight of where to go and we'll reel you back in to try another access point." "What's the second one?" "Through the water." Chet told him, motioning like a fish. "Oh, great." Gage said. "No wonder Fireboat 110's out there." he said, eyeballing the crew anchored safely upwind of the pier. "Anything on the reader?" Roy asked Marco, who had out a USAR issued Geiger counter. "Slightly above background. Some might be leftovers from the brush fire dust from last week." he mentioned hopefully, turning up the crackle sound on the monitor so they could hear it. He showed the face of it to Johnny because he knew Gage wanted to see it. The needle was jumping to three times normal whenever the wind gusted the fading smoke between them all and the trucks. "So far so good." Johnny nodded at Lopez. "Rig up our supplies into a stokes onto our navigation line. We'll take it once we find the pilot. Leave the biophone. It won't work in this stuff." he said, waving a careless glove into the air about the rising cloud of radiation. "We'll figure out what kind this is in a few minutes." Cap promised. "We're establishing a better connection with the sailors aboard that ship by phone. They'll meet up with you on the inside with all their information about it. Let us know." Roy nodded and together he and Johnny walked through the water curtain that had been raised to keep the yellow zone protected from any potential harsh fallout from the rapidly dissipating smoke at the crash point. Haze made it difficult to see. All Gage was aware of was the red glow from the sea of fire engines assigned to the incident and the soft give of the sooty sand beneath his feet. The slowly growing drag from his lifeline was increasing around his waist as his rope became soaked in seawater from the ocean rain Fireboat 110 was providing for them from a water cannon as another layer of protection from unleashed nuclear energy. He coughed, sucking in another clean breath of canned air as he leaned forward to compensate. A large shadow loomed suddenly over his head and made him stop in his tracks. He grabbed for Roy's tank that was in front of him in the dim light to stop him as well. "We're here. Watch your head!" he shouted. "Something sounds loose!" A low creaking could just be heard over the sound of sirens and marine boats responding to the rescue to their left. They edged away from it to the right, still fog blind, with their arms held out in front of them, feeling for obstacles that they knew were going to be there. Roy's hands smacked into a barnacle encrusted pier leg. "I got the first one. Stay behind me." he said, pulling out his flashlight to pierce the added darkness that wooden pier debris had given the night. He aimed it above their heads. "Everything's in one piece up there. Be careful, there's some magnesium in the water the waves haven't washed away yet." Johnny looked down and saw writhing white sparks of effervescent, exploding solid chemical under the water that was swirling around his boot ankles. A strong hiss secondary to the ocean waves began to grow. "I sure hope that's cooling metal I'm hearing and not something else." Roy nodded with exaggeration so he could be seen in the murk. "It is. That's hull sound, not a breached pipe. We're at the ship. This way. I think I see something." Soon, they passed through a yawning hole and into a cargo bay on the listing vessel. Gage's turnout seemed to stick to every pore while he slowly boiled inside of it. ::This is H*ll. Worse than any fire.:: he thought. ::Is that because I can't see what's reaching out for us?:: Johnny imagined the burn of radiation around the margins of his snug air mask, swiping at it subconsciously. "You're fine. Quit figetting." DeSoto said. "We're shielded now. This is a sealed off room. That's the first thing the sailors would have done to keep out all of the water." Johnny still shivered as he quickly drew out his own flashlight as they waded out of the shallow water and headed updeck towards the tail of the jet they could see outlined by the glowing night sky just ahead. Steam was still filling the bay around the crumpled jet. "No wings left. But the fuselage's intact." Roy reported. "There's hope for the pilot." He dragged out his plastic wrapped HT. "HT 51 to Engine 51. We're inside safely." ##10-4, HT 51. We'll keep an eye on the tide. It's just started to come in.## said Hank. His voice was tighter than usual, locked down into one hundred percent all business. DeSoto decided to take comfort in it. "Noted. What's our time?" ##Six minutes, twenty two seconds gone. Exactly. ## Cap warned. "Copy, three thirty eight to grab a victim status." DeSoto replied. Johnny was already out in front, one glove following the curve of the jet's skin towards the cockpit. "Canopy's still attached." he said with surprise. "Head for the underside. There's a hatch there." DeSoto said. "We might be able to force it open and get in that way." A loud bang made both of them duck as the sharp noise echoed around the tilted chamber. It repeated itself. The paramedics' HTs crackled into life, with a transmission heavily static filled. ##Change of plans. Stay onboard ship. Sailors are at your door! They will open their hatch when you knock back!## came Hank's voice weakly. Gage lifted his radio. "Understood. A rendevous. We're at the plane. Stand by!" he shouted, hastening his pace to Roy's side to help pry open the release lever to the jet's underbelly access port. They strained against the pneumatic handle and then it gave way with a sucking sound and the hatch fell open at their touch. Immediately, cooler air cleared away ambient steam from the extinguished fire. Roy and Johnny immediately began shouting. "Hey! Can you hear me?" "Los Angeles County Fire Department!" as they hastened forward on hands and knees. There was no reply from up ahead towards the cockpit. But then Roy saw a running river of red on the floor between their feet. "He's still up there." They shoved their upper bodies carefully into the cockpit space. Roy went for the pilot's helmeted head that the man was still wearing with a high altitude oxygen mask. Johnny went for the source of bleeding. "It's from his side. Looks like a clean cut. Not arterial." he said, applying direct pressure. "Is he awake?" Roy shook his head, keeping a glove on the man's ribcage. "Not breathing so hot here." "Does that thing ventilate?" Gage asked about the oxygen mask. "It can." Roy replied, reaching around the pilot's face in a spine supportive move to reach the manual toggle on the front of its mouthpiece. He hit a button and sent in a bigger breath into the pilot's lungs, while holding the man's jaw forward to get open a better airway. Instant coughing rewarded his efforts in a flutter of bloody gloved hands that grappled with his own. DeSoto leaned forward to the helmeted pilot's ear. "Easy.. you're okay. Suck this in. You've taken in too much old smoke. Don't fight me." A strangled groan bubbled out. Their patient's panicked struggling turned to purposeful motions as the pilot fumbled with his sun visor and flipped it up as he rode out a wild set of recovering gasps with Roy's aid. DeSoto was surprised at the quick return of the pilot's composure. Roy startled as he aimed his flashlight into a sweaty face. A familiar pair of round spectacles in a tawny face greeted him. "Dr. Morton?!" The flight suited intern grabbed Roy's collar with both hands. "Freeze. Don't move. The emergency canopy release is right under your knees, boys. If that goes off, it'll bounce the shell off the ceiling and right back at us." Gage locked into immobility. "Oh, sh*t. I forgot about that." "So did I." mumbled Roy, glancing down. Morton reached out with a shaky glove and flipped the protective dome cage back over the emergency canopy release button. It clicked shut. "I didn't have time to jettison." Johnny dropped his head over the wound he was tending and counted his blessings. Morton used those seconds to gag a bit and cough out left over phlegm. Then he hugged his oxygen mask to his face like his life depended on it as he finally felt his true air hunger. "How are you lungs doing?" DeSoto said, carefully studying Mike's sallow face. "They feel like leather." he croaked. "But they're both working." "Then this isn't a pneumo." Johnny sighed in relief. "What isn't? I'm injured?" Morton tried to crane a look down towards Johnny in the tight space. "Yeah, don't you feel it?" Gage asked. Mike suddenly curled up in agony as his brain and nerves finally made the usual connection, as Morton came out of shock. "AAhhh..hh.. Is it penetrating?" "I can't tell yet." Johnny replied. "You've lost about six hundred cc's of blood." "Probably why I'm hypoxic." he theorized. "We have to get out of here, Dr. Morton." Roy said, keeping steadying hands on the intern. "You've crashed onto a nuclear navy ship." "No, no no no.. That's bad in so many ways. D*mn. Let's move me out then." he said, trying to get up. Pain immediately slammed him back down into his flight seat. Roy pinned him still by the shoulders. "Easy. Not so fast. We haven't done a neural on you." DeSoto said, unfastening the six way safety belt Morton was wearing. "We're still okay. The radiation's been negligible so far." "How long have I been in it?" Morton moaned, blinking away perspiration. "About an hour. For us, about ten minutes." Roy told him. "What kind is it?" "We don't know yet." Gage replied, stuffing anything he found that could act as a dressing against Morton's wound. "We'll know soon. There are sailors waiting for us behind a hatch." "Good, they'll know what's going on for sure nuke wi---" Morton's head suddenly sagged into a light black out. Roy caught his head gently, leaned it back again, and gave him more assisted oxygen on positive pressure timed with his breathing. "He's starting that overdue nap." "Stubborn! He'd still be awake for us if he hadn't tried to move. This is wrapped tight enough. The bleeding's stopped. I'll go find something to use as a backboard." Gage grumbled. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: A navy jet in a rollover, crashing. Photo: Engine 51 rushing to a scene. Photo: Roy and Johnny putting on scba by the engine. Photo: Johnny supporting an injured Morton's head, in the ocean. Photo: A cockpit of a jet inside of a cargo bay. Photo: A ship's hull rupture. ************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Subject: Amidships... Sent: Sun 5/11/14 2:01 PM It had been a few minutes since Dr. Morton had passed out. They had made progress, cutting off his flight suit down to his skin enough to examine him further for other injuries while they strapped him securely to a torn off jet wing flap, using parachute material as both body space packing and straps, to keep his neck and spine in non-moving alignment. The shocky doctor was tolerating the short oral airway that DeSoto had slipped in to keep his tongue from blocking off strengthening efforts as Mike tried to breathe on his own. "I think this'll float for us." Gage commented, re-checking respirations on their patient with a glove. He blinked away the copious sweat running into his eyes behind his face mask. It stung, sharply, but he didn't dare shove a finger inside to wipe any of it away. ::Damn radiation. It's worse than any chemical fumes.:: he thought. Roy glanced up quickly. "The tide's coming in already?" "It's over knee deep down there." Johnny reported, looking down into the tail of the jet angling down from the pilot's cockpit. DeSoto shook his head like a dog to cast away the perspiration building around his eyes as he took the head of Morton's improvised stretcher into his grip. "What about electrocution risks? These lights are still on." he gasped in the heat, tossing his glance at the flight controls surrounding them. Gage didn't hesitate. He reached up and stared yanking out fuses from every access panel he could find until the few sparking wires left over from crash damage had dissipated. "They're not on any more. Let's go. *cough*" he grimaced, grabbing onto the aileron stretcher's other end. A warning klaxon started to sound on Roy's scba tank. "I've got one minute of air left." "I'll hurry my end." Johnny promised, breathing hard at his own regulator. Fighting the slippery deck of the plane for balance, the two paramedics slid their burden along the deck, and lowered Mike carefully down to the water. Soon Morton was bobbing neatly up and down between them, on the jet wing raft. Then Gage's air tank started its low air alarm to mirror Roy's. "Sh*t!" Johnny swore in the steamy murky surrounding them, flipping on a flashlight attached to his jacket, to light their way. A glint of light on metal guided him instantly towards the right way, through the darkness. Ducking out of the plane's cargo hold, they rapidly sloshed over to the sealed hatch the sailors had indicated earlier with their loud banging. With both gloves full carrying Morton's stretcher, Gage ducked his head and slammed the top of his helmet against the metal of the door a few times to get their attention. The wheel on the hatch quickly rotated from the efforts of many hands on the other side. With a loud snick, the seal was released and the door was flung open with eagerness. Roy and Johnny saw eight hazmat suited and air bottled sailors standing with a charged hose, waiting for them in the airlock inside. Two of them took over carrying Morton's stretcher while three others began the work of removing the rest of the doctor's clothing with medical shears. A nearby sailor nodded his head at them. "Strip everything off. Toss your radioes into this bag." he ordered. "My name's Lieutenant Commander Cole Stanger. My captain wants a thorough decon done first before letting you all aboard." he said as he watched Gage and DeSoto put their plastic bagged HTs into the mesh sack he held open in front of them. "How's the air in here?" Roy coughed as the water swirling around their feet was swiftly pumped away. "It's clear enough." reported one of the geared up sailors holding out a geiger counter at the ready. "I've only got eight times background radiation coming off the three of you." With relief, Roy and Johnny ripped off and shed their scba gear, kicking it away to one side. They both took in huge gasping breaths, leaning over with their hands on their knees, working through sudden rescuer exhaustion. An over eager navyman prompted them. "Sirs.. We're ready to work." "J- Just give us a minute to catch our breaths. Our air supply almost ran out." Gage told him, gagging slightly on the sour smell of rotting blood filling the ship compartment from the heat. The officer in charge waved at his man to ease off. "Take your time." Soon, partially recovered, Roy and Johnny finished undressing. "We'll nuke neutralize your clothes, helmets, and turnouts and give them back to you after treatment and laundering." said another sailor, picking them up with gripper tongs to set into a metal crate recessed into the floor. "When you're done, stand in front of that wall by the drain for a scrub and hose down." The two gore reeking paramedics glanced around and spied the indicated place in the large, brightly lit, gray room surrounding them. Cole Stanger asked another question as he checked off items on a status board. "Where's your man hurt? We don't want to aggravate any open wounds with the hose any more than necessary." asked Stanger. "Right side, mid rib level, might be penetrating." Johnny reported, peeling off the rest of his layers painfully. "We'll be careful." said the hoseman. Dr. Morton was the first to get scrubbed down with soap and washed off. Then he was carefully transferred to a clean bare metal stokes already resting on standby on a bench in the airlock. A medically trained sailor who identified himself as Bron Reese took over his airway care with oxygen equipment that he had brought to the airlock. The med officer redirected others to re-secure the doctor's neck and spine once he was completely dried off. Fresh dressings were placed over the gaping wound on Morton's side and direct pressure reapplied to control the bleeding that had begun anew. "You can meet us in sickbay once the L.C.'s through with you." Bron said as he and his assistants bore Morton away through an interior door. He tossed away the oral airway Roy had used on Morton that he had exchanged out with a clean one of his own. It landed on the floor and was quickly bagged up as a contaminated object. That startled the two paramedics very quickly. They exchanged looks that shared the fear they both felt about the risks they had taken rescuing Dr. Morton. "Washing..!" called out the team's leader in warning as the decomtamination process began once more with the civilian rescuers in their midst. Roy nodded an acknowledgement to Bron. Through the harsh hose water stream that started scouring him clean from top to bottom, Roy tried to joke. "I've never been so happy to be cold, guys. Having the ability to glow in the dark's been a little too much for the two of us." Nobody Navy laughed. Gage stood, arms and legs spread out, as two sailors scrubbed him down aggressively with bristled brushes on long handles with particle absorbant soap. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Roy." he chuckled, gritting his teeth against the rough handling his skin was receiving. "We're doing better than Marco now in the refrigeration department." "More like a deep f-f-freeze." DeSoto confided, feeling the prickle of cold risen goose bumps. "Switch!' barked out the leader of the decontamination team. DeSoto and Gage dutifully traded places, trying to contain their severe shivering resulting from the ice water cascading over the two of them. Another medically trained sailor noticed. "You'll have hot beverages and food in your hands shortly." The man holding the geiger counter probe frowned when its crackling grew louder as he swept the probe up and over Roy and Johnny's heads. "Hair." he ordered crisply. Two clean brushes began working once more in earnest where he had indicated. "Will we need to shave our heads after this?" Gage asked, discomforted, sputtering through soap and water as it ran down his face in thick rivers. "Nope." replied the man. "We'll get it all off, sirs." he promised. "We're good at this, sad to say." "Nothing like progress." Roy agreed about a nuclear power source having been added to a perfectly good ship. "Amen." said the geigerman. "Shush, mister." grinned Stanger at his underling. "We run a tight ship with a perfect safety record." "Sir, yes, sir!" The man saluted using his geiger counter probe instead of a hand. "..until today..." he amended under his breath so only Roy and Johnny could hear him. Roy DeSoto was still thinking about Morton. "Mr. Stanger, we'd like to attend our patient first before doing anything else." Johnny added more. "We'd like to call our captain, too, if you don't m-mind." "Please. Call me Cole. That'll be arranged, of course." Cole promised. "Anything for guests of the Navy." Then he eyed up Roy thoughtfully. "You used to be in the service, am I correct?" "Yeah. Not too long ago. What gave me away?" he said, wiping soap out of his eyes. "Your calm demeanor around us. Mr. Gage here's still jumpier than a bug on a frying pan." "Hey, that's because I just left one." Johnny grinned in mock protest. Right then, the airlock's intercom piped up. ##Bridge to Stanger. This is Masterson. I've a report to share.## Cole glanced up through his hazmat suit's plastic window. "Ah, speak of the devil. There's mine calling." He leaned over and pushed the talk button on the wall. "Stanger here." ##Would you please inform our guests that their patient is showing signs of regaining consciousness.## "He still needs an I.V." DeSoto ansed under his brush team's ministrations. ##Understood. Our man with yours is paramedic level trained. He's already taken care of it.## Captain Masterson replied. Gage formed a surprised face at the open mic. "Thank you, Cap. We appreciate everything you're doing for him." "And for us." added Roy. ##Any time. Have Mr. Stanger bring you to the Bridge once you're satisfied with how your patient's faring. And that's after you both've rested up and've been fed. Is that clear?## "Orders received." snapped the medical man, who saluted anyway in his hazmat suit. ##Bridge out.## said Masterson. "Aye." Stanger took his glove off of the intercom control with satisfaction. "Wow, and I thought our Cap was overboard in the charisma department." Johnny mumbled as the hose team finally turned their water off, trading it out for a stack of hot, dry towels freely offered for the firefighters. "Just wait until you meet Ty in person." Stanger promised. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Navymen wearing full hazmat suits and gear on a deck of a ship. Photo: A soaking Johnny, gasping in scba and turnout in a dark space. Photo: Roy wearing scba and turnout, sopping wet. Photo: Dr. Morton being ventilated by ambu on a stretcher. Photo: Hazmat suited sailors showering off a victim. Photo: Hazmat suited sailors with geigercounters. Photo: A Navy ship's number in lights. ************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Subject: Bubble Sent: Fri 5/23/14 4:28 PM It was two thirty a.m. Engine 51 had been pulled back into the green zone up wind of the pier site to conserve the need to use scba and their portable air bottles. They remained assigned as stand by for their paramedics in case they needed a quick escape from the radiation danger developing on the naval ship. Mike Stoker already had his equipment laid out that would be able to crack any of the hatchways that they could see still exposed as easily accessible on the beach. With them, were Dr. Welby and Dr. Kiley, making the rounds collecting radiation check data from all who were deployed inside the hot zone. It made Cap's skin itch with unhappiness the longer two certain names near and dear to his heart remained in the red section of his slate board. But then, it happened. ##HT 51 to Engine 51.## came Johnny Gage's voice over Hank Stanley's handy talkie. Even Stoker blinked when Cap almost knocked it off of Squad 51's hood while making a fast grab for it. "Engine 51 to HT 51, go ahead." he replied in irritation after recovering his fumble. ##We're in a ship's safe zone. Notify Rampart that our patient is in stable condition and that we'll be contacting them via ship's landline in twenty minutes with our report.## Gage shared. Cap's face betrayed his eagerness for the next bit of news as he walked all over Gage's last transmitted word. "Uh, 10-4, 51. Will do. Both the I.C. and the Triage M.D.'s want to know your current dosimeter readings a.s.a.p." he said quickly. ::And so do I.:: came his unbidden thought in a wave of worry for his men. ##We're both at 15 mSv....## Marcus Welby nodded his head once to Cap in friendly reassurance. The younger doctor also set his fingers into a satisfied unspoken okay gesture as Johnny continued his update. ##...and we've both decontaminated. We're both showing as back down to normal ranges on a geiger counter.## Steven Kiley turned his equal height gaze to Cap. "Ask them if they are noticing any odd symptoms other than business as usual." he requested. Hank relayed the same question to Roy and Johnny over the radio he had reset to speaker mode to share with the rest of the gang gathered closely around them. ##Does burning from head to toe in the heat count? Been going on for a solid month now.## Gage quipped. Dr. Kiley smiled and ran amused fingers through his bear greased, slicked back, black hair. "Very funny. Yeah, it's been a scorcher so far this summer. Everyone here agrees with that assessment Mr. Gage. All right. Putting down 'Still normal baseline.' on my notes." he said loud enough for the two paramedics to hear via radio. "Nice joke, fellas. We're smiling." shared Marcus Welby. Then he added more on a more serious vein. "Any difficulties with your rescued pilot?" ##Syncope from a little hypovolemia. He needed support ventilation for a few minutes. Circulation wise, he's compensating okay.## replied DeSoto. "Copy that. I gave the ship's paramedic orders to push colloid fluids." said Dr. Welby. ##Being carried out. Thanks, doc.## said Roy. ##He's regained consciousness.## "Could you keep us posted on your victim's exposure readings as well?" the silver haired doctor asked. ##Just as soon as we can.## DeSoto answered. Appreciate it, gentlemen. Keep in touch." said Marcus as he and his associate headed away for their next fire crew. ##Squad 51, out.## transmitted Johnny. Their frequency snicked shut. Hank let out a huge sigh of relief as he sat back down on the running board of the engine alongside Marco, Mike and Chet. "One hurdle down...." "....a billion to go." Chet echoed soberly. "Isn't that always the case?" Lopez said with a chuckle. The others did not laugh along like they wanted to do for the looming presence of the unknown energy storm rising on the ship was almost palpable. "Now all we need to know is what kind of radiation's getting out of its containment." he sighed, thinking ahead. "What if it's a proven heavy, Cap?" Chet asked, scratching an itch under the rear band of his helmet. Hank's face weighed down in fatigue. "Then we put as many walls, hillsides, and travel time between us and that ship as we can. We turn it over to the Feds and the special task forces they'll send in from all of the nuclear facilities we have in the area." "But.. they're not firefighters." Chet frowned. "Now you see a captain's biggest nightmare, Kelly. Feel free to get your knickers in a knot along with the I.C., myself, and everyone else wearing a pair of these." he said, pointing to the silver double trumpets on his collar. "You're absolutely right. That's not a pretty thing to think about at all." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Dixie, Joe and Brackett were in close conference by the county all call scanner, winnowing out critical information about the jet crash incident, when the base station light and buzzer suddenly snapped on. "I'll get it." said McCall, still writing down notes they needed for their hospital wide disaster response operation, already set in motion around them. "I'll join you." said Brackett, nodding to Joe, who continued taking calls from the red phone from the fire and police departments who were reporting in their findings about the pier incident in great detail. Dr. Brackett picked up the red phone inside the glass room that was flashing its red beacon prompt on the ready light panel above it while Dixie turned on the landline recorder. "Unit calling in, this is Rampart. Go ahead." Kel said. The line was heavy with white noise and peppered with ominous crackles. Dixie and Kel exchanged a charged look of worry, recognizing the sound of radiation interference on the wire. ##Rampart, this is Squad 51 via ship's communications. Informing you that we are sequestered until further notice in the middle of the hot zone in a pocket of safety along with one victim.## reported DeSoto's voice, ragged with static. ##Radiation exposure type still unknown.## "I read you, 51. Noted. Continue on your report." Kel ordered. ##Be advised, our patient is Dr...M...*crackle*..ton.## "What?! How d-did h-?!" Brackett sputtered in surprise. "Hush, Kel." Dixie admonished. "He IS an active pilot in the Navy. We all thought you knew that. He was recertifying tonight in an exercise. When Mike didn't show up for our disaster priority, we all had a feeling he might be the one who's trapped out there." For several stunned seconds, Kel Brackett gaped like a fish. Then his cool authority kicked in once again. "10-4. What's his condition? To the tiniest detail!" The head E.R. nurse and doctor heard Roy DeSoto take in a huge breath in concentration. ##He's conscious. Vital signs are: Pulse 136 and weak, BP 90 over 54, Respirations were six initially, unassisted, after some smoke inhalation, now freely breathing on 15 liters, clear in all fields, on his own. Pupils that were dilated as a result of hypoxia, are resolved. Blood loss from a right side non-pleural cavity penetrated puncture, was around 1000 cc's. He has multiple minor contusions about the face, neck and mouth. One large bruise is centered left upper chest from a safety harness. Negative on head injuries. He is C-spine immobilized and a landside M.D. has already authorized Ringer's wide open. He's reporting some tingling and numbness in his thumbs on both sides, but only fluctuating grip weaknesses in his hands.## "Sounds like minor C-5 or C-6 involvement or herniation, 51. Can he lift his arms?" ##That's affirmative, Rampart.## Kel glanced at Dixie after burying the phone into his shoulder. "D*mn. Getting a neural piecemeal is so---" He minced in frustrated anger. "I wish their phone cord could have reached him." "It can't. I've toured some those ships, they have a sort of table like a telephone operator's console. The caller has to be seated." McCall shared. "Why didn't they try a speaker phone?" Brackett thought out loud. "They're probably not in the same room. Sickbay's usually central below the water line for extra protection. All communications are conducted on a bridge or from an upper deck from a room with portholes for reception." Brackett picked up the receiver he had shouldered to muffle their conversation. "51, What does his EKG show?" ##He's in a tachyarrhythmia. Some minor QRS complexes with electrical alternans in a 2:1 ratio.## DeSoto offered. "Cardiac?! Is it fluidic or hemorrhagic?" Dixie fretted. Kel sighed. "Doesn't matter which. I'm hoping any tamponading this long after the crash is just inflammation from the bruise. Dixie, I really want to get lucky on him." He returned the phone to his ear. "51, keep an eye out for signs of the Beck triad, pulsus paradoxus, or Kussmaul's sign. If his jugular veins start to rise with inspirations, be prepared to be walked through the process for pericardiocentesis." There was a long pause with only radiation sizzling over the red phone. "51, do you copy?!" barked Brackett. ## **Static. Static.** ## Then the line went suddenly dead after a very loud noise that even Dixie could hear. Kel slammed the phone back onto its receiver on the wall. "Now what was that?! With my luck, it's probably an explosion or a fire, or--" Dixie sighed, moving close, putting a soft finger to his lips to quiet him."..a dropped line due to phone call flooding. Happens all of the time during disasters." she quipped with a smile. "Kel, that's a wall phone. Not a radio channel given top priority by L.A. County dispatch. They'll call back if anything changes. Would you just relax? They'll do what you taught them to do. And they'll do it just fine. You were a good teacher." "Hmmm." Kel said, calming down, finally accepting her friendly embrace, delivering a light peck to her own lips in a kiss. Then he broke away to steal her notes on Morton's condition. Studying the pencilled in page with fierce intensity, Brackett sighed. "Thanks, hon. You know only too well how I hate our limited technology somedays. But I don't know if I feel any better finding out that it's Mike. Our best paramedics are with him, yeah, but so many things can go sour in a pico in this case. He's a high impact injury patient. Can they handle him on their own? Roy just told us that they can't leave that ship." Dixie grinned. "You're forgetting already." "What?! ....Dixie, I don't have time for you to get vague on me." Brackett snapped getting annoyed with her instant amusement. "They already have a doctor with them. And he's awake." she winked, leaving the room to go rejoin the chaos reigning in the E.R. Her meaning totally escaped him as he followed Dixie out of the base station alcove to update Dr. Early on their primary disaster victim who now had a very familiar name. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Marcus Welby, listening carefully. Photo: Steven Kiley medium shot. Photo: Cap, on an H.T. at night, looking worried. Photo: Marco, Stoker and Cap in turnout and helmets at night. Photo: An overheated Gage with Roy on the phone on a ship. Photo: Dr. Morton, lying unconscious with a forehead bandage. Photo: Dr. Brackett on a red phone in the base station. ************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Mon 6/16/14 11:42 PM Subject: Bedside Manners A faint occasional crackle roused Dr. Morton from a maelstrom of nightmares. "Oh." he moaned softly once he identified the noise with the sound of a geiger counter being swept over him from head to toe over the cocoon of blankets he felt wrapped about him. A trio of blurry faces a few inches away welcomed him to full consciousness. "Dr. Morton?" asked DeSoto's voice. "Are you in any pain right now?" "Easy, doctor. You've had a rough time." said an unfamiliar voice, which was immediately followed by a pair of fingers pressing down on his carotid artery in a pulse quality check. "My name's Bron Reese. I'm the ship's medic. Don't move your right arm. You've an I.V. in place." he warned. Dr. Morton's unfocused vision sharpened and took in Bron's curly hair and chistled features. "I'm a five, Roy." Mike mumbled about his pain scale. Dr. Morton licked his dry lips, tasting his saliva inside of his mouth. To Medic Reese he replied. " Sweet and salty. Ringer's Lactate, I'd guess. Antecubital?" "Wide open. How do you feel?" Gage grinned, checking the flow of Mike's oxygen through the mask placed tightly over his nose and mouth. "Like I jumped out of a plane.." rasped Morton, controlling some ragged breathing. "Didn't quite make it that far." Roy reminded. "Do you remember?" "No.." replied Morton, whispering through the swollen places on his face. Roy and Johnny exchanged unhappy glances with each other. "Can it!" he snapped at the two. "I am oriented to now." challenged Morton. "Turn up the audible on my EKG. I wanna hear it. Something's off... I'm... growing short of breath." "We think early cardiac tamponade, doc." said Reese, flipping a switch. "But you went off the bag twenty minutes ago, regaining your respiratory reflexes once I began pushing your fluids." "Rally ho.. *cough* ". Mike grinned slightly, sweat sheening his forehead. "That was the lungs, now it's time to work on the... old ticker." he said, concentrating on the warbling song of the cardiac monitor to see how it was faring. "Alternans." "1:2." DeSoto confirmed. "How's your sensation of pressure?" "Rising.. But not... bad. Don't think I'm... ballooning pericardially yet. Let's hold off on that tray tap, Vampire Gage. I'm not in high crisis yet." Morton said no nonsense. Johnny Gage guiltily dropped a sterile vacuum syringe fitted with an I.C. needle that he had been holding out of Morton's sight, back onto the table. "Damn. I hate informed consent laws." Morton chuckled weakily. "Read it and weep. Learn the lesson now. Gotta love anyone alert and oriented times three. Always." he said, flexing his fingers and toes, testing their grip and flexibility. He frowned when he felt that his right hand was a little tardy in reacting to impulses. "I've detriment?" he asked. Bron just shrugged in his tan navy uniform. "Babinski's is negative." "Could just be temporary swelling. I didn't feel anything out of alignment." Roy added. "We're setting up our Xray to take some films." Reese promised. "Good. Uh,... good. Did you get orders for mannitol?" Morton asked him. "Yep. Got it right here." said Reese, holding up a box. "A Dr. Welby's already told me to piggy back it once we were sure you were fully awake enough to confirm or deny any medication allergies." "I don't have any, Mr. Reese. Pump away." "Done." said the sailor, stringing up a second I.V. with its orange warning label. He soon connected its needle flow into the injection chamber on the Ringer's bag and began to run it in. Morton closed his eyes, too tired to monitor the process. "If my involvement's not a spinal compression, that steroid should do the trick to undo this lag." he said waving shaky fingers on his effected hand. "How're my rads doing?" "Uh, Dr. Morton.. I really.. uh,.. they're just a ...little teeny tiny bit ....more than ours." Gage said, seriously reluctant to spill any numbers. "That's understandable, Gage. I'm not stupid. I was in it far longer than you." Then he turned to the sailor minding him. "Report, Lieutenant!" Morton ordered Reese. "These two civilians are mincing their feet!" "160 mSv. Before decontamination, sir!" snapped Bron obediently. Johnny fired off an irritated look at the sailor for betraying them. The consequences were not long in coming. Morton's face fell into surprise, stunned. Then he pursed his bruised lips. " *Whew*. Ouch. Guess my afro's gonna be even curlier for a while. Uh,.." he blinked in concentration. "Got that iodine water?" "Sip it." Reese warned with a finger, despite his lesser rank to Morton. "Choking on a P.O. is not better than a thyroid storm." Morton raised the open silver bottle handed to him in a mocking bright salute. "Cheers." he said, before he pushed up his oxygen mask to the top of his head to drink from it carefully. Roy and Johnny rose from their stools next to Morton's patient bunk. "Well, looks like you're well handled, doc. We're... gonna go get some chow. The ship's cap has invited us to grab some dinner..." Johnny preambled. "...and a show. Got it. Let me know what radiation is going to make me puke in an hour. I'd appreciate it." Morton grimaced, drinking more of his vile tasting preventative. "As soon as yesterday." Roy promised. "Reese, can you send a man up with his vitals signs every five minutes?" "Will do." Reese grinned, neatly catching the iodine thermos when Morton finally succumbed back into grogginess and it slipped out of his fingers. "I know how you land based rescue medics like to keep patients under a close microscope. Consider it done." he replied, returning the oxygen mask to Morton's face quickly. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Once out in the ship's main passageway next to sickbay, DeSoto and Gage let out their real feelings about Morton. "We're gonna have to knock him out." Johnny insisted, ansy with worry. "We can't. We don't have the orders. We can't force treatment on him until he's passed out again and showing serious signs of circulatory decompensation, pericardial tapping or no." DeSoto reasoned. "We can always pinch off his O2 flow's tubing." "No." Roy said, holding up a no nonsense firm finger with an iron stare. But then his resolve crumbled. "Although that'd be pretty sneaky, I'll admit." "So let's get back in there.." Gage said, turning on his heel to grab the hatch's wheel that they had just sealed. Roy grabbed his arm and stopped him with an iron grip. "Ah, ah." he chided. "Chet's the funny one. Not you. Let's go eat before you land yourself in the brig." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: The U.S.S. Blue Ridge's upper deck. Photo: Mike Morton in a navy sickbay bunk. Photo: Roy and Johnny in a tiled room looking worried. Photo: Tom Selleck (Medic Bron Reese) and another sailor in uniform, listening. *************************************************** From: patti keiper pattik1@hotmail.com Subject: The Glow Factor Sent: Thu 7/17/14 3:14 PM Dawn was just rising when Dixie McCall snuck into the nurse's lounge to take a well served break time cat nap. She was about to sit down wearily on the couch in the dimly lit room, when a lump under a blanket announced itself there with a contented masculine sigh. McCall checked herself from sitting sharply from a startled half crouch an instant before she smiled. "Don't tell me, you gave up your bunk to an orderly who was the walking dead." she addressed the lump. Joe Early snuffled awake and hesitated as mental processes caught up with what his ears had taken in a few seconds ago from dreamland. "Uhh. Yeah. Max was death warmed over when he staggered into the doctor's lounge around nine o'clock last night. He was the one assigned to Mrs. Burke as she came to in Recovery." "Oh, boy." Dixie tempered into sympathy. "I'll bet she was an armful." "More than one from what I heard from Kel." Joe shared. "He said the anesthesiologist got his consciousness baseline vitals set for his chart in record time after he had her extubated. Then he lit out of Dodge." Early grinned, sitting up in his blanket sleepily. He patted the cushion next to himself. "Come on. I've had my.." he broke off to look at his watch "...twenty minutes of oblivion. And we both know the couch is all yours." He stood up and draped the quilt over Dixie's shoulders. "I'll even prepare a new coffee pot for when you snap out of it." Dixie tumbled sideways into the body heat warmed spot, protesting. "Don't you dare. The aroma of brewing java'll make the whole hospital come running. Then where would I be?" "Without a couch?" Joe guessed. "You said it." she murmured groggily from deep within the pillows. "There's always the chapel. No one would dare barge in on you there." Early chuckled, glancing down at the new lump. "Dixie?" There was no reply. Wisely, Joe slunk out as quietly as Dixie had snuck in to avoid a deadly accurate pillow lobbed at his back for lingering. As he closed the lounge door gingerly in front of him, Dr. Early almost leaped out of his skin when he backed into a waiting Kel. "Watch!" Dr. Brackett grumbled as he danced back a few steps to avoid getting his toes stepped on. "Oh, sorry, Kel." smiled Joe. "Don't tell me, she's fled to in there." Kel motioned with his eyes over Joe's rumpled shoulder. "Yep. It's her break. Give her one." Joe said, his face levelling instantly from friendly amusement into a firm dead pan challenge. Brackett was nonplussed. "Hmm. I guess. It's only going to get busier later on I suppose." "Oh?" Early asked. "A new brush fire's popped up near Hancock Park on its own and its got anybody in a white helmet all in a fuss." "Oh, no." Joe said following Kel as he made his way back over to Carol, manning the main E.R. desk and the county wide scanner that was activated there. "I'm afraid so. Nothing like a little fire near the La Brea tar pits." "Has Fire rolled on it yet?" Joe wondered. Brackett noddded. "Just as fast as they heard about it. And for good reasons." "How many companies? That might give us a heads up on future casualty numbers." Joe asked, planning ahead. "Two so far. Everybody else is still at the pier site." Early's kind features twisted into worry. "They still don't know?" "Not yet. I can see Battalion not telling any of us what kind of radiation's leaking to prevent the public from learning about it too soon through the media." Brackett replied. "They're not going to be able to hide it for long. People are going to noticed folks running around in full hazardous materials gear on the beach." Joe added. "Any new word on Mike?" Kel nodded. "He's better. Vitals are holding as well as can be expected considering that he came down in a plane that smashed into a naval ship. But yeah, I still wish I could talk to him. Directly. And as soon as possible." "I can probably arrange that." said a new voice from behind them. Kel and Joe whirled around to see a very tall brawny bear of a man with dark slicked back hair, in a doctor's coat, grinning at them. "Hi, I'm Dr. Steven Kiley. The state recruited my boss's family practice to help handle things as long as this.." he hesitated, mindful of some nearby public passing by, "... environmental emergency lasts." he held out a hand in greeting. Drs. Brackett and Early shared handshakes with Dr. Kiley quickly. Kel smiled back. "Just the man I want to see. I heard from my best medic that your boss's handiwork is already in the mix for our trapped intern. What's his name again? Dr. Marcus...." "Welby." Steven replied. "Good name." Joe chuckled. "He thinks so, too." Kiley laughed. "Works with the kids when they finally get it. Now about reaching your patient. Uh,...can we talk a little more privately?" "Let's use my office." Kel offered, heading that way. Once they were all seated with the door closed, Steven Kiley spilled the beans. "It's grade three tritium escaping from the ship. It's just been confirmed." Brackett let out a deep sigh of relief. "From what I've read, tritium emits only very low energy beta waves." Joe nodded. "Won't even get through bare skin, even dusted on." Kel eyed him up. "Yeah, but breathing it in or ingesting it's another story. Everyone on that ship won't be able to eat or drink anything until they get out of there. Not without contaminating themselves into health threatening levels." "That's why I'm here." Kiley shared. "Can your three get by living on injectibles for a few days? It's the only option Marcus and I can come up with that'll maintain them comfortably in the interim." Joe spoke up. "No diabetes on any of them if that's what you mean. Neither our paramedics nor Mike is on any kind of regular medication for existing conditions. They should be fine doing that." "Do they know?" Kel asked Kiley. "Not yet. I just found out on my way here to talk to you." "I'll tell them." Kel said, getting up to go to the alcove station. "What's the big option for talking to Mike Morton? You said you had one." "Television. Two way. Not the same as a radio frequency. That kind of signal will get through the radiation cloud." Kiley replied. "Brilliant idea." Kel smiled. "Who thought of that?" "My wife. She was watching the news when I called her an hour ago. She was wondering why she could see their footage so clearly on the air even with the ship's communications black out going on." he replied ruefully. Joe snapped his fingers. "They can run wires from the beach to and from the ship!" "Exactly. Shouldn't be too hard to set up. Frogmen could do it, using seawater to shield themselves." Steven answered as he watched the door close behind Dr. Brackett. "Now I think we should get started with treatment plans for when your three get out of there. You know their medical histories better than I do." Early nodded. "That's a truth. Come with me, we'll roust up their patient charts from Records." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the mess hall of the Blue Ridge, Roy and Johnny sat down before a laden table full of food. "I wish I could offer you better clothes, gentlemen." began U.S.N. Captain Ty Masterson, his rugged fifties features dimpling his square chin underneath a long crew cut of blond hair. The ship's C.O. rose from his chair, his plate still empty, showing respect to his arriving guests. Roy and Johnny shook his hand, hiding left over phlegm from their voices as they introduced themselves. "These are fine, sir. A far sight better than our uniforms. Those are probably still glowing." Gage quipped, taking a seat after the captain gestured to two chairs placed opposite his over the dining table. "They'll be decontaminated, dried, pressed, and returned to you shortly. Decorum's one thing, but for identification's sake by eye for my crew who haven't met you yet, I have to ask that you put your civvies back on as soon as possible so we can avoid any confusion." "Yes, sir." replied Roy, saluting in a proper way. Johnny just looked and felt out of place. "Uh, I'm not Navy. Sorry for not knowing how to act." he confessed to Ty. "This is an emergency situation. I don't expect unnecessary formalities if it wastes time. Be yourselves, please. Mr. Gage, Mr. DeSoto, a few of my men." Masterson indicated from those who were serving up their meal items into stainless steel bowls and trays around them."Private Miguel Garcia, communications officer. Lieutenant Commander Cole Stanger, my second C.O., you've already met Bron Reese, ship's medic. Here's Crewman Rick Connelly, ship's executive information officer, he's our link to the outside press. I'm afraid our ship's engineer is dead and therein lies our most immediate problem. He was one of the few who knew the nuclear areas of the ship like the back of his hand. The rest of us are muddling through. We're on our own fixing the radiation problem. At least, until the powers that be figure out a safe way to get in an expert team to take over for us." "Any active fire working, sir?" DeSoto asked, unable to fall out of Navy form of talk. "None. Just a little smoke, which we're venting. Anyone with fire crew training's still sweeping the ship in protective gear looking for hot spots. Anyone else freed up has a geiger counter in one hand and a respirator in the other, analyzing our situation thoroughly." Ty replied. Second-in-Command Cole Stanger, a rugged Italian, spoke up. "We were docked when your friend's jet hit us. We have just a skeleton crew of twelve. It was only bad luck that our engineer was in the cargo hold when it came down on top of him." "We didn't see him but we probably knew he was there." Johnny said reluctantly of the odor they had noticed while getting Dr. Morton out of the plane. "Body recovery is last priority." agreed a pudgy, brown eyed, receding banged, short man. His name tag read Rick Connelly. "You three, became the first in the captain's eyes. Eat up." he said tightly, trying to keep hold of his emotions of grief. "Sorry. Engineer Stevens was a good friend." Gage and DeSoto remained respectful as Connelly pushed the first steaming plate full of roast beef before them after passing off a serving fork to them. "Guests eat first." Stanger replied, trying to smile at the paramedics. "Thank you." Johnny said soberly, taking the utensil. Miguel suddenly leaned into the portable head set he was wearing plugged into a wall. He pushed an attached microphone in front of his mouth. "Understood." he said suddenly. He ripped them off to address Masterson. "Sir, a doctor from a local hospital's on the line. He says it's urgent." "Pipe it speaker." Ty said calmly, rising to his feet to get rid of some nervous anticipation as he readied himself for anything. Garcia flipped a switch and turned up the volume. ##Do not eat or drink anything. *static* Tritium's your culprit. You'll stay healthy if the contaminant stays outside your bodily systems. Do you *crackle* read me?## came Dr. Brackett's voice. Gage dropped the bite of meat he had just been about to put into his mouth. Hastily, he shoved away his meal in shocked horror. "Too close." he mumbled. Roy spoke up. "We heard, Rampart. Any further guidelines?" ##Absolutely nothing P.O. Initiate I.V.s and glucose if anybody weakens appreciably in the next few days. A Steven Kiley beside me is still being sent advice from the Nuclear Board, but what he knows now is critical about what this stuff is and how to handle it. Listen to *static*--m carefully.## Brackett began, his voice full of concern. "I know the word but not what it does to the body, doctors." said Masterson to the air. "I do know where it might materialize on my ship as a danger. It's made in our heavy water-moderated reactors whenever a deuterium nucleus captures a neutron." Dr. Kiley's voice came over the air waves. ##Like ordinary water, water containing tritium, tritiated water, is colorless and odorless. So avoid any standing water. You won't know the difference between sea water and the HTO H20. On a side note, this tritium is the same stuff that makes any diving watch numbers and hands glow.## In distaste, every sailor in the room eyed up theirs in a new light. ## It's safe enough, but try not to breathe in any dust or smoke if you don't have to.## Kiley advised. ##My informant says if you do, it is quickly and uniformly distributed throughout the body, going directly into soft tissues and organs. The associat--*static* dose to these tissues is generally uniform and dependent on the tissues’ water content.## "But we can't drink to dilute anything." said Stanger. "We'll run in I.V. solutions." Gage told him. "We don't have to swallow." ##That's right, Mr. Gage. ## replied Kiley. ##*crackle* Anything you have absorbed so far, will be excreted out into your urine along with the water. Easily. No special treatments past the usual. HTO has a short biological half-life in the human body of 7 to 14 days. The only trick is to avoid accumulating levels high enough to jeopardize your lives until it dies off.## Connelly dipped his head. "Oh, thank G*d." he whispered. "Glued to a geiger. Got it. Thanks for the intel. We'll keep you two posted, doctors." said Masterson, gesturing for Garcia to terminate their reception. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A warm, partially pocket melted granola bar was slammed into the garbage from across the room from Dr. Morton's beside. Mike snickered at the unhappy, partially angry expression on Medic Bron Reese's face. "So the rest of you joined my club of no food or water. It's not so bad. How good are you at starting your own I.V.?" Reese just rolled his eyes. "I could start yours for you. Only something wrong with one of my hands." Mike offered in amusement. "Suck wind, sir. Respectfully, I hate needles." Reese grinned after his tirade. "But you use them all of the time." Morton gestured in amazement. "It's my own personal little secret." Mike fell serious. "I'll keep it confidential. So who's the one you picked to do it?" "Not Gage. He's too twitchy for me." Morton giggled. Medic Reese glared at him. Morton held up a hand in surrender. "Sorry, but Gage is a funny man to everybody." "I pick DeSoto. He's Navy. He knows what he's doing. He was practically dripping it from when first I laid eyes on him through the hatch before decontamination." "You're right about that. DeSoto was Gage's mentor and main instructor." Morton winced suddenly at a pain in his chest. "Ow.." Bron's eyes shot up to the cardiac monitor. "Is that new?" Morton panted a few breaths under his oxygen mask. "Yeah. Just now." Reese rose from his stool and leaned over Morton's bed. "I'm... going to get a double set of B.P.'s on both arms. If they're different..." Morton sighed, short and tight, the sweat returning to his brow. "It's tap time. I can tell by inhaling. Call the calvary.." he grunted. "On it." Bron promised. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Dr. Kiley in a close up, street clothes. Photo: Navy Captain Ty Masterson, Miquel Garcia, Cole Stanger sitting around a table in emergency lighting. Photo: Dr. Morton wearing an oxygen mask in bed, under distress. Photo: Roy and Johnny not liking a situation. Photo: Joe Early and Kel Brackett, discussion. Photo: Dixie looking contrite in the nurse's lounge. Photo: A glowing tritium painted watch. ************************************************** From: patti keiper pattik1@hotmail.com Subject: Escalation... Sent: Thu 8/14/14 2:27 PM A large BOOM shot through the mess hall, its concussive vibrations making the overhead beams rattle alarmingly. "What was that?!" shouted Private Miguel Garcia as he shot to his feet from his chair. "Nothing good." said Ty Masterson. "All ears on!" he ordered to the room at large. Immediately, general quarters sounded and the intercom next to the radio crackled to life. ##Deck B, Armory. Explosion. Possible fire. All fire grade are responding. We're seeing structural damage!## came the duty officer's report from the bridge over the speakers. Masterson slammed his fist against a talk button control. "Tell me more when I get there!" he barked. ##Yes, sir.## replied the sailor on the air. Ty started to rush out of the room when Roy spoke softly enough to grab his attention. "We know confined space rescue. Can we help?" Blue Ridge's captain pursed his lips tightly, considering. Then he shook his head. "Your responsibility is to your patient first. You have my permission to do whatever you have to, to secure his welfare and safety, according to the training you already know. My men and I will handle the ship and its own personnel. That way, there are fewer ways for us to blunder into making any critical mistakes. Stanger, you're with them. Keep in touch with me at all times." "Thank you, sir." replied DeSoto. "Understood." said Cole at the same time. Soon, the dining table was empty except for the steaming plates of served food left behind that would never get eaten. On the desk, the tritium geiger counter's clicks continued to get stronger and more frequent in a steady rise of radioactivity. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As they ran along the upper deck of the ship, headed for the hatchway stairs that led down to sickbay, Gage trailed a bare hand along the metal hull of the ship. "Nothing's hot. And I'm not feeling any more sound waves. Whatever it was is over." he gasped, thinking hard about what might be happening. "We hope." nodded Cole, running close behind. "Takes an awful lot to shake the ship as much as that concussion did." Finally, they were there. Stanger reached for the hatch wheel to open it. It sizzled in his palms. "Ahh!" he yelled, letting go. "Stay back." he warned. "Why is this boiling?" he frowned, wincing as he shook his hands in the air to cool them more quickly. Roy stepped up. "Are you burned bad?" Cole shook his head, spitting on his hands to speed up their cooling in the tainted wind and smoke surrounding them. Johnny carefully felt around the doorway. "It's just the hatch. It can't be active fire, Roy, or this whole wall would be hot, too." he reasoned. Cole agreed. He ran over to a deck side emergency phone and picked it up. "Sickbay hatch top deck's in the red! Two men inside. We need a muster!" he shouted to the communications officer on the bridge who answered his line. Then he hung up and jogged back to Gage and DeSoto. "Help's on the way." "Johnny, it's got to be a water pipe." Roy pegged. "Something's heated and ruptured it." "D@mn. I think you're right. Boy, do I hate steam." Gage grimaced. "Maybe we can crawl in under it once we get this open." Grabbing a nearby pry bar, Johnny pounded a few times on the hatch to alert Dr. Morton and Medic Bron Reese below that they were there and understood the problem. Then all three men threaded the bar into the hatch wheel's spokes so they would be able to turn it safely without getting scalded by its superheated metal. "Get ready. That steam behind the door could be under a huge amount of pressure. Stay low when this pops open!" Roy warned Stanger as he and Johnny strained on the bar to turn the wheel. The hatch blew out and rebounded on its hinges as the door released into open mode. A monster cloud of steam billowed out of sickbay. When it cleared, only a tangle of stairwell railing, twisted pipes and a fallen deck beam were visible. But the way in was completely blocked by buckled bulkhead and a continuous wall of incredible heat. Gage yelled down into the darkness over the loud angry hiss of steam coming from two ends of the violated pipe line near the top of the hole. "Dr. Morton! Bron Reese! You guys okay down there?! Hey! Can anybody answer?!" There was no reply. Roy kept his gloves hovering over his face to protect it from wisps of shooting steam. "Maybe they can't hear us over all the noise." "Maybe Reese got him evacuated out into the maintenance lock." Stanger countered. "By himself?" DeSoto asked. Cole shrugged. "Nothing like a little adrenaline to get motivated." "Lieutenant Commander, is there a phone down there in the medical bay itself?" Roy asked. "No, it's in the hallway. Under all of that." he gestured, pointing to the scalding debris filling the sickbay stairwell. "Where else can we try, sir? You know our time's critical now." Gage asked, keeping a firm gaze of worry anchored onto the lieutenant's face. "I've got an idea." Stanger spun around in his tracks as full hazmat suited fire trained sailors began to pour over to their location from every other port hatch of the ship. Cole grabbed DeSoto and Gage's arms, dragging them out of the way so the crews could begin their assessment of the collapse above sickbay. He ran to a ventilation stack, a monstrous horn shaped curve of apparatus that was across the deck towards the outer railing of the ship. "There. An extrication crew can get through to at least their outer hallway on the far side of the compromised stairwell. I used it for the last fire drill we conducted a month ago. It's a tight fit in gear, but doable. You! Team Alpha!" he shouted to a member of the suited fire team he knew to be the leader. "Use the stack! Remember?" "I do, sir." she replied through her air mask. She shouted fast orders to her bustling deck team. They abandoned the blocked sickbay hatch and quickly disassembled the ventilation horn for the air shaft it offered below decks. "Should you three be up here without a mask?" she said, waving a suited arm in their direction. "The ship's mole reports our clicks are rising by the minute." Stanger nodded his head. "We're leaving. We were ordered to try sickbay ASAP. That civvie down below is a friend of theirs." "We'll get him out." she promised Roy and Johnny. "If we can't, we'll get one or both of you in. Hang tight by a comm station, preferrably on the bridge, sirs." she warned Stanger. Her rank now newly exceeded his for the duration of the sickbay emergency scene. "We're gone." Cole promised, recognizing her authority with a grin. "Let's go, boys. We'll bite our nails alongside the captain." Quickly ducking into air bottles that other sailor firemen to offered them, Stanger and Squad 51's paramedics abandoned the main deck's wide expanse for the stairs leading up to the bridge off in the distance. Ty Masterson had shuttered the glass around the elevated command deck and the room was bathed in a bloody tinged red from emergency lighting. He was in a tight huddle with his braided crew, getting reports rapid fire. "Armory's secure. No nuke heavy payload's been damaged. All torpedo tubes are intact." "Cargo bay 3's interior ballast wall is torn and collapsed." "How about the containment room?" Masterson asked the acting engineer. "If those rods get exposed..." The man was silent for a moment. "The water level's falling, Captain. We don't know why." "Did that cause the explosion we suffered just now?" said the rugged ship's master. "No, it's a direct result of it." said the sailor with certainty. "We think it was lingering fuel fumes from the jet catching fire that did." "Can we flood the jet's compartment? Snuff out the danger of further explosions?" "That'll tip us over, Cap." said Crewman Rick Connelly. "You know the ballast equations as well as I do. We're pier side, but we've taken on water because of the jet crash. Only mooring chains are keeping us upright. They will tear free and we'll roll to a thirty degree pitch before the sand bottom stops us if the strain on them increases any more. Who knows what that'll do to the nuclear heart." Masterson's face flickered an array of powerful emotions and doubts. Then he spoke. "Launch all helicopters and jets, emergency priority. Get them off our top deck. I'm declaring ship's status to full salvage mode as of right now. No sense dumping perfectly good airplanes and birds into the sea if we can avoid it." "Are we abandoning ship, sir?" asked the second at the meeting table, as was his rightful duty to ask. "No." replied Ty, his heavy eyes watching the rescue efforts unfolding around sickbay's vicinity on the top deck hundreds of yards away. "We've an atomic fire to put out, first, mister. Our duty is to civilian lives. As it has always been. Return to your posts, gentlemen. Looks like our long day is going to get even longer." he sighed. Behind them, Private Miguel Garcia piped the whistle to the ship's new sitcom status. Only then did Stanger step up to his captain. "Sir, the direct way is blocked down to sickbay." "Are they still alive?" asked Masterson, reading from copies of reports being placed in his hands from various damage control crewmen returning from their emergency scouting runs throughout the ship. "I'd say, yes." Gage spoke up. "It was only a steam pipe that blew. And that's at the very top of the stairwell. A bulkhead's down, but it's very localized." Roy added more. "Your L.C. seems to think Medic Reese would evacuate sickbay as a first choice." "He would." said Ty evenly. "He's not a risk taker. He wouldn't endanger anybody else's life knowingly. Cole, take our guests and be my eyes. Follow Team Alpha's progress and send runners when they've reached our trapped men, but do not be involved. Observe only. Consider yourself the onsite safety officer. You three are not the only ones wanting to know their current fate and statuses. But I'll be damned if I'm going to risk any more casualties than we already have in the sites. Suit yourselves up. Stanger, let me be absolutely clear. You'll be the last one out of there. Whatever happens." "Yes, sir." Cole saluted, in a way that made Roy's throat tighten in unbidden emotion. They left the bridge, chased by numerous nightmare scenarios spinning out of control, inside their heads. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: A plate of food aboard the U.S.S. Blue Ridge. Photo: Captain Ty Masterson and sailors in a red emergency lit ship's bridge. Photo: Naval ship firefighters in silver suits on a ship's deck. Photo: Lieutenant Commander Cole Stanger on deck by a navy jet. Photo: Roy and Johnny in turnout looking worn and serious at night. Photo: Fire lit clouds of purple and orange. Photo: An open ship's hatch. Photo: The heart of a room fire, flash burning. *************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sun 9/07/14 5:28 PM Subject: Beach Bound... Captain Stanley was chafing at the bit. Everyone ashore had heard the loud blast coming from the bowels of the ship. ::And only they know what's happened.:: he thought with angry worry. "Marco, Kelly, Stoker. Front and center." he ordered. Soon, all four were standing in front of him, their eyes equally glued to the sight of the newly listing naval ship leaning away from the ravaged pier. They knew its hull was the only refuge that Gage and DeSoto had available to them in the face of the rising tritium radiation level that was blooming out into the atmosphere and into the surrounding seawater by leaps and bounds on their geiger counters. But the ship did not appear to be sinking. "I don't like it, Cap." Stoker said without preamble. "If that wasn't a fuel line going up, it was a water pipe and both are critical to stabilizing the ship's nuclear core." he hissed through his scba mask. "I know, pal. But the chief says we're still going to be kept from responding directly despite recent developments." Hank shared, holding up his H.T. "Why the H*ll--?!" Kelly sputtered. Cap cut him off sharply with a glare. "Chet. Can it! That's why. We're too close to our men on the ship. If we go in there half cocked we'll either end up maimed or dead for being emotionally distracted." Stanley told him. "It's a policy that's as old as the department. It is binding especially on me. And I'm the one in charge." Marco was quiet, tense. "What can we do? We haven't been doing much as it is." "That's why I called you over. I've got an idea. We can't go to the ship but that doesn't mean we can't send somebody over there from Staging in our stead." Kelly snapped his fingers. "Fireboat 110." "You're thinking like a cap, Chet. Good man. And they're only 30 yards that way down the beach. You three go grab a line and make like we're all busy anticipating future complications." Hank told him. "What a coincidence that a fire hydrant is right next to their crew. Get them up to speed on the details and suggest a few things. Go." Cap nodded, clearing his throat meaningfully. Hank's firefighters ran, snatching a token, uncharged hose from the back of the engine into their gloves to fool Battalion's watchful eye from his vantage point on the cliff top above them. A minute later, their hose strung and connected to the hydrant, they returned. "The frogs are croaking." Chet promised, handing Cap an H.T. radio that Station 110 had given him to provide a direct communications band scanner for Hank to use. Hank smiled fiercely. "How many divers are in the water?" "Four. They said they wanted to swim in a floating hose cannon to the ship anyway on a stand by. They're going to look out for Roy and Johnny from the water." "Hot d*mn!" Cap shouted, whirling to the sea with a set of binoculars from his place standing on the engine's rear bumper. "Stoker, get a spot light working. Light their way!" From the ship, a bright yellow signal light began flashing in urgent visual Morse to the shoreline. Mike Stoker noticed and grabbed up a signaler of his own to send any necessary replies. "I got this." he promised Cap. "I'm fluent." ## .- .-.. .-.. / --- ..-. ..-. / ... .... .. .--. / -.-. --- -- -- ..- -. .. -.-. .- - .. --- -. ... / .- .-. . / -.. --- .-- -. .-.-.- / -... ..- .-. ... - / .-- .- - . .-. / -.-. --- --- .-.. .. -. --. / .--. .. .--. . .-.-.- / -. . .-- / -.. .- -- .- --. . / - --- / .--. --- .-. - / ... .. -.. . / -... --- .-- / .- -. -.. / ... .. -.-. -.- -... .- -.-- .-.-.- / - .-- --- / - .-. .- .--. .--. . -.. / -... . .-.. --- .-- .-.-.- / -. --- / ..-. .. .-. . .-.-.- / ... - .- -. -.. / -... -.-- / ..-. --- .-. / -- --- .-. . / .. -. - . .-.. .-.-.- ## ( All off ship communications are down. Burst water cooling pipe. New damage to port side bow and sickbay. Two trapped below. No fire. Stand by for more intel.) said the sailor manning his light in code. Seconds later, heavy smoke and morning fog drifted in from off shore and covered the ship in an inpenetrable blanket that obscured the signalling. Chet Kelly roared his frustration at the dawn sky, ripping up glovefuls of sand and throwing them as far as he could over the water. The sound of his rage was muted by his air mask but not his demeanor. That was evident to every firefighter within eyeshot. Battalion's voice popped onto a loud speaker. ##It's clear up here. We can still see the messenger. He's climbing up into a crow's nest. Will relay.## ##So can we, 51.## promised a frogman through 110's H.T. in Cap's grip. ##The fog's full of holes above us. Hang tight for the rest. Sharing as soon as we get it.## Cap and the others began to pace the sand in front of the trucks. On a thought, Stoker turned on all possible emergency red lights on Engine and Squad 51 to offer encouragement to the frightened sailors on the ship. Then he returned to aiming his spotlight just ahead of the swimming rescue team to show them the fastest way to the ship. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: A sailor manning an amber signal light. Gif: Animation of a navy jet crashing. Photo: A navy ship with hull damage to the bow. Photo: Fireboat 110 responding with divers. Photo: Four frogmen with a floating hose cannon under a pier. Photo: Chet and Marco watching by the engine in turnout. Photo: Battalion and Captain Stanley wearing scba gear. *************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sun 9/07/14 10:22 PM Subject: Hot Water... Cole Stanger, Roy DeSoto, and Johnny Gage had retreated back to the bridge with the onset of the sea fog. It was an element of danger they had not considered, and soon they were discussing the option of using lifelines as guides in the murk so they could turn back and follow their path from any search pattern they started at will without getting lost on the massive expanse of the main ship's deck in the thick fog. Ty had already ordered folsum spots to illuminate the bridge tower for use as a firm visual reference point beacon for the fire team working below. In a place where the fog thinned, the second in command of firefighter team Alpha toggled his talk button through his hazmat suit. ##Alpha Team 2 to the Bridge. Respond!## Captain Ty Masterson replied back on the emergency band transmitting. "Alpha 2. Go." ##Sir, something's changed with the reactor. We're reading heat with no smoke or flames evident, and we have rising rads showing up on the deck of the ship..## "From where?!" barked Masterson. ##Outside. Everywhere.## Rick Connelly, the information officer who was still struggling to reassert the television link they had before with the Nuclear Board, gaped. "Oh, no, no, no. That's got to be a cooling fault, sir. A very bad one. I've been hearing them tell me to watch out for that all night." Ty nodded tightly. "Alpha 2, understood. The nuke boys are saying that's broken cooling. Look for a way in and find the breach. Don't get fried. This is your top priority over anything else. Last thing we need is a melt down that we can't reverse. Split the team. You have my authority to do so. Dedicate Alpha 1 to locating our personnel in sickbay. Have her stay in contact with me at every stage of the operation." ## Yes, sir. I'll tell her in person.## replied the hazmat suited ship's fireman. Ty turned to Rick Connelly. "I've already contacted the civvies on shore via flash. Your job now is to see what they're doing for us visually. It's obvious that our video link has been lost." "I'll circle the deck and glass the water." he promised. Connelly made tracks for a protection suit and life preserver. "Master of Communications!" yelled Masterson. "Yes, sir!" replied Miguel Garcia, saluting. "Find me a portable radio that works!" Ty said, throwing his useless one onto a navigation map. "This one won't cut through the dirty air." "Five minutes. I've some hams charging in reserve." The young sharp featured Hispanic man gulped and hurried out the door to ship's stores with a firefighter on his heels to safeguard him from danger. Roy and Johnny felt helpless where they stood, out of the way. Then they heard Fireboat 110's sirens punch through to the bridge and they buried their faces into the window glass, trying to see where they were in the waves. A nearby navigator sailor gave Roy a set of binoculars to use. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Far below, on the main deck below the bridge, Alpha 1, a strong boned brunette Team Leader, gestured for her masked team to begin to enter the zones where they had marked where steam was present. They were still on their way along a second emergency route that led to sickbay that their C.O., Cole Stanger, had pointed out to them soon after the pipes explosion had occurred. "Lights!" she shouted, and soon two beams flanked her own and cut through the hot vapor that they could feel even through their thick, chemical proof fire gear. Her breath whistled painfully in her throat as they covered each other with cold salt water hoses in fanning sprays as needed to keep cool as they advanced. They rounded the last turn in the corridor and located the hatch leading down to med storage, the compartment adjacent to sickbay that was one bay away from the area of collapse and steaming ruptured pipes. They forced the door open with a slam of solid metal and peered down below. "Bronson Reese! Mike Morton! Rescue Team Alpha 1! Can you hear us?!" she shouted down the steps through the boiling wall of heat. Soon, she had to turn away as scalding vapor from below billowed out. She scrambled out of the way. "Pole scope. I want a 360 of the room ASAP!" she ordered her men. They hastily shoved the hand held periscope probe down the stairs and into sickbay's main chamber. The man on the viewer's breath hissed in his mask as he toggled the camera in a search, fighting the intense waves of heat rising up through the hatchway. "Nothing at the 90. Turning... turning.. 180.... 270. Nobody on the floor. 360! Ah, they're not there, sir." he told Alpha 1. "Sickbay's empty. Just like the captain thought it would be." The lead female sailor angled her jaw. "They're still alive if they're not here. All right. Next corridor over. Schematics say if we cut through the wall of the armory, we'll be in the med supply. That's the only other place they could have gone." she told her team through her air mask. "Let's go!" They abandoned the scope pole and ran to the next ventilation stack to begin dismantling it for the emergency stairwell beneath it. Once down, one by one, they thunked to the wooden floor of the ship's corridor and hurried to the next floor hatch they needed. One man pulled off his glove as they rushed over to it and landed on their knees in a rush to get hauling on its wheel. He touched it. "It's cold. No steam!" he said excitedly. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Connelly spotted something over the side of the ship on the port side, it was a frogman from Fire Station 110. "Ahoy there!" he shouted down. The diver shouted up to Rick up the great expanse of the ship's hull. "Grab the rope! We've a radio for your captain! It's heavy shielded!" From the fireboat, a firefighter shot a rope gun thread trailing off the end of a small buoy that Connelly and a member of Alpha 2 caught and began hauling up on board ship. It led to a net containing a bagged H.T. Rick no sooner had the plastic bagged radio turned on and to his ear when a sudden warning crackled from the Fireboat Captain. ##Brace yourself! Rogue wave!## A deafening wall of ocean surf slammed onto and over the bow of the ship, flinging a fourteen foot high curl of froth spilling onto the deck in a tremendous flooding wash. Connelly barely had time to use the fire department's rope to tie himself and the ship's firefighter to the railing, when it hit. Thousands of gallons of water rushed by, sweeping them off their feet and snapping them to the ends of their tethers, underwater. They began to drown, violently. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The wave passed as quickly as it had washed aboard. Connelly staggered to his feet, coughing."Let's get out of here." he told the fireman sailor who offered him some air from his mask. "We have what we came for." he hit the radio's talk button. "Fireboat 110. We're okay. Initiate a sweep for others! There were twelve on deck a minute ago." ##10-4.## came the reply from out of sight, over the railing. "Bridge through the bow room." Rick said, letting the firefighter help him walk in his sodden gear. "We'll be safer there." They were half way through the space when Cole Stanger popped out a hatch and met up with them on the run. "We saw that. Are you hurt?" Both Connelly and the firefighter shook their heads. The massive anchor chains at their feet groaned ominously as the ship began to tip farther over a few more degrees to port. "We're taking on that water. Lord knows, but it may help us out a great deal." Cole grinned. Then he urged them over to his side. "We had a report the Lookout was injured down here. Go to the bridge with that radio. I'll find him on my own." Stanger ordered. Soon Connelly and his firefighter escort disappeared back through the safe hatch and into the safety of the ship's interior. Cole soon found the Lookout. The man had a head injury which Stanger began to attend. "Can you walk? A corpsman is on the way." he said to the sailor. "I think I can. Man, what a wallop. Now I know why deep water's so fine." he quipped, groaning. "Wait a minute, where's Sanchez?" he asked. "Sanchez, the Anchorman?" "Yeah, he was right here." said the wounded man. Cole turned around on his feet, eyeing up the whole bow room chamber. Then he spotted the broken porthole in front. "Oh, sh*t!" he remarked. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was Captain Masterson who spotted the sailor casting about on the water amid a cloud of debris left over from the wave. "Man Overboard!" he shouted and immediately a klaxon sounded on the bridge. "Muster a bird and a boat to one third port side from the bow. Forty feet out!" "Is his face up?" requested the Communications Officer, already on the horn to summon a rescue scramble. "Yes. He's on his back. And he's got his vest on, bless him blind!" Ty grinned. "All we have to do is go get him." Soon, sailors ran to launch a helicopter with a winch basket. From the stern, a rescue raft with a powerful outboard motor launched. The bridge spotter reported from his position keeping an eye on their victim through binoculars. "He's not moving, sir. Might be unconscious or--" Ty's face fell. "No firefighter suit. He's from below decks. Washed out through a porthole? Multi trauma at the very least." the captain said quietly. "Won't be good if he survived that." The bridge crew watched gravely as the rescue happened, first a diver drop and then a physical hands on haul up onto the skiff rescue raft. Ty watched his medical corpsman cluster around the limp sailor in a tight ball. They did not look up. "D*mn." sighed Masterson. "A death, after we survived all of this craziness so far." "I'm sorry, sir." came Connelly's voice behind him. Ty turned and saw Rick, bedraggled, soggy, and still standing in his dripping shoes. "This came too late." he said, holding out the plastic bagged fire department radio from Station 110. "They were beneath the fog and saw the wave coming. They saved my life." Ty took in a deep breath and forced strength back into his voice as he gently took the offering. "I want a complete crew's head count in my ready room in two minutes. No one else is going to die today. Mark my words." he grumbled. His crew bustled into even swifter reaction around him. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Commander Stanger met the raft on the ramp. He was not surprised that Roy DeSoto was at the head of the tug of rope crew that helped the skiff gain topside on the splash deck. DeSoto was about to rush over with a med bag when the Hazmat suited helicopter crew waved him off from the limp sailor they carried. Startled, Roy saw that their victim was already garbed in a full covering suit with gloves and a sealed helmet to contain radiation. He recognized a body recovery when he saw it. It stopped him in his tracks. The corpsman climbing out of the chopper said. "Hangman's fracture. He was dead before he hit the water. Punching through the glass did it. Now he's too hot to handle bare handed." "What's he at?" DeSoto asked sadly. "400 mSv. We're all headed for decontamination, sir. Don't get too close." Roy took many steps back evenly. "I'm sorry. Sirs, if you hurry, you'll all be fine. You've only been a few minutes contaminated. It won't be fatal." "Thank you for trying." said the Corpsman. Then he was gone with the rest of his men. Cole Stanger rejoined Roy at his side. "Ah, the stupid risks we take. And we're not even at war." "Aren't we?" DeSoto asked. "Nature was our enemy today. I'm sorry we lost." "Let's go win another battle." Cole smiled. "It's not over yet." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alpha 1 toggled her suit radio that was tied to the captain's frequency. "Sir, route 3 is green. We're going down. If those two civvies want in, they need to suit up to specs. But they're going to have get in line." she said. "My people go in first with the med bags." ## Sending Stanger with DeSoto and Gage in full ship's fire gear to your position. Keep working!## ordered Masterson. Then he signed off to the fire team. He nodded at Miguel to keep monitoring their channel. Captain Ty turned to Roy and Johnny. "I promised you we'd get you to your man. Do you understand the risks involved as you've seen and heard so far?" he asked formally. "Yes, sir. We're firefighters. We know steam burns deeper and far faster than fire." said Roy. "And that any water may be tritium contaminated in the areas where we're headed." added Gage. "Okay. Considered yourselves drafted into the Fire Corps along with Team Alpha 1. Follow their orders to the letter and listen tight. This may be a metal ship but she still burns. Alpha 2 is seeking the extent of the pipe breach and where it has to be repaired. We're losing serious water in the main reactor chamber. I don't have to tell you gentlemen what will happen if we fail to keep water over those rods?" Masterson said, lifting his head seriously. "No, sir. You don't." said Gage. "We'll improvise a new cooling system, using hoses and seawater siphons thrown over the side if we have to. Some fire technology's still the same, for land or sea." "Good man." said Masterson, stepping out of the way. Johnny and Roy hustled off the bridge with Cole Stanger rattling off advice and asking questioning on their knowledge of firefighting procedures and what would be modified because of the tight confinement configuration of the ship. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Closeup of a sailor in a hazmat suit. Photo: Hazmat suited sailors with geiger counters above decks. Photo: Navy firefighters in fog, aiming spotlights at a hatch. Photo: A navy firefighter reporting on a radio. Photo: Miguel Garcia, navy communications officer. Photo: Captain Ty Masterson, looking worried. Photo: Navy firefighters looking down a stairwell below decks. Gif: Animated 360 of a ship's sickbay room. Photo: A ship's corridor with a wooden floor. Photo: Ship's firemen opening a floor hatch. Photo: Commander Cole Stanger in a close up. Photo: Roy, Johnny and a navy ship's crew on the bridge of a ship. Photo: A giant rogue wave sweeping over a ship's bow. Photo: A fo's'cle bowship room below decks. Photo: A corpsman with a wounded sailor. Photo: A sailor tending a wounded man. Photo: A sailor floating face up in the ocean. Photo: Captain Masterson sounding an alarm. Photo: A helicopter launched from a navy ship. Photo: Flight crew mustering around a chopper. Photo: Navy rescuemen pulling out a victim from the sea. Photo: Cole Stanger near a loud speaker on the splash deck. Photo: Roy DeSoto on a sailor tug of rope line. Photo: Hazmat suited sailors carrying off a covered pilot. Photo: Ty and Garcia looking worn. Photo: Roy and Johnny looking depressed. Photo: Rick Connelly frantic with stress in a navy uniform. Photo: Roy DeSoto, looking old. ********************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Tue 11/11/14 11:20 PM Subject: If You Can't Take The Heat.... Captain Ty Masterson turned suddenly to the officer of the deck who had run into the bridge, still dripping wet from the rogue wave. Ty saw that he was breathless, but unshaken. "All twelve current topside crew are accounted for. No injuries there. Sir!" said the deckman firefighter. "As you were, sailor. Thanks for the report. Continue your operations." the ship's captain ordered. Hurrying, the man made tracks back out into the fog and smoke, sealing the water tight bridge bulk head solidly behind him. The man's short visit had irritated the emergency geiger counter on the nav table into an angry snarl of radiation clicks. It drew Ty and his officers' attention to a sharp point. "That much outside?" Lt. Connelly remarked, startled. Masterson eyed up Rick. "How much time do we have before we're forced to go below decks?" he said, picking up the chattering instrument. "About an hour. If you go by the safety specs." said Rick. "Let's make that hour count." Ty growled, gripping the fireboat's department HT that had been hoisted aboard and delivered at a cost. He lifted its receiver to his mouth. "U.S.S. Blue Ridge to Fireboat 110. We've one dead from the wave, one injured which we can handle. Heads up. We're registering another climb of clicks on our deck. The hot zone may be spreading." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dixie awoke with a start at a sharp knocking at her apartment door. Hurrying from her bed, she threw on a light blue terry cloth robe and ran to the door, still groggy from a half remembered nightmare. She pulled her front door open. "Kel.." she gaped in surprise. "Your shift's not over for another four hours yet. What's happened?" Dr. Brackett ducked under her arm and into the living room, heading for the kitchen and the breakfast bar where a glass decanter of cognac rested. "May I?" he asked, hefting up an empty brandy snifter. "Why are you here?" "Call it seeking comfort in a crowd? Call it whatever you like. I don't know why I'm here. I probably needed a break. Go ask Dr. Early if you don't trust me with an answer." he defended. Dixie frowned at him sternly. "Coffee's a better choice this time of night. It's almost dawn." she said, crossing her arms in irritation. "Yeah?" countered Kel, helping himself to a finger height of liquor into his glass. "Well, it doesn't matter what time of day it is, Dix. The whole pier situation is spiralling out of control." he snapped. "None of us are ready to handle a full fledged nuclear disaster of this scale and you know it." he said, loosening a tie that suddenly seemed too tight around his neck. He tore it off, not caring that it ripped his shirt collar in the process. McCall grew tender instantly, fingering the ripped shirt softly. "Now look what you've done, Kel. Your father gave you that tie the day you became head of the emergency department." She stood up on her toes and reached for him with a smile. Dr. Brackett dropped his head against her shoulder in weariness and gave into her comforting hug. "The tie's just fine. It's got silk like steel, and I don't care about the shirt. It's hot outside." he grumbled. "I can fix that." she said, grabbing the Mueller ice bag off the table that she herself had been using for her headache, while she slept. She handed it over coolly. Kel took it and began icing down his neck and face gratefully. "Just how in H*ll did you know I'd need this?" "I didn't. Stress is stress. It effects nurses equally as bad as doctors. You aren't the only one with a pounding headache." she surmised, collapsing them both onto the couch with a deft twist. "Gimme that." she said once they were seated, capturing his brandy glass. "I've only taken aspirin." she said, anticipating a doctor warning lecture, slamming back half of what was there with expertise. Dr. Brackett finally smiled. "Digressing back to your college days of bingeing?" "Hardly. As you can see, the rest of the bottle is inconveniently way over there." she sighed, pointing to the breakfast bar counter across the room. "Drink up. That way, both of us are limited to half a shot." she said. "You're an angel, darling." he sighed leaning back onto the cushions as he sipped his portion carefully, mindful of his responsibilities despite his prickliness. "No I'm not, see what I'm reaching for?" she said, pulling up a back couch cushion and feeling around underneath the one they were sitting on. "Ah." she said in discovery, finding something. The look on her face was impish. "Got a match handy?" Dr. Brackett sighed, got up, walked over, and reached into the pocket of his suit jacket that he had left on the entryway table along with his car keys. "I have a lighter, but it's not mine. It's Johnny's. He left it in my office yesterday and I thought I'd have time to give it back to him sometime today. But as you already know, that never happened." McCall raised surprised eyebrows. "Johnny smokes?" Kel chuckled. "He tries to. Not very successfully I might add. Can't ask many nurses out on dates if you keep smelling like an ashtray." "He's a firefighter. He smells worse than an ashtray, Kel." Dixie shared frankly. "He doesn't know that." said Brackett, deftly parking the frosty ice bag onto his steaming head. "Well, bless him for trying to quit. Wish I had as strong a will power." she said, slumping down on the cushions again and flashing gimme fingers at Kel for the cigarette lighter. She finally pulled out the rumpled, stale, mostly empty pack of cigarettes that she knew her Uncle Max had left in her couch last New Year's Eve. "These aren't mine." she defended. "They belonged to a relative." Brackett scoffed and hungrily swiped a finger around the inside of the drained brandy snifter to lick up the last drops of sugar filming a layer inside of it. That done, he snatched the Pall Mall pack out of her fingers and shook it, peering inside. "There's only one left." he said, drawing it out and crumpling up the pack and tossing it on the floor. He inhaled the gray cigarette's musty fetid aroma under his nose with all the lack of enjoyment a fine cigar usually delivered following a soaking rainstorm. "Halfsies." Dixie declared. "The lady gets the unfiltered end. I need it." Shrugging, Kel neatly broke the mummified smoke in two and handed it over like a surgery tool into her palm. "Guess we can both fool ourselves a little without breaking any--" "..rules." she finished acidly. "You better have been starting to say rules rather than yearly resolutions because I just broke mine about a second ago." she said, puffing eagerly on the disgustingly cob webbed cigarette he was lighting up for her. That made Dr. Brackett smile even wider. "If you suddenly keel over with lung cancer, I got a fresh oxygen tank and a resuscitator sitting in the trunk of my car, Miss McCall." She smacked him on the shoulder. "Don't get funny. I want to be crabby." she groused. "I'm mad." "About what?" he said, lighting up his own pathetically rotten tobacco stick. "Oh, the usual. I can't stop the big disaster. I can't stop our patient count from climbing out of control." She drew in a huge, emotion laden breath and held it, before she met his eyes miserably. "I hate the fact that I was ordered away from the pier, Kel." she finally said with alacrity, the first sign of fear filling her face. Her voice broke. "I just had a nightmare.." she sobbed. "Oh, hon." he said, taking the side of her face into a warm palm in a soft caress. "You know better than to try and sleep during a Condition Orange alert. I'm sorry, Dix. Truly I am. But nobody hospital is being allowed to go. Not even me, and I'm usually the head of triage of choice. The feds ultimately decide who responds to any radiological emergencies. This whole thing is entirely out of our hands." Dixie coughed suddenly like an old woman. "G*d, this tastes like toilet water..*hack*..." she gasped. "I told you they would after you hadn't smoked in a year." he warned, wincing as his own wafting cigarette stuck unpleasantly to one of his lips. He tore them both away from their mouths and unscrewed the cap to his icebag where he unceremoniously dumped in their smokes, extinguishing every scrap of poisonous fumes in its swirling ice water depths. He twisted the cap back on the bag with relish and started shaking it back and forth furiously. Then he returned the cold remedy back on top of his head. He spent the next minute rubbing McCall's back sympathetically as she fought for her stolen breath. Dixie finished gagging like a fish under his ministrations and settled for curling up into a little ball with her head hidden under his arm. He froze in amusement. "Feel better?" he said, peering down into the shadows. "Not by a long shot." she mumbled, barely audible, her usual alto now a bass with hoarseness. "Good. Neither do I. I'll give you five minutes emulating an ostrich. Then both of us are headed back to Rampart just as fast as I can get us there." he declared. "We may not be able to do anything at the scene for anybody, but we sure as H*ll can once they cross our threshold and enter back into our authority." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A facemasked and hazmat suited Roy pressed against the floor of the hallway beneath deck adjacent to sickbay at the beckoning of Alpha 1. She barked out an order. "DeSoto! Gage! Medical Supply is behind this next hatch. It's the only place your friend can possibly be in all this mess. We've determined that everything else is pancaked flat. Now I want you to listen to Stanger's every order as we go that last eighty feet leading into that chamber. Crawl one foot, and then use your geiger. If it spikes over any size puddle, retreat immediately back to the stack's ladder. I won't risk a civilian on this mission." Johnny and Roy both nodded through their faceplates. "Slap the deck twice if you find yourselves in trouble. Two of our team will lead you back out to safety." Gage was impatient. "Look, we know this isn't a burning building. It's very clear that your ship's trying its best to be an underwater, radioactive death trap. There isn't a landside certified firefighter alive who's dumb enough to do that." Roy grinned at Johnny's backward logic. "Those that did are already dead." he joked at the rescue team leader. Alpha 1 had the grace to smile back. "Point taken." she smirked through her foggy glass plate. "Let's move." Inch by inch, Cole Stanger, Roy DeSoto, and Rescue Team Alpha dragged themselves closer to their goal. The smattering of clicks from their geiger counters rose and fell irregularly amid the drops and streams of water around which they had to weave to avoid getting contaminated. Then the lights went out, leaving them in complete darkness. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In an above deck shelter, Alpha's monitoring sailor toggled her radio. "Alpha team do you read us? Port generator is off line due to sea water inundation. Scrambling to commit emergency batteries." The communicator marked off another minute on her accountibility chart before she attempted another hail. "Alpha 1, do you cop-" ##Mole 7, 10-4. We encountered a pocket of radiation we had to cover with remnants from the hull. Can we proceed?## asked the rescue team radio operator. "Captain says still a go." she replied, seeing that the steady light above her was still green. "Activate a ping if talk signal strengths get too weak. We'll triangulate your position using full automation as back up from here on out." ##Understood.## came the reply. On the table the bridge radio snapped into life in the authoritative bark of Captain Masterson. ##Seven, what happened down there? We're canting again. Report!## "Just a slosh. Our water volume's no longer increasing." answered the damage control monitor, Mole 7, with a shake of her tawny head. "We're on the bottom. That loss of power was anticipated with our current wet down. Alpha 1's still in contact and mobile." ##Keep me posted.## replied Ty. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- On the bridge, Rick Connelly was having birds. "Captain. We got lucky. It may seem like we have time enough but that's an illusion. Engineering says the loss of water over the rods has doubled in the last five minutes. If we don't find and stop that broken water pipe's drain on the reservoir, we're--" Ty eyed up his officer evenly. "..dead in half an hour. Yes, I know. I just heard the updated figures from Garcia. We'll do what we can. Just let those firefighters out there know the stakes have not yet risen beyond our control. Last thing we need is a frontal attack by civilian firefighters who think cutting through our hull's the only answer." "But that'll let in too much ocean. If we lose any more of our electrical network, the rest of the reactor fuel pumps will fail." Connelly frowned. "And the heat will rise in the core up to runaway melt down levels. We know that. But those hose jockeys can't possibly." Ty grimaced. He picked up his walkie talkie to Fire Boat 110. "Fireboat 110, this is Blue Ridge. A black out occurred, but we're able to cope despite our new leaning pitch. Stand down any ultimatum response from your incident command chain. The AEC gives me final authority over this ship on that matter." ##Will relay.## came back the boat. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Torches!" hollered Alpha 1 to her team. Soon, light flooding from flashlights in everybody's hands filled the space through which they wormed with care. Gage took in a deep breath of bottled air. "Not a fan of the dark." Roy patted a glove on his mylar suited back. "A smoke filled warehouse's just as dark." he said, his flashlight casting eerie shadows underneath his partner's chin. "Yeah, but it's not underwater." Johnny grunted, following the heels of the belly dragging navy firefighter crawling ahead of him in the gloom. "You can't drown in a palette maze." "But you can burn in one. Dead is dead." "But I'd still be able to see that coming. Makes a huge difference." he scoffed, pulling ahead of Roy in exasperation. Cole Stanger grinned behind them. "Gotta admire that man's logic." A loud banging sound of metal on metal brought their conversation to a halt. It was from one of the rescuers."I've got something. A new steam cloud. It's coming from above us." that rescue sailor reported. "How bad?" Alpha 1 asked. "I think it's one of the sources, ma'am. Not too bad. A crack." "All right." she said. "Let's all stand up and take a better look. But slowly! Last thing we want to do is stick our heads into any superheated--" "..pipe soup." finished Gage, the first on his feet. "I see it. It's a midline split. Patchable." he reported, showing what he was seeing in the light beam of his flashlight. "Any rads jumping?" asked a navy firefighter, cautiously coming closer to where Johnny was pointing with his glove. Roy aimed a geiger counter at the spot. "No change from what's already here." he replied, aiming a probe near the steam. "All right. Structural integrity crews. Make rapid repairs. Shore up that bracing and clamp it tight. Then paint it with sealant. Figure out how you're going to divert that escaping water flow in the meantime. Avoid all run off." Alpha 1 said swiftly, pushing button on her radio. It sent off a marker ping with a loud reverberation that carried through the ship and out like sonar. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- "I have an affirmation ping from Alpha 1." reported Connelly to his captain. "Where?" asked Ty, snatching up a ship's map off the navigation table. "Here." replied a sailor, pointing to an elaborate diagram of pipework that surrounded sickbay's vicinity. "Juncture 9-B." "Medical Supply." Masterson read off. "Uh huh. Just outside." Rick nodded. "That new breach is awfully close to the Armory." Ty peered, studying the map of his ship's circulation. "What would happen if--" KA-bbOOOMMMmmmm...mmm! came a colossal explosion that threw everyone on the bridge off their feet as the ship jolted horizontally. Sickeningly, the horizon they could see through the windows tilted dizzingly. Miguel Garcia leaped on the radio console. "Alpha 1, report!" ##Bridge. It's a torpedo room fire. Must have been smouldering since the plane crashed. One just launched itself through the hull and out to sea.## "Self destruct!" ordered Masterson, casting through snatched up binoculars until he found the tell tale bubble trail streaking away just under the surface of the waves. "It's headed for the fire boat!" ------------------------------------------------------------------ Photo: A navy ship's bridge tower at night. Photo: Two ship's firefighters in heavy steam, using flashlights. Photo: A radio mole, speaking into a wall mic over tracking sheets. Photo: Dixie opening her apartment door to Brackett. Photo: Dixie in a night robe offering a drink to Kel at a breakfast bar. Photo: Navyman Rick Connelly wearing a white officer hat, on deck. Photo: Ship's firefighters in full hazmat scba, reaching into a small space at you. Photo: A colossal explosion plume. Photo: An underwater ship's torpedo, streaking away at high speed. ************************************************** From: patti keiper pattik1@hotmail.com Subject: Shipped Out.. Sent: Sun 11/16/14 10:38 PM The duty officer lifted a cover and hit a bright red button on a console. The runaway torpedo disintegrated about 100 feet away from Station 110's crew and geysered up a sharp column of sea water in a concussive blast that rained down water in a fountain of froth. Fireboat 110 abruptly switched its approaching course to avoid the backlashing seawater, increasing its distance from that side of the ship. ##U.S.S. Blue Ridge. We note a fire in the amory hold. What is your current status?## the captain of the fireboat radioed in. Captain Ty Masterson toggled the County HT. "Torpedo Room. Six weapons in storage. The fire suppression system has activated successfully." then he grinned a gallows grin. "Sorry we missed." ##We'll try harder next time.## replied the fireboat man, his relief equally as evident in his voice. ##Moving out to 500 yards until full containment is verified. We have four divers around your boat assessing radiation levels at the waterline.## "We'll monitor their progress and safeguard your men from any further accidents." Masterson promised. ##They know the risks. Fireboat 110, out.## -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Johnny Gage nearly bumped into Alpha 1 when she stopped in mid crawl when the ship's hull shuddered in a familiar way. She pulled off a glove and pressed a hand against the wall. "Oh, sh*t! Ordinance just fired." she cursed. Then she toggled her shoulder radio. "Alpha 1 to Alpha 2, tell me we've time travelled to yesterday and that was just a friendly blue on blue exercise maneuver with a dud shell." ##Wish I could, Dorothy.## the captain of the deck quipped. ##But the Wizard of Oz has other plans. Brief flare up in the armory, completely chem suppressed. We're working our way in to mothball the five remaining fish so we can stop trying to wipe out the POGs.## he replied. ##How many zoomies have you got?## the XO asked. Alpha 1 checked her dosimeter. "Just under 100. The civvies have less." she said about Roy and Johnny's radiation counts. ##Continue your operation. Let me know when you're checks-five-oh on dealing with your casualties.## "Roger that." she answered back. Hastily, she put her hazmat suit glove back on her hand. "Let's go." she said to her team. Gage tapped her boot. "What's the cap on these again?" he asked, flicking a finger at the dosimeter on his silver fire suit. "How will we know when enough's enough?" "There isn't any." she replied, blandly. No emotion showed on her face whatsoever. Roy anticipated her next comment. "Yep." "What?"Johnny was confused. "I'm not Navy. Spell it out for me." he spat through his face plate. "There isn't one for us, Mr. Gage. Didn't you hear the broadcast about a minute ago? We've been signed and sealed. You can retreat back to safety. But we can't force you to do that on captain's orders. No one ever expected either of you to do this kind of Sierra Hotel." she said, dragging her charged fire hose along the deck a little further. "Ahhh. So what? I'm a bachelor. He's married with kids." Johnny said, pointing to Roy's bulky shadow following behind him in the murk. "I'm staying. Just ask him. I'm one who never turns down a date once it's offered." "That much is true." Roy smiled knowingly. Then he noticed some bulkhead markings above his head. "We're here. It matches my map. Anybody got a baby beater?" "Huh?" Johnny grunted, looking up, still a bit overwhelmed and out of his element. DeSoto angled his head at Johnny. "A sledge hammer. For signalling through the wall until we cut our way in." he explained. "Thank you." he said at a firefighter who shoved one at him across the floor. "Listen sharp." he said before he gave the solid bulkhead a single pair of loud whacks with all of his strength. All the navy firefighters froze in place in the gloom, ceasing any noise and turning down loud radios. A minute later, there was a faint, feeble reply: a double knock, likewise, on metal. A cheer rose that steamed up everybody's masks at the definite sign of life behind the bulkhead. "That wasn't Morton." Gage grinned. "No trademark shave and a hair cut like he always does outside of closed doors at the hospital." "His mother hen's good enough." celebrated Alpha 1. "That means our Mr. Reese is alive and kicking and probably still able to do for your down curving friend." she said no nonsense. She hastily moved aside for the structural integrity crews so they could start in with their blow torches and saw tools. Then she roared. "I want in, in ten minutes. Mark! Stretcher crews at the ready." Roy and Johnny slumped against the opposite wall and just watched, their long term exhaustion beginning to take its toll. They gratefully accepted a hand out of fresh air bottles from a support sailor and changed into them. And then at long last, they began to talk paramedic in a full preparation plan, for what they needed to do, when they finally got to Reese and Morton. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Captain Masterson was on the radio with Captain Stanley. "Somebody's alive." he reported. Then he fended off a sharp barrage of questions with a very patient sigh. "My teams are keeping your men in the action every step of the way. No one is going to get hurt." ##Anything I can do from my end? The fog's pretty much smothered any hope of an air pick up for the two of them.## said Hank. "I've been thinking about that." said Ty, eyeing up Garcia, who was still shaking his head in a firm lack of recommendation. Masterson chuckled. "We're already surrounded by the best radiation protection envelope known to man. It would be stupid not to take advantage of it." ##I'm afraid I don't follow.## said Cap, resting a foot on the rear runner of Engine 51, trying to see the great hulk of the ship through the fog bank. "Like that luckless torpedo, Mr. Stanley. We'll flee off ship under water. Any tritium from the exposed rods isn't be able to penetrate down beyond two feet or so. My bilge rats have just confirmed it." Hank was eager. ##Workable. Except for anyone unconscious. I don't suppose you have a diving helmet just lying around a bulkhead closet somewhere.## "We're not a sub." ##Hmmm.## sighed Cap. ##I wonder if an established airway can keep out water with....## "....A rubber survival hood and duct tape? I'll ask my medic, soon as I see him." ##I'm sure my men can come up with something if that idea doesn't work. They're used to improvising on the job. They once used I.V. tubing to free up a guy's hand from a drain pipe. Speaking of pipes.....## "We're making progress. So far, my first team's located two breaches. Our water pressure's low but now holding, suggesting that there's only one compromise left along the system. Once that's rectified, the danger will be over. We'll be able to fill the reactor pool to the top in a continuous siphon, running circulation through it using a portable back up pump. Then we'll get emergency repairs enough to get towed out to sea away from land until the rest of our mess is handled. I've a heavy tug with mobile shipyard capabilities on the way." Ty shared, his voice almost devoid of hope despite his words. It left a sick feeling in Stanley's stomach when he finally realized what the navy man was saying. Hank sat down to engage in a closer intimacy with his counterpart. ##Sir. A manual pump means there has to be a manual fail safe. Operated by...## "..this ship's captain.. Yes. I am fully aware of that. I can tell you that I'm definitely not very popular with my ship's engineer at the moment for the decision. He'd throw me in irons for even suggesting it, if he could." Captain Stanley shot to his feet. ##Sir, let my engineer talk to your engineer. There's got to be another way. Perhaps the two of them can come up with another option that can accomplish the same thing. A..a..a dead man's switch, or..a..a feeder hose from a landside fire engine laid as a supply line. We've got pumps that can read pressures and automatically cut themselves off at a distance!## Ty Masterson's face seemed to age decades as he took his bridge chair, without feeling it. "There's not enough time left to arrange things. We've considered even your possible angles. Something has to be done within the next twenty minutes or come sunrise, nothing possible will be left to do except pick up the pieces of what's left of a couple of nuclear fired cities for the next few thousand years. I've decided the only priority now, is getting the rest of my people out. Captain, will you help me do that within that time frame we're given?" There was a long pause on the other end of the communications channel as Station 51's commander dealt with his emotions. ##We'll throw out multiple buoys and lifelines for your swimmers to grab. We'll winch them in. Consider one for yourself.## Ty closed the channel without replying. He turned and carefully handed over Fireboat 110's handy talkie to Garcia with all of the dignity he could muster. Then he abandoned the bridge and his command. His plan was to go below decks to meet up with Alpha Team 2 to make good the sacrifice that he would never ask first of one of his crew. Miguel saluted him and Masterson returned it with no tears. He left in haste for the lower, mangled underside levels, that used to be part of his ship. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alpha Team 2 never saw their unsuited captain sneak by them for the reactor room. They were too engaged with checking and double checking the control wires needed to link up the portable pump's electrical system to the pipeline's control panel that they had just rapidly soldered back into one piece. "Advance! Cover that last hot spot!" shouted their lead firefighter as they fought their way through the final bit of flame jeopardizing their position. A crack team followed up with liberal water hoses, pushing bits of fallen debris away from themselves and the sparkies setting up the new wiring for the emergency reactor pump. They had met up with Alpha Team 1, meeting in the middle ground between disasters to offer assistance in man power. One of the newer firefighters stumbled and was caught by Johnny who recognized that he wasn't paying attention to his low air warning siren on his tank set. "Whoa.. whoa. Sit down. Don't you hear your SCBA going off? Hey..." he shouted, snapping his fingers before the young man's mask. When the struggling began, Johnny tripped and lowered him to the deck, pressing his own facemask over the sailor's nose and mouth firmly. "Just suck this in.. you're blacking out. You've run out of air, man." Alpha 2's leader noticed. "Is he okay?" the big navy firefighter asked, turning his way. "Yeah, give him a minute. He just needs a trade out. He buzzed for a second." Johnny told him. He whistled for a support crew to handle it. The young man finally shook his head and grabbed for the air Johnny force offered, with both hands. "What's your name?" Gage shouted, still holding air over the man's face, testing his awareness level. "An..Anders. What happened?" asked the recovering firefighter sailor, his face awash with sour sweat. His pupils were dilated from near hypoxia. "You decided to kiss a deckplate. Feel better yet?" Gage asked, smiling as he studied the color on his patient's face. "Here's your new tank. I'm taking mine back." he warned. "Ready?" A small tug of war battle between them ensued until the dizzy man's instincts let go in favor of higher reasoning at the urging of his team mates. Johnny got his air back on and then rapidly made sure Anders' new breathing mask was secured properly for his extrication. "Get him out of here!" ordered Alpha 2. "I've just received orders that we're to evac the entire ship from the splash deck in ten minutes." ##Abandon ship.## came the captain's voice over the intercom as the emergency klaxon horn started sounding. ## I repeat. All hands abandon ship by 0520. No exceptions.## "Did that come from the bridge?" asked the groggy Anders as he was being borne away, arm supported, by a couple of his firefighter friends. "It sounded a-awfully close by." On the intercom, Crewman Rick Connelly began a verbal countdown for everybody as he hurried on his own way to get off the ship, through his HT. ##T-minus nineteen minutes, fourteen seconds, thirteen, twelve.. eleven....## Cole Stanger looked up from his spot near Roy and felt a chill in his fire suit. Pausing for a minute on a door hatch frame, he shouted to the others. "I'll be back. I'm going to go check to see if our escape route is still open." Alpha 1 nodded, her petite form quickly folding into the group that was battering their way into Medical Supply after Bron Reese and Dr. Morton. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Commander Stanger found him easily. "Ty. Let it be me. Don't play a hero. We're not on a battlefield where you have to go down with the ship. That's fantasyland. Let's all get out and let the real experts handle this." Masterson looked up from the glowing reactor pool that was slowly steaming in the chartreuse light of the nuclear hold from where he was leaning on the console. He was waiting for the sparkies down the hall to finish turning the power back on all the way. "Are you willing to gamble thousands of innocent lives based on what a single elected panel of board members tell you? The AEC are just a figurehead. They make recommendations, pass policies. They've never handled a catastrophe on this scale. We have. Many times. This is war now. Against mother nature and physics." He jerked a finger over at the overheating reactor rods bubbling away in their emergency siphoned ocean water bath. "They are the enemy, Stanger. And they won't wait." Cole stepped forward quickly but Ty anticipated him, setting one hand lightly on his firearm. "Care to draw your weapon, Cole? We could shoot it out but the sand's running away from the hourglass. Don't throw away our friendship like this. Allow me my choice. You know it's the right thing to do. Especially for me." he begged. It was half sobbing. Stanger saw their long careers and lives as shipmates, flash before his eyes as tears welled up. His resolve crumbled in the face of fate and his face twisted up with sudden, fresh grief. Masterson finally cracked, his voice breaking. "Don't tell the others where I am. They'll...only do something stupid. Take these. They're my final orders." he said, handing over a hastily written sheet on the back of an engineer's log. "Ty..." "It's been said. Now go finish your job, Cole. Lock the door behind you and leave me your gun so you aren't tempted to try and save me again." Without turning around, Stanger did so as the comm officer on the bridge continued to drone out the abandon ship countdown clock. "Yes, sir! Now, sir." Masterson's first officer shouted energetically, with all the pride and honor of a true sailor in his voice. Then he left, his every step an aching hole in his heart. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alphas 1 and 2 were highly focused on their rescue when Cole Stanger returned to their sides. It took all he had to appear natural and normal amid all of the activity. "Progress report?" he snapped, feeling leadened. "We're almost through. Air's breatheable in there." Alpha 1 replied. "How hot is it?" he asked of the radiation in their chamber. "Barely anything registering. Radiation levels have been falling from almost from the first second the new pump started up." she said happily, almost dancing in her hazmat suit. "We can take these things off." she said, happily peeling out of hers. ::Oh, Ty.:: Stanger quailed mentally. ::You're the one doing that.:: But out loud Cole said. "Get those two land medics in there. They know what has to be done!" he said to the two rescue teams at large. Miguel Garcia suddenly appeared in the doorway where the teams worked and both he and Stanger passed a look that spoke volumes as each became aware that they alone knew the secret of their deliverance from a meltdown. "Sir," said Miguel to Cole. "The bridge is secured. It's time to go." he said meaningfully. ::Masterson might not be successful in filling the reactor core.:: his eyes said. Stanger nodded. "Clear the area! Only the Alphas, commanding officers and the two civvies stay to get the injured out. Muster! To the splash deck with dive suits and tanks. Leave the ship now!" he snapped. Dutifully, every firefighter sailor, through with their emergency fire work, fled. Roy DeSoto was the first into the crawl space ahead of Alpha 1. All the medical machinery around them had been destroyed in the explosion. He headed for the nearest smoking body to him, Bron Reese's, and reached for his head. The medic had large patches of blood soaking the shirt of his uniform. Alpha 1 addressed Roy as she watched Johnny Gage scramble quickly by her and over to Dr. Morton. "Is he breathing?" she asked DeSoto about Reese, trembling despite herself. "Yes." said Roy. "Looks like a hit in the head caused this black out." These cuts are superficial." he said, sweeping down Reese's arms and legs, looking for fractures. "Good." she sighed in relief, leaning over to vigorously kiss her boyfriend Bron full on the lips. "Wake up, honey! I'm home!" she shouted, happy to see him. Then she straightened up and started swiftly binding any wounds she found on him, using supplies from her first aid bag. Her antics surprised only Roy and Johnny. The others just laughed. Reese's eyes cracked blearily open. "No 13 buttons saluting. The kids are watching.." he groaned. Then he startled the rest of the way awake, remembering his patient. "Dr. Morton?!" "Alive." said Gage, working fast with two hypodermics of Propofol and Succinylcholine. "I'm knocking him out for an RSI so he won't move during his pericardial tap." Reese forced urgent clarity into his voice, even as the room spun. "Hurry.. Last I found.. he had clear jugular distension and serious fluid regurgitation into his lungs. He wasn't ventilating well on the bag." he coughed, grimacing, as Roy tore open his shirt to expose a few more lacerations on his neck. "...oh.." Bron sighed, finally feeling pain. He blacked out. DeSoto managed him with an oral airway. "There's no heavy hemorrhaging. Or serious injuries." he said, packing what was bleeding with dressings. "He can go. He'll wake up once he's on oxygen." "But.." minced Alpha 1, suddenly torn with personal feelings. "Get him out now! I'll meet you there." Roy promised. "Take these." he said tossing a small O2 tank and non rebreather mask her way. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ##Abandon ship. T-Minus seven minutes fourteen seconds.## continued Connelly over live intercom from his place with Fireboat 110 on the splash deck. Soon, Reese was bundled up warmly and carried off by the last of the firefighters. They were half way to the swim deck when young Anders gave a startled cry, dropping to his knees before a grille set into the deck that was situated above the reactor room. "Oh, my G*d. The captain's still down there! I did hear his voice! I hear it now..." he cried, anguished. Frantically, Alpha 2's team jumbled clumsily with Reese's evacuation stretcher. Those who let go of its handles, abandoning their duty, were overcome with grief when they realized what was happening. They pleaded, huddled in a tight circle around the grate, above Masterson, screaming at him to get himself out of danger. "He's gonna flood the room!" sobbed Anders. "He'll kill himself." Realizing the crew had found out the truth, Garcia had a couple of salties drag the crewmen away from the hole, one by one, and then safely off ship. More experienced sailors did what they had to do by shutting the reactor bunker's bulkheads remotely through their roof placed door hatch wheels. "Ty. We're clear." said Miguel into the hole. "You can open the pump." he said tightly. ".....understood...." came Masterson's voice from below. "...for my crew's lives.." With a gush, Ty released fresh sea water into the room through the repaired pipe's spill doors in a noisy rush. Eerily, disturbed radiation floated in blue clouds above the reactor as the air pressure changed around him, making it hard to breathe. Masterson's numb mind took in the glowing sight with amazed comprehension. "Fatal levels now if I can see St. Elmo's fire. How can something so beautiful be so deadly?" he wondered. He sat down into a chair at the pump's controls and tied his hand to the lever with his belt, so the valve would stay safely open later on. "Semper Fi." he gasped, staring at the radiation's glow as it finally died away into harmlessness forever, under the cold water. Then so passed his head. The water level rose, higher and higher, until no air spaces remained inside the large room. About a minute later, the grill's tiny hole upwelled water in a steady stream across the deck. But Miguel Garcia had long since left the area, so he wouldn't have to see it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Johnny Gage and Roy DeSoto worked fast. Cole Stanger knew just enough medical care to help them clean off Dr. Morton's chest with Betadine in preparation for his emergency procedure. "Pulsus paradoxus.." DeSoto reported, examining Dr. Morton rapidly while Johnny continued to breathe for him through the endotracheal tube he had established, using an ambu bag and oxygen. Gage looked up at the portable EKG monitor they had found under all of the rubble. "Hurrying.." he said. "I'm definitely seeing low voltage QRS complexes. This is definitely fluid or blood build up." "D*mn!" swore Roy. "Is that P.E.A.?!" he said, directing Cole to scrub the anti microbial he had poured onto Morton, even harder into the skin over his ribcage. "I didn't even consider.." Sucking in a gasp of dismay, Gage reached out for Mike's carotid artery, pressing a grip down over his sweaty skin just under his jawline. "No. He still has a pulse. It's fast, growing weaker, and irregular." DeSoto himself was laying out all the equipment he would need on a sheet hastily thrown over his knees, evacuation syringes, a sterile spinal needle,.. and alligator clips, strung from their wires connecting to the working EKG monitor. "That'll work." Johnny said with approval. "Isn't that Brackett's new trick?" he said, suctioning out some saliva that was building in Dr. Morton's mouth around the intubation tube. "I learned from the best." said Roy, licking his parched lips in stress. "He's tachycardic." Johnny leaned over close to one of the unconscious doctor's ears. "Mike. Roy's going with an EKG wire tap. That way, we can see exactly when we're deep enough." Stanger was growing slightly pale. "Are you guys going to do what I think you're gonna do? Open heart surgery?" "No. We're not cutting him open. Just a needle tap to evacuate the excess fluid building up around his heart. There's so much inside of its pericardial sac right now that it can't circulate his blood effectively any more. His heart's getting squeezed to death by all of the pressure. That's why his color's so bad." Johnny told him. "See?" he said, showing the commander how blue Morton's lips and gums had become. "Okay, I'm done." said Cole, tossing aside the betadine and gauze pad. "What else can I d---?" ## T Minus three minutes to abandon sh--- Break! Break!.... Radiation levels falling to zero. We have containment. I repeat, the core has stabilized. ## came Connelly's voice. ##Geiger counters have returned to normal readings.## Immediately following, Miguel Garcia's voice came over the intercom. ##Abort! Abort ship's evacuation. All personnel to assigned duty stations for follow up damage assessment. ## Cole snatched for his belt geiger counter and drew it out, waving it in the direction of the hallway past the medical supply room hatch. "It's true." he confirmed, his voice tight with emotion. "He's done it.." he whispered. "We're finally safe." Wordlessly, Roy reached out and gripped his shoulder. "I'm sorry about Ty." "What about Captain Masterson?" Did he get hurt?" Gage asked, distracted, while he re-evaluated breath sounds on Dr. Morton as he bagged in his oxygen. "Ty's dead." Cole told him. "A few minutes ago." That shut Johnny up. Shocked at his lack of attention to details, he glanced over at his partner. Roy filled him in. "He sacrificed himself to flood the reactor core, Johnny. There was no other option. At least, not one that would have been in time for the rest of us." Stanger sighed, taking in a deep breath to steady his nerves. "He was a good man. Who knows how many lives he's saved?" Gage nodded wordlessly, humbled. Time seemed to stop. DeSoto got down to business. "Johnny?.. Johnny...." said Roy gently. "Hmm." Gage murmured, still numb, still ventilating Dr. Morton on the ambu bag. "Is Dr. Morton down all the way?" he asked Johnny about Morton's sedation. "Uhh.. Let me check." Bending over, Gage dug a firm set of knuckles into Mike's breast bone while he cracked open an eyelid with his other hand in between delivering breaths. "No pupillary response to pain. I just topped off the paralytic again. He's a trauma so I also gave him 1.5 mg/kg IV Lidocaine three minutes ago to suppress any cough reflex so he won't increase his intracranial pressure." Johnny shared, suddenly very tired. "That's what Dr. Brackett would have ordered. I'll give him 0.01-0.02 mg/kg Atropine to prevent bradycardia as we tap. It'll increase his heart rate. Ready to hyperventilate?" Roy asked. Gage replied. "Let's get this over with. No disrespect, Mr. Stanger, but I want to get the h*ll off this ship with my friend as fast as I possibly can." he said, getting upset visibly as he flooded extra oxygen into Mike's lungs in preparation for pausing during the needle expression. "Go.." he said, setting down the bag and reaching for the alligator clips and wires Roy had left lying across Morton's bruised stomach. Roy placed the spinal needle attached to an empty saline bolus syringe at a 45 degree angle to Mike's spine just under the xiphoid process, aiming it toward his left shoulder. Then he shoved firmly. Once it had broken skin, Johnny quickly clamped the alligator clips to the bare needle as Roy advanced the hollow lance downward towards Dr. Morton's heart. Stanger glanced at his watch. "Fifteen seconds since last breath." he called out, recognizing the needle tapping's similarity to normal emergency resuscitation steps. Gage bent low and turned the EKG monitor's screen towards Roy so they both could see the distressed rhythm playing across it. Roy held his own breath and slowly pushed the needle in even further than how far his instincts were actually telling him to go. "There!" Gage shouted, pointing at the monitor. "A.. P.V.C." Roy locked into stillness, not daring to move his hands, nor the long wires trailing needle his gloved fingers were holding. "ST segment elevation. You're a little too far, Roy." Johnny said. "Back up a smidge." "Did he stab his heart?" Cole feared. "No, he's just barely in contact with the myocardial surface. It's what we want. That means the needle's made it inside the swollen heart sac." he said urgently. Carefully, Gage reached out and pulled back on the plunger of the syringe, creating a back pressure of suction power. Immediately the syringe's vacant chamber filled with a partially clear bloody pink liquid, heavy with clots. He filled the large syringe as much as he could and then he jerked it off the needle's hub, only to replace it with a new empty syringe while Roy held the spinal needle rock still and steady. For the second time, fluid from around Dr. Morton's heart gushed into the syringe with very little encouragement. "There's a ton of this, Roy." remarked Johnny, soon fitting on a third evacuation chamber. "Not much blood though." said Roy. "I don't think his heart's torn from the crash like we both thought it was. Just bruised enough to cause this fluid build up." "Two minutes since." said Stanger, fascinated despite his grief. "That's it." said Gage, unsuccessfully pulling fluid out with a fourth sterile syringe. "I think we're done." "Okay, I'm retracting it." Roy warned. Johnny was careful to hold Morton's head and neck perfectly still while Roy firmly tugged at the needle, in reverse, in short stages, through his cartilage and bone, and back out the way it came. Roy tossed it away into a corner, wires and all, with a touch of horror. Mike's feet twitched. Gage felt Morton's ribs. "He's started breathing. The medication's wearing off." Several pink tinged fluid drops appeared at the puncture site during Morton's first few recovering ventilation attempts through his endotracheal tube. Stanger made a face at the sight. "Is that normal?" Morton's gums had pinked up again, so Gage bent low to listen to breath sounds with his head on Mike's chest. "No crackling. I think we avoided pleural effusion." "How about pneumothorax?" DeSoto asked, studying the first heart fluid syringe he had evacuated through a flashlight bulb. "I'm not seeing any pus here." "Good news. Breath sounds are equal." Johnny confirmed. "Twenty a minute." he announced, fitting a regular on-demand oxygen valve to the airway's port so the doctor could draw off what he needed on his own. "Entering normal sinus rhythm on the monitor..." Roy reported, finally smiling.. "I didn't hurt him." he said in relief. "Rate's slowing to eighty." Stanger was surprised as he got a stretcher set for use next to them. "Your friend's gonna make it? He's not dying?" Gage chuckled. "That was the instant fix." Beneath his hands, Morton groaned and started popping through his tube, so Johnny extubated him swiftly before he became fully conscious. "Time to sail all of our butts out of here, Dr. Morton. What do you say?" Gage asked turning him onto his side to drain out. "..Peachy...." Mike finally agreed groggily, happy that his heart was still beating in his ears. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dr. Marcus Welby put on his best smile as Navy Medic Bron Reese open his eyes in bed. "Easy, sailor. You're still coming out of anesthesia for a lacerated liver." "Where am I?" Bron asked, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings. "I'm not on the ship any more." The room was warm, sunny, and green. It was strange not having bullet gray surrounding him on the walls. "Be glad you're not. There's more crewman climbing all over that thing conducting repairs right now than five ships her size." chuckled the family doctor. "You're at Rampart General Hospital. The second home of those two paramedics firefighters you met over the weekend. They came asking about you, but I turned them away so you could get some rest." Marcus replied. "And.. my girlfriend? Didn't she break an arm or a leg of yours for trying to kick her out?" "Oh, you must mean the lovely Dot." said Welby, taking Bron's pulse. "Alpha 1 to you." murmured Reese sheepishly surprised. "It's actually Dorothy, like the one with Toto in that 40's movie? She hates her given name. Yet everybody teases her about it anyway. How did you pry her away from me?" Reese wondered. "I told her lips only worked well enough for one, twenty four hours a day." Both men laughed. "Actually, she made tracks once I planted an oxygen mask over your face." said Marcus with a grin. "She had nothing better to do after that." "Rampart's in Torrance, correct?" Bron asked, still getting his official bearings. "That's right." replied Dr. Welby. "This place is pretty close to that pier and my ship. I take it the big nuke never happened or else I wouldn't still be here by the ocean." Reese quipped, smiling and raising his hands. "I wonder who the top brass was who solved all of our problems?" Dr. Welby's amused demeanor flashed away immediately. "Bron. I've someone waiting just outside who'd like to talk to you about what you've missed over the last few hours. Can I invite him in?" "Sure, doc." said Reese, puzzled. "If you'll excuse me..." said Dr. Welby. He left the room quietly, taking his chart with him. When he saw the look on Private Rick Connelly's face when he walked in, Bron Reese wished he had never awakened out of his coma. "Sir?" greeted Rick timidly. "They told me you were awake and accepting visitors." "I wasn't five minutes ago." Reese grinned, thinking black thoughts about Dr. Welby. "Huh?" "Never mind. That guy's gone." Bron said. "Have a seat." he invited, pointing to a chair that still bore the butt marks of his restless girlfriend. "Thank you." "I appreciate the house call, Private. But why so glum? I'm on the mend!" Bron sighed expansively. "Surely you can go back and tell everyone that I'm going to be fine. I'll just bet the captain'll--" Reese broke off when he saw the young sailor pale and direct his eyes to the ceiling, hiding fresh tears. "Connelly.. Hey.. Just tell me. I won't bite." "Oh, sir." teared up Rick. "The captain saved us, just like he promised, but he didn't survive it." Bron Reese's whole world contracted into a tiny little point at the news. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Days later, Roy DeSoto and Johnny Gage came to pay a visit to the man to whom Dr. Morton owed more than just a few drinks. Accompanying them to Bron Reese's hospital room was Cole Stanger who came to relate a tale or two himself. "It was a fine memorial service, Bron. One of the best. All the colors were out. Even the civvies here, and their fire department, came in full regalia. I swear, every grunt who's ever shipped on the Blue Ridge this side of Honolulu showed up. And you know what? I think we did the captain proud. They had his hat out you know. Right on his table, in the old spot where he'd park his coffee mug." said Stanger. "Then they offered me command." Reese's eyes filled up as he regarded his fellow officer. "Did you accept?" "H*ll, yeah. Ty would come back to haunt me if I hadn't." Cole grinned, wiping his eyes. "I'm sorry you weren't there, Bron." "But we were." said Johnny Gage, one foot propped up against one wall of the hospital room. "We took a lot of pictures. I don't know if we got everybody on your crew, Mr. Reese, but we made this photo album of the memorial service. You see, I'm a bit of a photographer and.. well, we wanted you to have this." he said, passing off a book of royal blue velvet, his ship's color. For a moment, Bron couldn't see, blinded by the tears in his eyes. "Thanks, fellas. This means a lot. Now I've got something to do to keep me occupied for while, besides kissing." Roy laughed. "So when are they going to spring ya?" "Next week some time. Say, who's that hot little blond with the sexy phone voice who comes in here every morning to read my chart." "Ah,.. well. That sounds like Dixie McCall and she's a particular doctor's hot little blond if you know what I mean." Johnny said, mincing on his feet. "Dr. Welby's?!" Reese gaped. "Dr. Brackett's. He's the Ty Masterson around these parts. So hands off if you know what's good for you. He's still got his hands on your chart." DeSoto teased. "I'll remember. Besides, Dot'll flay me alive if I stray one iota." "Well, we better get going. We've still got rounds to do. We've one more patient to see." Roy said in a hint. "Dr. Morton? How's he doing?" Reese beamed despite his bruises. "He's been kept in a protective coma all week. But today's the day they're bringing him out of it." he shared. "We want to be there to see if he's lost any more brain function." Johnny cracked. "I'm good. Nobody vegetables in my care." Reese defended. "I'm an ace with resuscitations. Just ask Dot." Gage smirked and Roy waved. "We know. She told us. You're all she talks about. See ya." they said as they departed. Bron Reese opened up the cover of his new photo album, but before he looked at it, he dragged the kleenix box from on top of his bedside table into his lap. ::Be prepared.:: he told himself. ::There's nothing like being a sailor.:: he thought. ::In life, or beyond.:: ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Johnny Gage intercepted Dr. Brackett in a hallway on the same floor as Dr. Morton's ICU room. "Are you sure we can go in to see him?" "No." he glared immediately. "But... but, ..w- we came on break. We're radiation free. So why the H*ll not?" Johnny asked, surprised, setting hands on his hips. Kel cracked a grin, and at the desk, a visiting Dixie just scoffed at Brackett's paltry sense of humor. She snorted, imparting cool reassurance to the fussing paramedic. Dr. Brackett raised two hands over his head and made claw fingers. "I am evil incarnate. Put me in a sack full of snakes and drop me off a cliff before I unleash more terror upon an innocent globe." he confessed before he cackled mightily and headed off to the doctor's lounge for a cup of coffee. Roy leaned on the desk and made woeful eyes at McCall. "He was kidding, right?" "Of course. He's still coming down from the fact that we all aren't bacon sizzling in a frying pan. Go on ahead. Go see Dr. Morton. Dr. Kiley's just finished up administering a few stimulants. Could be fun..." she dangled, rolling her eyes. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Gage took in a deep breath and let him have it. "Dr. Morton. Dr. Morton. Wake up, Mike. Rise and shine and all that sh*t." On the bed, sans the wires and tubes that were in place the day before, the head to toe bandaged Mike Morton slowly twitched up a sluggish eyebrow. He still bore X's over both of his eyes, lingering souvenirs from his chemical hibernation. "Um huh?" "He's not awake yet." said Roy, peering closer. "Wow, you sound more like Chet does by the minute, Mike." Johnny quipped, taking Dr. Morton by the wrist in a pulse check. "Gee, would you look at that? He's breathing, but nobody's home." Mike's other eyebrow rose to meet the first one eventually. He felt his eyelids as they remained strangely cemented shut. "That's tape." Roy told him. "Here, let me peel them off." He said, performing the chore. "Offfff ooowwppp!" Morton complained as the tape came off along with a few eye lashes. Johnny was unsympathetic and very very happy to see his sometimes boss. "When you get opposable thumbs and upright posture in a few days, you can join us at the station. We'll even let you hold a coffee cup." "I have no coffee." mumbled Morton, not even trying to ask for his glasses, that were still hanging on the traction handle above his head in a plastic bag. "Your value to this expedition has greatly decreased." Johnny declared haughtily. "What time is it?" Morton asked, squinting painfully in the dim light of his ICU ward. "Five thirty seven." Roy answered. "Why's it dark?" "You slept all day. All week for that matter. It's night now." Gage grinned. "How come it's cold?" Morton shivered in his gown. Roy jerked up the man's covers, showing sympathy. Johnny was ruthless, playing on Dr. Morton's vulnerably drugged state. "Actually, the earth stopped rotating and the sun never came up. This side of the earth is encased in a thick sheet of ice. We need you to go chip out some fish for dinner." Mike frowned in confusion, half innocent, half doubtful. "I don't believe you." "Suit yourself. But I'm not sharing my fish with you." Gage answered. He walked out without a sound. Roy had the manners to at least wave a goodbye big enough for Mike to see without spectacles. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ::Neural check complete.:: Johnny thought to himself as they headed back to the station in the squad. "You know what, Roy? I think Dr. Morton's gonna make it out of that tailspin alive." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Miguel on a red alert ship bridge. Photo: Johnny looking intently. Photo: A firefighter receiving tanked air from a scba mask pressed against his face. Photo: Ty Masterson and his officers on the bridge of the U.S.S. Blue Ridge. Photo: Captain Stanley on an HT at night. Photo: Medic Reese sitting unconscious from a head injury. Photo: Gage caring for a patient. Photo: Roy bending down over Dr. Morton. Photo: Dr. Morton's pericardial tap. Photo: An EKG showing elevated ST segments from needle stimulus. Photo: Ty Masterson's ship's captain hat on a table. Photo: Ty Masterson dying from Radiation. Photo: Medic Bron Reese hospitalized in a cast. Photo: Rick Connelly and Miguel Garcia handling a crisis on ship. Photo: Dr. Morton in a cast, on oxygen in a hospital bed. Photo: An aircraft carrier holding a memorial service. Photo: Roy and Johnny laughing, in the squad. **************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sun 1/04/15 9:22 PM Subject: Simmer.. Johnny Gage followed in Roy's footsteps into the dayroom at the station. His right shoulder was chafing a bit in the heat, causing him to keep pulling on his uniform sleeve to try and relieve it. DeSoto sighed at him and made for the coffee pot, chiding, without even needing to turn around. "Our radiation fallout's gone, Johnny. Our final decontamination process four days ago scrubbed it all off." Gage remained physically irritated. "Well, nobody told me that I'd be missing some serious skin afterwards. I feel like an escapee from the burn ward." "Hey, I'm trying to eat here." Marco said, making a face as he tried to chew on cold roast beef and carrot sticks. "Sorry." Gage apologized genuinely, still scratching. "I'm sure Dr. Welby and his colleague, Dr. Killy.." "That's Kiley." corrected Chet. Johnny didn't miss a beat.."Dr. Kiley know their business, but being uncomfortable on top of all the abnormal this summer should have been factored in before we were let back on duty." Chet looked up from the debrief papers he was busy organizing before their morning meeting. "Are you saying you feel wimpy?" The others chuckled. Gage bellied up. "No, uh, no.. I just.. I'm a firefighter. Of course I don't actually feel.." "..weak." chimed in Stoker. "..altered." added Cap. "Do you think you need a psychological evaluation, John? One can be arranged." he said, mock getting up from his chair and reaching for the wall phone. Gage hastily stopped scratching and dropped both hands onto the table top. "I'm fine, Cap." "Good. Now can we start the briefing the chief called on us to do?" Hank pegged. "Sure, uh, let's have at it." Johnny smiled wanly. "I'm all ears." "Minus some hide." Chet teased, sotto voce. "Would you--!" Johnny sputtered. "...quit reminding me already! I'm still itching!" Cap raised his voice to quell his men's sniping. "Two words. Hancock Park. Does that ring a bell?" he asked, holding up some city infrastructure diagrams and seismic topographical surveys. Marco nodded. "Isn't that the Wilshire business district near the Miracle Mile Shopping Center?" "It is. Just a few blocks down." Hank replied. "Is there a homelessness problem cropping up? Extra medical calls?" Chet guessed. Gage scoffed. "That's an every day affair. Roy and I get at least one welfare call a week checking up on folks trying to live there, unsuccessfully, while trying to blend in with the tourists." "What gives them away?" Kelly asked. "It smells." Stoker volunteered, still thinking about the original location Cap brought up. Stanley snapped his fingers in celebration. "Bingo. Right on, Stoker. Yes, it does. Like fresh asphalt. Got more?" he said, trying to drag more out of the gang. Roy frowned, angling his head. "The LaBrea Tar Pits. They've never been a problem before, Cap." "It's not the pits; never has been about them past the occasional idiot kid getting mired in one." Hank shrugged. "Think it through. What used to be around that neck of the woods about twenty years ago?" Mike Stoker had the answer when the others were silent. "Salt Lake Oil Field, about 1,000 feet below the surface of Hancock Park. They used to drill for oil extensively before downtown L.A. was fully developed. There are old, sealed off wells all over the place on just about every corner in those neighborhoods." "How did you figure that out?" Chet asked. Stoker eyed him up casually. "I'm an engineer. I'm always looking out for the nearest water hydrant by which to park on fire calls. The layout of them, and what's not them, sort of sticks in your head after a while." Chet laughed. "Is that anything like knowing where all the burger joints are? Johnny should know about those like the back of his hand." Everybody smirked and chuckled. "Food's food. Always important to know where to get it." Johnny defended, feeling targeted. Roy was already one step ahead. "Oh, no. It's been too hot. And for too long. Beginning to boil?" "Yep." said Hank. "You nailed the problem Headquarters has asked us to investigate. We've been taken off the regular calls schedule to handle this." "What are we looking for, Cap?" Chet asked. "Abnormal tar seeps. We never got our cool winter, Chet, when usually all that asphalt in the area resolidifies. Winter winds and rain would have further covered the surfaces of the seeps with sediment washed down from the nearby Santa Monica Mountains. But that never happened this year. One good rain could spell a good deal of trouble for us in just a couple of hours." Hank explained. "How so?" Marco asked. "Any unusual high rainfall amounts might combine to raise underground water levels, forcing any methane pockets that have formed, to rise to the surface. There's a ton of decomposing organic matter under the soil right now due to the heat. And it's really cooking. Within the past week, these petrogenic fumes have been found to be the cause sparking the fires in the park on the hill above the tar pits. Although the gas from decomposing plant materials has been forming for thousands of years, all the new streets, buildings and parking lots built in the last year have kept any gas that used to naturally escape, contained." Cap shared. Immediately, the gang got restless. "Wait a minute. Is this a basement checks detail? For all of downtown?" Johnny asked. "Just us? One station?" "Yep. We're a little low on man power since four stations are still helping with that radioactive mess around the navy ship's pier. That's a lot of beach to contain and truck away. L.A. City's taking our service calls beginning at 0900 this morning. We'll only respond if something occurs in our local vicinity, whereever we may be on any given day for the course of this assignment. We've got it for the rest of the week." Cap said. Roy nodded. "Inspections. Okay. To back up the surveyors monitoring the park emissions?" "That's about the size of it. L.A. feels this is a very likely a future volatile situation and it's being given a high priority over the usual business of summer wild fires and related environmental medical calls." "But what do they think us six guys accomplish here? Nobody can smell that kind of gas." Kelly said, making a face. "How will we know where and what's dangerous?" "There in lies a suddenly serious problem with the oil industry. We'll look for what we can detect, fire and spark hazards. If we encounter them, we'll issue citations. City inspectors will be working with us on our same radio frequency. We'll hopefully be preventative and very timely where it counts until the danger passes when the weather cools." "Or when it rains." Stoker added ominously. Cap sighed and nodded, feeling more than just a bit of the chief's helplessness at the problem. "You've got twenty minutes to pack up and get mobile. We'll eat at the nearest restaurants at intervals and sleep at 61's on 3rd. They already know to expect us. I'm sorry, but no days off for the next three. This is being treated as an unofficial emergency operation. We're also going to try and minimize public panic before any starts once the media puts two and two together about the significance of the Hancock fire, that we aren't putting out, and starts reporting on it. Let's get a move on." The gang drained their coffee cups and did not fuss further. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Steven Kiley was closing his black bag at the rest and recuperation tent in the green area off the pier operations when Marcus Welby and their receptionist nurse, Consuelo Lopez, rushed in with a fresh set of confidential orders from the state. "No way. We're done, Mark." he said firmly, parking in a chair in exhaustion. He had been monitoring clean up firefighters all day for signs of overheating or dehydration problems. "Wish that were true, Steven." said Welby, no nonsense. "We're not off the hook yet. But we did win a sleep break." he smiled. "Of about six hours." said Consuelo, eyeing up her watch. "Then we're getting moved to the Page Museum, our new temporary headquarters." Kiley stopped rubbing his face. "Well, at least the stink of tar is better than that of a burned out, no longer radioactive ship." "That's the spirit!" Marcus smiled. "Be grateful. You could have been one of the county's firefighters from that station we monitored Friday. They're barely cleared for duty and they got assigned right back into another risky spot." "Oh, yeah? Where? The nuclear power station? I wouldn't be surprised." "No, downtown." Dr. Kiley laughed. "Oh, the heavy crimes rates. Horrors." he chuckled. "If only it were that simple." Dr. Welby said, growing serious. "Their battalion chief just informed me that whole city blocks may go up in flames if everybody's not careful. The ground's leaking a dangerous gas out all over the place." Nurse Lopez chided sharply. "And we're being placed on top of La Brea?" "It's the safest proven place to date. The ground's open to venting there. It's everywhere else in the neighborhood that's the proverbial powder keg." Marcus said. "I hope Cedars Sinai knows about all this." Kiley said, anticipating the potential burn counts in his head. "They do." replied Dr. Welby. "I want you to get on the phone with Rampart Hospital as an overflow if this thing does blow u-" Consuelo knocked on the wood of her chart she was filing into a plastic crate. "Shhh. Boys!" she chided, crossing herself. "Don't tempt fate." her brown eyes, shooting sparks into their direction. The two family doctors smiled at her in amusement, knowing her quirks all too well. "I'll get on it." Kiley promised his boss, reaching for a portable radio phone. "I hope they have a cot waiting for me. I'm bushed." "We've got four. Three for us and an extra one for all of our gear." their nurse confirmed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dixie McCall was in the cafeteria having lunch with Roy DeSoto's wife, Joanne. "So there's really nothing to worry about any longer? I mean, about Roy's radiation exposure?" "Nothing at all. The tritium's spent the rest of its half life yesterday. And all of his lab tests and blood chemistries came back normal. I thought Dr. Brackett called you specifically to tell you that yesterday morning." Joanne sighed, and scratched her forehead wrinkling up underneath her page hairstyle bangs. "Oh, Dixie. He did. I'm just having trouble accepting the fact that he actually walked away from a work incident that big." McCall had the grace not to smile. "Yeah, radiation's a pretty heavy wrap in anyone's book. It's not like we have a lot of experience with it in this day and age. But that's not why I invited you to lunch, Joanne." "Oh?" wondered Mrs. DeSoto. "Your husband's going out into an unknown again. For nothing specific so far. Not yet. But I'm answering a woman's intuition by sharing this with you in advance." "Dixie, I already know about the inspections. I just got off the phone with Roy a few minutes ago. We've always been honest with each other when it comes to big incidents or oddball assignments. Roy never sugarcoats work from me. This seems to be something about looking for fire hazards in the Miracle Mile neighborhood? It sounds pretty routine." Joanne said, taking another bite of her danish. "Oh, I sure hope so. But that fire in Hancock Park is being stubborn." she said, pointing to the cafeteria's TV set showing the news broadcast on it. Joanne's eyes got wide. "Oh, that's not out yet? But that started up the same day Dr. Morton crashed his plane." she said, turning to watch the scene being reported. McCall picked at her food, giving in to her misgivings. "If the fire department is letting a fire keep burning, that can mean only two things, Joanne. Either they can't put it out, or they won't, to deplete what they think might be fuel for future flames. This whole thing will probably go south very quickly in my experience." "Also in mine." said a new voice. Paramedic firefighter Craig Brice nodded at the two women and took the extra chair they offered, placing his food tray and handy talkie on the table in front of himself as he joined them. "The variables being discovered are just too great for any organization to cope with or manage successfully at this point in time. All we can do is be ready to respond." "I'll keep in touch with Roy, Dixie, I promise. We'll call each other at regular intervals. There's a payphone every block, now isn't there?" Mrs. DeSoto smiled bravely. "Pretty much." Dixie smiled. "I'm glad you're in the loop on this. You're handling it better than I am." "I am a firefighter's wife." Joanne said. "Danger's always a relative." Mrs. DeSoto focused on Brice. "Craig, what is your assignment this week?" "I'm at Station 61. They had an injured man and needed a slot filled." Joanne's eyes brightened. "Then you'll be with my husband?" "Only at night when it's time to sleep. But I will keep in touch with him, for you, if you'd like, Mrs. DeSoto." he offered. "I know both of your kids are still young." "Thank you, Craig. You've always been a good friend to us. I'd like that very much." Partially satisfied, Dixie listened to the rest of their conversation without intruding, drinking up the sounds of normalcy in their voices and reactions. ::I'll be glad when this summer's over. Tomorrow's the Fourth of July. I just hope nobody gets stupid in the wrong place at the wrong time for anybody.:: she fervently wished. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: The La Brea Tar Pits. Photo: A close up of gas leaking from a tar pit. Photo: Station 61 in downtown L.A. Photo: Nurse Consuelo Lopez and Dr. Welby in discussion. Photo: Dr. Kiley, not happy. Photo: Paramedic Craig Brice medium shot. Photo: Joanne DeSoto, listening. Photo: Dixie McCall, worried. Photo: The gang in the day room around the chalk board. *************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Thu 3/05/15 2:09 AM Subject: Legwork Nurse Consuelo, Steven Kiley, and Marcus Welby were napping on fire department cots in the large windowed taxidermy display room at the closed Page Museum. The bright sun shining on their faces was no longer heavy with heat in the emergency air conditioning the city had managed for them in the facility at the center of the La Brea Tar Pits's park. Surrounding the museum, were the fourth alarm fire station companies monitoring the perpetual subterranean gas fed fire still scorching a grassy expanse in Hancock Park. Battalion Seven had paced the length of his crew assignments supportive hose layouts all day, checking for changes in water pressure, his men's conditions in the heat, and making sure the rotation schedule was being obeyed by all. Satisfied, the chief nodded at each captain stationed on the hill as he drove by in his red car on his way to find a relief physician for his own mandatory incident status physical exam. He parked in the lot full of waiting Mayfairs and idling police cars and entered the museum by its open main door, keeping an active HT in hand. He could hear the chatter of Station 51 as they moved from building to building, performing their safety inspections. ##HT 51 to Engine 51. Stoker and Lopez. Entering Kmart at the southeast corner of Fairfax Ave and 3rd.## reported Marco to Cap. ##Copy HT 51. Myself and DeSoto are watching the vehicles a block to your east. Kelly and Gage are working across the street checking out the tattoo parlor next to the waterworks. See them?## Hank asked. ##Yeah, Cap. Recording their positional.## reported Mike, checking off another mark on his map. To Battalion Seven, the every day routine talk was bliss. He deftly turned down the volume of his radio as he approached the resting medical folk. Quietly, he moved over to the coffee pot set up with food on a nearby table, and helped himself. Its softly steaming stream splashed faintly, muffled, onto the ice that he had heaped into a mug to cool it. That was all it took. The coffee's sharp rising scent roused Nurse Consuelo from her bed. "Chief?" Battalion had the grace enough to look startled. "Sorry to wake you. I'm fine. Just seeking a little pick me up." he reported. "I wasn't quiet enough?" She tossed her blanket back onto the cot. "I sleep super light because I fuss even in my dreams at incident scenes. You're blameless. But you know, water would work far better than iced coffee for rehydrating, mister mister." she scolded. "I haven't peed all day." But Battalion Seven was humble and hung his sweat dripping head with a grin. "Okay.. Where's the cooler?" he asked, capitulating. Consuelo smiled and pointed with a pen that she had started using to record his visit, towards a stuffed Woolly Mammoth. "In between the pair of front feet on that other big, furry guy." "I'm furry?" the chief frowned in amusement at her as he snagged out two water bottles to drain. "You could use a shaver. I've got one. What if a news crew shows up?" the nurse shrugged. "They're already here. We've kept them out of the museum so they wouldn't bug you. And nurse, for the record, I like being fuzzy in the summer. Beats razor burn. News crews indeed..." he murmured. "It's OUR job to break your sleep." Nurse Lopez just chuckled. "Glad you did. You're thirsty. Quit feeling guilty about stopping in early. I'll sleep when I'm dead. So how's it going out there?" she asked, slipping on a blood pressure cuff over the arm the chief stuck out for her. "Pretty boring." he said, running the side of one of his icy bottles of water over his face and the back of his neck. "Ah, that hits the spot." "In your line of work, boring is good, chief." she warned, eyeing up the smoke from Hancock Park that was billowing up into the sky through the observation windows. She paused after she took a reading. "146 over 92?" "Hmm.. Mild hypertension? Well, I quit smoking only last month." the chief explained as an excuse. "You're still smoking." Consuelo pegged. "You date fires regularly. Drink that water and it should go back down again into normal enough to continue work." she emphasized finally, yawning big. The chief dutifully started drinking again. "I'll... just go.... keep the sabertooth company while I finish these off." he said, taking the hint that her nap break was not yet over. "Cover its head with a blanket, chief, when you leave? Dead cats creep me out." she mumbled as she got back into bed, turning her back to the animals looming over them. Chuckling, Battalion did so, with a gayly colored striped one, and returned to his car, refreshed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mike and Marco were having trouble locating the manager on duty at K-mart. It wasn't hard to find the patrons since their slightly smoky smelling fire jackets attracted the attention of everybody within eye sight to their whereabouts instantly with a whole lot of head swivelling. Stoker stepped up to the nearest cashier and smiled. "Excuse me, we know you're busy, but could you activate your blue light special beacon please?" An actively jaw chewing cashier teenager snapped his Doublemint gum twice. "It's not sale time yet." Marco lost his patience. "We're the red light special, amigo. And we need to see your manager A.S.A.P. about an inspection. This is why we asked. Anybody who wears one of these," he said, pointing to his helmet, "knows the only way getting him, is through that flashing light, so turn it on. The hombre did ask politely, now didn't he?" he played to the long cashier line of people standing there. Heads nodded and saucily, an old lady who was first in line ringing up her groceries, reached up and flicked on the blue light with a scowl. "Quit holding up the fire boys, kid. That's tacky. I'll vouch for you, for not obeying that stupid sale time only rule. Just say I did it when he gets here." she snapped, pointing to the light. Rolling his eyes, the cashier finally opened the drawer of his till to give the woman her change. The blue light did its job. It wasn't thirty seconds before the store manager came from out of nowhere to berate whoever did it. His rage drew up short when he saw the two firemen standing by with their slate boards and handy talkies. Miraculously, his body posture changed. "Oh, is there a fire?" "Not now, but maybe later. Show us the way to your basement utility room and the gas meters, please." Mike said diplomatically. "We have to sniff around." he said, pulling out a natural gas sniffer from underneath his turnout coat. The K-mart manager went ballistic when he saw the probe like device. "Whoa.. whoa.. not around here. What about the customers? They see that thing and they'll leave, man. Nobody likes gas leaks." Marco snorted, impatient with the heat and the lack of air conditioning in this, their forty eighth business stop of the day. "You'll like it even less amigo if one we haven't found yet catches on f--" "Shh.." coaxed the balding Chinese manager. "That word's taboo in a retail place just as much as it is a movie theater. Never say it." he grinned stonily. "Fire." Mike Stoker said a little louder than sotto voce'. The manager moved instantly, shooing his surprise inspectors into the right direction and away from the cashier lines. "Ahh, right this way, gentlemen. Care for some ice water? It'll be free. On the house.." "Your water should be free. That's a drinking fountain, isn't it?" Lopez gruffed. "And it's broken!" he huffed, checking off a violation point with a florish on his slateboard as he spied the dried, crusted white powder encircling its mouth jet and drain basin. The manager's eyes got really wide with horror. "I-I-I'll get you some water. Here, there's a water cooler in my office!" the manager cried desperately, trying to be subtle and not attract any customer attention. "Please, feel welcome. Have a seat." he said, inviting them in. He practically slammed the door behind them and dropped the venetian blinds so curious shoppers couldn't see the firefighters any more. "Hiding us won't work. Our fire engine's sitting in the middle of your parking lot." Stoker lied, accepting a paper cone cup full of spring water the manager handed to him. He downed it in seconds. "More?" "As much as you like." the manager said, gesturing to the cooler bottle and the stack of cups attached to the side of it. "The police drain me dry daily, too." he said with another fake smile of appeasement. "Nice neighborhood." Marco remarked, linking that statement to shoplifters. The manager agreed saucily. "You'd think we were Goodwill." he said sarcastically. It was a full minute and thirty cups tossed into a nearby garbage can later before Marco and Mike felt that both their thirst and their irritation at their current violations check client, was slated. "Now, shall we go?" the manager minced nervously, indicating another door that led into the employees only area. "Those places are this way." "We feel motivated, mister, by the size of the map we have to cover today. Thanks for your hospitality." Marco said diplomatically. "Could you hurry?" "Yes, of course.." he said, opening the door for them. He started sweating when the light switch at the top of the stairs didn't work to light the way, forcing Lopez and Stoker to break out their flashlights. The manager winced when he heard the sound of another check mark being penned in as a violation on the city safety check list. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cap squinted at the bronze colored sky. "Man, it's worse than hot." "Yeah, you'd better keep your helmet on." Roy grinned. "You don't wanna get heat stroked." "That's the easy way out of this assignment." Hank chuckled. "Not going there." he said, grinning at some unsavories eyeing up the Squad for the drug inventory they knew was in there. He waved at the thugs. "Not on your best day, pals." he challenged them, turning up the volume of the police channel on his H.T. loud enough so they could hear it. Roy hastened their retreat with a toot of the air horn full blast from where they were standing with both the doors of Engine 51 wide open to catch what little breezes there were to keep the seats from getting boiling hot. The gang members made tracks, ducking into the meager shade of the palm trees in the alleyway. DeSoto sighed. "I kind of like playing guard dog. Thanks, Cap." "This gig'll be our break rotation since nobody's here with a set up R and R station. I'll crack open a hydrant if any of us needs a serious cool down." Then he noticed Roy's stack of inspection forms. "Discover any hazard spots on your block?" "A few. Nothing major. The usual sprinkler system bugs. One place had an inadequate water heater's pilot light. It was so plugged up, it had a blue flame. For a second there, we thought we had serious ground seep and got a little excited. No such luck." "We don't want that kind of luck." Cap said, eyeing up the sun wearily as the noon hour finally crested over them judging by the palm tree shadows. "Not until tomorrow after I've had about ten hours solid sleep." "I can always pull out a stokes for you." DeSoto joked. "You can make a hammock out of it over there." he said, pointing towards the gang's shady alleyway retreat. "I think I'm gonna pass on that offer." Hank smiled, sucking on a water bottle. "I'd probably wake up mugged, without a single stitch of uniform or gear left to my name." The two firefighters laughed. They sobered when they noticed how sharply the perpetual fire smoke was rising up from Hancock Park in the distance. Hank's face deadpanned. "Does that smoke plume look a little bigger to you all of the sudden?" "Yes, it does, Cap." said Roy. "It's getting quite a boost." Cap got on his H.T. to the truck to truck band. "Engine 51 to H.T.s 51. Hancock's flaring. Watch your backs." he told his men. "Keep track of your escape routes." ##10-4, Cap.## said both Gage and Stoker simultaneously over the channel. Roy began to look apprehensive. "Hello, underground." he said, studying the glowing smoke. "...said the volcano to Pompeii." Cap muttered. "Something else is gonna give way. But where?" he said, shifting his eyes over the sparkling, brand new white office buildings and skyscrapers surrounding them. Roy consulted the old drill holes map of the Salt Lake Oil Field operation from the 1960s. "How about near by where there are the greatest concentration of bore holes?" "That makes the most sense. Either that or alongside the margins of that natural water table." said Cap, tracing a finger along one particular street. "Fairfax Avenue? What's there?" "I don't know. We haven't covered that block yet." DeSoto told him. "Okay, that's our next port of call. Pack it up. We're moving." he told Roy. "I'll go call in our men." DeSoto nodded and gathered up their food trash and the map into an engine compartment. Then he jogged for the squad to start up its ignition. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Consuelo Lopez from Marcus Welby M.D. Photo: A battalion chief in his red car. Photo: Roy and Cap in Squad 51, driving. Photo: A row of palm trees backlit by pink smoke. Photo: Marco and Stoker descending on someone with a rope noose. Photo: Turnout jacketed Cap, Roy and Gage looking at a survey map at night. Photo: Engine 51 in a K-mart lot. Photo: A K-mart shopping store. Photo: The La Brea Tar Pits Page Museum. ************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sun 4/12/15 8:23 PM Subject: The Tipping Factor Rampart's walk-in E.R. visitor numbers were rising with the heat of the day. Dixie made the mistake of looking down while filing a few charts into her desk snatch organizer. When she glanced up, she was just in time to see an orderly catch a small boy of eight pitching forward out of his mother's arms. McCall shouted to her support nurse. "Carol. This one's just made the front of the line." she said, rushing forward to examine the child where he had been lifted back up and placed onto his side along a row of waiting chairs that others had vacated for his use. Stan, the white garbed orderly, nodded. "I'll go grab a gurney. I think it's the heat, ma'am." he reported to Dixie. "He's flushed, but was awake just a minute ago. Pulse's there. Breathing's fast." McCall smiled, as she tipped the child's head back to ease his irregular panting, for the benefit of his mother. "What's his name?" she asked the sweating brunette, still in her cleaning apron. McCall noticed that it was covered in fresh bleach stains that were still damp and both of them were carrying an aroma of ammonia. "Was he helping you scrub the house?" "Yes. Oh, my g*d. What's wrong with Kyle? When he said his nose was stinging I sent him out to the sandbox to play a little to get some fresh air. I- I- thought that would take care of it. It's always helped his asthma in the past. Is he all right?" the mother asked. Dixie picked her head up from where she had been listening to Kyle's chest. "Rales. His lungs are filled up a bit. Most likely from those fumes. Kids are more sensitive than we are to chemical odors, especially at the floor level." she shared, reaching up to the gurney's underside rack that Stan had pushed next to them for the oxygen resuscitator mask strapped there. She turned on the flow of pure oxygen and began using it over the ruddy boy's nose and mouth. "Let's move him into five." she told the orderly. "H-he was wearing rubber gloves, same as I was." the mother said, fretting. "But he wasn't wearing any kind of mask. Makes a big difference with kids his size." Dixie shrugged. "A scarf or handkerchief will work fine for next time." Carol looked up from the phone receiver she was using. "Early's on the way. So's Respiratory." she promised. Dixie nodded at her gratefully. Then she looked back. "We'll get Kyle squared away. It won't take long. Then we'll let you come in Mrs..." she said to Kyle's mother, who was barely keeping her composure. "Ferguson." the housewife supplied. "Karen Ferguson." "Hi, I'm Miss McCall, the head nurse for the hour. How about throwing away that soaked apron for now? Carol will get you some coffee. I'll come get you myself once we know for sure that this is all that's going on. Please wait here. Don't worry. He's stable." Carefully, hurrying, Stan lifted the tiny boy to the wheeled mattress without disturbing Dixie's ongoing oxygen therapy on the boy. Together, the two of them pushed his blanketless bed along and entered the nearby treatment room. Dr. Early burst through the door moments after Kyle had been transferred to the exam bed from the gurney. "How's he doing? Is it an asthma attack?" he asked Dixie. "No, Joe. Fumes. Ammonia and bleach. He's bubbling a bit. No sign of wheezes." McCall shared, taking a blood pressure once she doubled checked Stan's hook ups leading from the fast heart rate registering EKG monitor. "He's tachycardic at 130 and very warm." "Was he outside?" Early asked, moving aside the oxygen mask long enough to look for signs of chemical burns in the boy's nose and mouth. "This looks like sunburn." he said, sweeping a pair of quickly assessing hands down the boy's body, looking for other issues. He had peeled off his socks and shoes and found confirming white skin there. "Yes, out in the yard. I don't know for how long. His mother didn't say." Dixie shared. "Eighty over fifty four. Bounding. Respirations are thirty, labored. Doing well though. He hasn't needed an oropharyngeal airway." Early drew out a stethoscope and listened to Kyle's dry, red chest. "Dilated pupils. Positive on chlorine exposure. Draw red tops for a P02 and blood gases. Let's get him washed down to remove any cleaning solution off his skin. I'm still smelling it. Afterwards, packed ice under his arms, around his neck and at his groin should get this high temperature down enough for him to wake back up again. I think his blackout's a combination of things; asthma, some fumes and the hot sun. He's not obstructed at all, just inconvenienced a bit lung wise. An albuterol inhalation treatment with a nebulizer should set him to rights. Keep that crash cart close though. We'll use some epinephrine to dry him out if we have to after that." Dixie let out the breath she was holding in relief. "Cleanliness is not next to godliness. I'll tell her the truth, Joe. Mom's young enough to listen." Joe just chuckled. "Could have been worse. Like falling victim to something that you can't control?" "Got me there." McCall sobered, finishing up getting her blood samples. "Don't jinx us. We're busy enough as it is." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chet hung up the gas station's payphone with a solid click. "Ha. Figures." he grumbled, catching up with Johnny as they walked along the sidewalk, heading towards their next safety check, a YMCA. It was adjacent to K-Mart, one of the stops assigned to Marco and Stoker and on the way to where Roy, Cap and the vehicles would be waiting. "What was so important that you had to call home?" Gage asked, holding his H.T. close to his helmeted head so he could keep tabs on the radio traffic going on in Hancock Park a few miles away. "Confirming a few things with Brice. He said the fire over there IS growing. We're not imagining that." Kelly shared. "They haven't been deployed?" Johnny wondered, eyeing up the busy, deceptively normal looking, noon day downtown traffic. "61's a bit away from all of the action, but that's no reason to hold anybody out on reserve. Especially not now." Chet scoffed. "Are you suddenly a Battalion Chief? Neither one of us was wearing white last time I checked." he said, pointing to his helmet's currently roasting black shade. Kelly wanted to rip it off to cool his head, but resisted, knowing better than to actually try it. "It's called anticipating, Chet. Something I finally picked up from Brice. By the way, what else did he have to share with you over landline?" "Joanne says hi?" Chet offered, grinning. "Man, I'm so glad I'm not married. She was there and checking up on Roy already. Now she's gone shopping. Must be nice, having money." "What else did he say?" Gage deadpanned. "Something that concerns us if you can handle it." Chet hefted up his gear pack a little higher onto a shoulder as they hiked up the steps of the Y. "He said, the nearest hydrant was eighteen feet, seven inches away from the phone I was using if we were needing one." he said pointing to the Fairfax's street corner. Unconsciously, both firemen looked at the red one sitting alongside its red painted curb dutifully. It was steaming in the heat due to perpetual condensation from its internal water being enticingly held at bay by two turns of a pipe wrench that was cooling its outer steel. Immediately, both of their tongues felt dry. "What an *ss." Gage rolled his eyes, cursing as he licked his lips. "Him? Or me?" Chet asked, bouncing on his heels, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Who do you think, Chet? Who do I hate the most, given just you two guys?" he said, reaching for the front door's automatic push button. "Can I not answer that? I don't want to hurt my own feelings." Kelly cracked. "Hush, now. We're here." Johnny said, trying not to grin. "Pros, we are, once again." Chet celebrated. "We'll continue the popularity contest question not later,....but sooner. Much, much sooner, rather than--" "Shhh!" Johnny said, eyeing up a pretty young and fit blond haired college student who eagerly batted her eyes at them instead of being alarmed at a surprise inspection tour. "Best foot forward, as Cap always says. Let me do the talking this time, buddy ol' boy." "In your dreams." Kelly countered, just as eager to map out a potential dating prospect. "Cap put me in charge of this block." Sighing, Gage gave up to protocols, and followed Chet to the reception desk. He smiled and let the irritating curly haired fireman standing next to him begin their business spiel. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They were half way down the stairs when Stoker's gas sniffer began to howl. Marco looked over his shoulder to warn the K-mart manager back up the stairs when he saw the man reaching for another light switch nearby. "No! No don't touch that. There's--" The man's fingers didn't stop in time and the toggle was flicked to on. A colossal explosion blew all three of them out of the stairwell on top of a mushroom head of superheated air and fire like ragdolls. Another concussion rocked the office as more floor level hidden gas gave up the ghost to the original spark and roared into instant, violent incineration around them. "Stay down!" Stoker said, dragging the manager in by his feet to underneath the desk where Lopez and he had scrambled for cover. "Stay here!" he shouted as the rest of the store's ceiling began to rain down on top of them. He cradled the man's head in his arms and tried to ignore the screams of shoppers and employees alike in the main store beyond, running for their lives. ::At least they can get out okay. The exterior windows are gone.:: he thought to himself. Next to him, Marco was losing a battle to stay awake. "Mike, there's.. no air." Stoker reached out for Lopez's face to support his breathing with a head tilt. "Yes, there is. Plenty of it. You just hit the wall too hard. Easy, ride it out. Wind's knocked out of you. Once it's quiet, I'll get us all out of here." he promised, unbuttoning Marco's turnout coat to monitor him. He also began to look for wounds. He found none. In fact, nobody was bleeding in the office. But there was plenty of blood on what was left of the glass surrounding their room. ::From flying glass? Wait a minute, that came into the store from the outside! Oh, no. What else blew up besides our basement?:: Stoker wondered. Beside him Marco groaned, half out, but his color was normal for him. His gasps were slowly becoming more effective as he recovered from being thrown. Stoker kept a pinky on his carotid as Lopez regained his lost nervous function. Mike's ears were ringing loudly and he found it hard to think. He got it done but it was a full minute later before he remembered that they were both carrying their walkie talkies. He snatched one up after he used a ceiling tile to beat out the small flames and cinders landing around their refuge under the desk. The store's power flickered and cut out completely, leaving only daylight to stream in through the massive holes that had been punched in the roof. A large spot of dusty sunlight illuminated Lopez, Stoker and the store manager's desk. "H.T. 51 to Engine 51. Do you read? Subterranean explosion at K-Mart. I've injured or dead victims present. We're non trapped. We are able to get out to street level for a rendevous. Can you hear me?" he shouted. Static met his ears. "The tower's down?" he coughed, shocked. Marco was finally meeting Mike's eyes steadily and slapped the engineer's monitoring fingers aside. "That was two blocks away. On the hillside." he puffed. "I'm ..better now. How's he?" Stoker grabbed the manager's arm and shook it where he was crying in a fetal ball beside him. The man did not stop whining. "He's locked up in a panic." "Green tag. Let's go. We can leave him." Lopez said, sucking in huge lungfuls of air that was strangely not full of smoke. "Is all of that gas gone?" he said, buttoning up his turnout jacket again. "Yeah, there's no more fire. The rest of these flames are dying by themselves. We aren't going to get burned in here." Stoker said, glancing around their chaotic, debris strewn space. Plaster dust was making eerie streamers in the patches of sun as it fell in all around them. "I'm all for getting out asap. Nothing's left of the store, amigo." Marco pulled off the halligan tool from the front of his jacket. "After you." he coughed, shaking the stars out of his head. "Marco, are you hurt? No lies." Mike asked, pausing on his attempt at getting an open channel on his radio by flipping frequencies to a different tower as they crawled towards the nearest gaping hole leading to the outside. "I'm fine. It was just a bad tackle, that's all." Marco grunted with strength as he pushed aside a rafter's steel beam from their path. "I probably won't get sore until morning." Slowly, the two battered firefighters dragged themselves out of their most immediate building collapse danger and into the parking lot. "Oh, sh*t." said Lopez once they were free. From all of the street curbs, and through every crack in the sidewalk slabs, yellow orange flames were shooting up like a massive torch from below. The earth itself, was burning underground for as far as they could see. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Dr. Early treating a small boy at Rampart. Photo: Dixie smiling at a young mother in a waiting room. Photo: Fire shooting up all along a curb at night. Photo: A K-mart store. Photo: Fire burning up through a sidewalk's cracks. Photo: Marco staggering in turnout. Photo: Stoker in turnout at night, looking worried. Photo: Fire erupting from around the foundation of a department store. ************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sat 5/09/15 11:01 PM Subject: Dante's Inferno Mike Stoker immediately leaped to a large section of the parking lot that had no cracks in it to shield his feet from the intense subterranean heat and fire gushing out of every fissure surrounding them. "I'm going to V-Tac-One to the park I.C. I think that's the only way to reach anybody." he told Marco. Lopez made the jump with him to stable ground but had to butt lean on a light pole's base as his breathing efforts came still agonizingly slow. "Switching.. " he gasped, turning his own radio to the new slot. "I'll start eyeballing victim numbers while you.." he puffed, breaking off when he ran out of breath..."get somebody on the horn. I can't do much more than that yet." he said, leaning his head down with his hands braced on his knees to rest. The parking lot was eerily empty of people amid the blast debris sprinkled cars. ::Those who could run, got out of Dodge. A good sign. Any who've died are probably still in the store under all that mess.:: Mike thought. "We're getting you looked at, first thing." Stoker promised. "Take Safety. Spot out any danger. I already see the asphalt sagging into the ground in a lot of places. Come on. We're going to find a better spot than this." Marco's face was dotted with blood that wasn't his own. He grunted as he shifted back onto his feet with care. He was in difficulty and was no longer trying to hide it. "D@mn. This is a huge red zone, Mike. Is there a safe place? If there is, I'm not seeing it." Lopez coughed, intently scanning the landscape as they limped out into the open. Mike slung Marco's arm over his shoulder to help him along. "Let's head for the street. There are cars there, maybe we can find somebody still level headed enough to pick us up." he said, watching drivers either panic flee or crash into pieces of burning roofing that had been cast out by the gas explosion. "In your dreams. They're civilians. They're going be doing this crazy stuff all night." Lopez groused. "They probably don't even see us. And what about Chet and Johnny? I thought I heard them reporting from right next door to us at the Y." The recreational center couldn't be seen at all due to the black smoke column rising from the ruined footprint of the department store. It was being blown westward by the wind. The two firefighters made a beeline east and upwind, heading for clearer air. "They're victims until we hear them deny it personally. But we're not looking for them right now. Not with you like this." Mike panted as he thought hard about their immediate situation. "I won't let you." "But.." "Marco.. you're hurt. Cap'll have my hide if I let you do anything past lifting a few fingers in an honest wave for help." Finding a bus bench at the curb of the main drag, Mike deposited Marco onto it just long enough to do that electronically. The engineer toggled the priority PTT on his handy talkie to broadcast over the new priority channel. "Break. Break. Break. HT 51 to Hancock I.C.. E-Emergency traffic. This is emergency traffic from HT 51." his voice quavered. There was an instant pause in F.D. chatter as all working fire crews fell into silence to hear Stoker's transmission start. Battalion Seven acknowledged a return. ##HT 51, this is 7. I note your priority. The channel's yours.## "We're at the core of the blast, 3rd and Fairfax. Point of origin, K-mart. The structure's totally collapsed. There are high apparent civilian casualties inside. A major underground fire is working with widespread subsidence. Our region's talk tower is destroyed. I've one Code I at my location. Also two fire crew who may be missing. We need a bug out and a search." Mike concluded. ##Responding all available units to the perimeter of the incident plus 500 feet. Kicking P.D. at you. Hang tight, and listen for him. Sound off every five with your status. ## said the far distant chief on the burning park's hillside. "10-4. Will do. HT 51 out." Mike Stoker felt a wave of relief wash over like a balm but he dared not relax. Adrenaline was still making him shake in a palsy everytime he moved. Thinking ahead, he cracked open a nearby hydrant with his jacket tool and let it run rampant in a protective buffering fountain of water that began pooling at the fringes, around their bus bench, in a noisy geyser. ::Signal and solution.:: he thought. "Gotta love fire department training." he said out loud, grinning at Marco. "Stoker, no way am I rolling in that water." Lopez tried to joke tightly, in pain. "You will if the street opens up straight into a fiery H*ll. Then we'll both be begging for it. You're forgetting how fast asphalt destabilizes when it heats up." "Uh, yeah. I'm not enjoying remembering that bit of trivia. Why are we here at the curb?" "It's the only thing not on fire." Mike said grimly, eyeing up the still normal pavement cracks stretching around and through their intersection along its seams. Marco's eyes soon shifted to the smoke column that was obscuring the sight of the YMCA. "Come on. Come on, guys. Do something smart. Tell us you're still alive and..." he broke off as a horrid image of immolation and flailing suddenly filled his head due to his overactive imagination. Lopez seriously began worrying about Gage and Kelly. And he began to look at his watch, counting down every crawling second a man might possibly spend while suffocating in a room full of ground gas. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Battalion 7, rushing to a scene in his car. Photo: Mike Stoker tending an injured Marco. Photo: Stoker glancing over his shoulder in turnout gear. Photo: A fallen radio communications tower. Photo: A hillside on fire. Photo: An exterior wall of a department store with fire rolling out of its foundation cracks. ************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sun 5/10/15 8:53 PM Subject: Fricasse' Captain Stanley nearly levitated out of the engine cab when the eastern sky lit up in a colossal explosion. "Oh, no, no, nonono!" he shouted in a rage as a nightmare scenario flowered into hideous life in front them. He grabbed for his HT. "Engine 51 to Squad 51.".. he hailed. *Hssst spap* There was only static. It was then he realized that their usual channel tower had been lobotomized by the force of the blast. ::I'm definitely not seeing it on the hill any more. Fine. There's a way around that. We'll do this old school.:: he mentally decided. Hank brought the engine to a stop along the nearest curb and lit up every light he had on his panel to advertise themselves as a beacon for any and all who might find them. Engine 51's feeble flashing lights under the setting afternoon sun became washed out and indistinguishable from the eerie red color of the flames licking up from the earth inside the sky scraper bowl of the downtown district far below them. Snatching a pull cord fast, he sounded the engine's airhorn in three short blasts to break Roy, in the squad, out of his stunned instinct to rush into the new fire zone. He saw Roy kick on the squad's emergency lights, too, and screech to a halt about sixty feet ahead of both a hydrant and a street side payphone. They both met each other on the run in between their two vehicles. DeSoto had left the medical gear stowed. With him were pry tools and air tanks. "Yeah those. And let's find a working channel!" he ordered, keeping his eyes on the twisting fire ball rising from the heart of where his men were. New flames began to sickeningly widen everywhere and rise to waist level above every concrete fissure and weak spot five hundred feet down the block. "Judas Priest! That's a monster pocket. Roy, how big would you say? He's gonna want to know a.s.a.p." DeSoto was breathing hard as he fitted the last of his breathing apparatus on over his face and tested it. "Two, maybe three blocks long. And I'd say about twice as wide." "This is as good a staging area as any. We're on a rise with a good vantage point." Cap nodded, flipping off the dead channel and onto the only other local fire department one. He got on the horn. "Engine 51 to Hancock I.C." ##Go Engine 51.## replied the chief at the park fire. "Active subterranean burns are erupting roughly from La Brea Ave to La Cienega Blvd to Pico and Melrose, encompassing all of the Miracle Mile neighborhood. We're setting up a command post at.... Fairfax and Beverly one block west of what looks like a medical center. I have a landline option and water." he reported. ##10-4. Origin point was K-Mart according to one of your men. He's with another. Two of yours have not reported in. I've sent S and R their way. You are I.C. for downtown. Maintain your post and start directing arriving fire to evacuate downtown inside any coordinates you stipulate. Make your medic head of triage in a sheltered area next to you. Use full scba gear. We don't know what gas is being fried.## came the order. "10-4, Battalion." Cap replied. "We're in our tanks. I copy assume Incident Commander Two with my paramedic as Triage One. Will affirm when setup to relay is complete." ## I've got Copters Two and Ten in the air to be our eyes, I.C.. One, out.## Roy looked up and saw a car hastily run up onto the sidewalk and onto a lawn. One of the driver's sleeves was on fire. He and Cap grabbed out an asbestos blanket and got there just as the older man bailed out of his car. Quickly they snuffed it as they tackled him flat to handle it. "Firemen? I'm okay. I'm okay!! I think it was a cinder. What happened? It's raining fire down there!" said the gray haired man, shucking off what was left of his scorched shirt to stop the heat. "Gas touched off in a basement. How many people have you seen injured, mister?" Roy asked. The man fought for breath but DeSoto knew it wasn't medically related. "Not one. Just ...just people like me trying to get out." "Okay.." said Cap, helping the man to his feet. "Get in your car and evacuate. Go 101 via Sunset. It's up to you whether or not to pick up anybody who's in trouble to take to a hospital along the way. Your safety comes first." "I know that.. I.. I'll do it anyway." said the driver. "God help any one who's still in the middle of that." And then he was gone. One by one, then by the dozens, careening, tire squealing cars flew out of the downtown area, escaping the growing inferno forming along the cracks of the city. Nobody stopped by Engine and Squad 51. Cap and Roy began to feel very small very quickly. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "That was the K-mart I'll bet!" Johnny hissed, wincing from the aftermath of his ringing ears. Kelly shook his head to regain back the rest of his equilibrium. ::Once again, my helmet's done its job.:: But then fear took hold. "Marco and Stoker were there, Johnny. It was a basement check." Chet cast his head about nervously as the power flickered around them and went out. Gage remained mute, hiding every reaction to that undeniable fact that he knew to be true. When the deafening sound of flaming debris falling onto the roof of the Y stopped, Chet and Johnny looked up from underneath the desk where they had hauled the screaming college receptionist. She was quiet now, and dazed. She didn't seem to see that the glass windows of the lobby surrounding them had spiderwebbed in the force of the explosion. "uh.." she grunted, finally reaching up to her face. Kelly prevented her. "Gage, she's got a large cut on the side of her head." "Find something to put pressure on it. First check for any glass." he told Chet. Johnny took in a few deep head clearing breaths as he freed up his HT from one of his turnout pockets and fiddled with it. "These are dead." he shared, stuffing it back into his jacket. "Way ahead of you, Gage. Maybe that's only for this block." Kelly snorted. Then he turned his attention back to their first victim. "Hey, Alex. Are you with me yet? Tell me how many people are here today. We're gonna need to know this so we can get everybody out." "Ow.." she flinched as the curly haired fireman pressed a towel he had found from a used gym bin nearby over her cut. "Sorry. We have to stop the bleeding." he said to her. "Can you answer the question?" "Desk top." Alex shivered. "We've a guest sign-in sheet. And there's a staff check-in list, too." she whispered. "I'm so scared right now." The dusty red haired college student began to cry. "Hey.. There'll be no more loud noises,.. I can almost guarantee that from what I'm seeing." Gage said snatching down the slateboards with the names down into their shelter spot. He clicked on his flashlight. "Chet, all the sidewalks are burning. We're going to have to come up with another way outta here past the front door. We've got another way to talk out though." he said, jabbing a gloved finger at the desk. "Got it." Chet said, grabbing the phone off of the desk and pulling it down to the floor where they could reach it to dial out. "You got her?" "Yeah." Gage said, beginning to examine Alex in a little more detail with his light. "Looks like this hemorrhaging's starting to clot up just fine." he said for her benefit. "Alex, are you hurting anywhere else? I'm a paramedic. I can do a lot about that if you are." "You're a what?" she mumbled. "I.... think I'm... I'm okay." "He's good with bandaids, miss." Kelly added. "Even I'd let him at it." "Maybe later.." she frowned. She hadn't missed the flirting earlier on, one iota, from Gage. "I've got a tone." Kelly said, holding up the phone receiver. He dialed out to L.A. "This is HT 51 in the YMCA off Fairfax and 3rd. Could you let our I.C. know that we're mobile and able and working on an escape route with the victims who are in this building? Yeah. Gage and Kelly of Station 51. ..OhHHhh. Our tower IS down. Yeah, we know about that. We'll check in occasionally on payphones and landlines when we find them. We're not injured. We've one girl around 22 who is, so far. A minor injury. Yeah, all right, every half hour to check in." He hung up the phone. Then he eyed up Gage as he finished taping up a dressing over Alex's laceration from a first aid kit he had found on the wall by the desk. "We're to use Hancock's channel only in emergencies. It's now captains and chiefs only." "Terrific." Johnny scowled. "Maybe I should just use smoke signals instead of the phones. Might work better once the city services kick up into high gear." "Yeah, the lines are going to jam when folks catch on about what's happening for sure." Chet said. "Alex, do you think you can sit up back into your chair. We'll let you rest a minute or two before we start a building search." "Can't I just leave now? The medical center's just down the block. I feel fine." "It's not safe." Johnny said, shaking his head. "If you come with us, we could use your help since you know the layout of the place." "Okay." she said timidly. "I'll just go put my sweater on." she fake smiled half heartedly without enthusiasm or confidence. Kelly and Gage immediately shoved the desk over to the windows and climbed on top of it until they could look out above the shattered lattice cracks on all the lower panes of the windows. "Subsonics. Definitely a basement blast." Johnny commented to Chet. "Glass's intact by the ceiling." "Wind's east to west." Kelly added. "And steady. The column's all black." "What are you guys doing up there?" Alex asked once she had the two name slates and the first aid kit stuffed into her purse to carry along. ""We're reading the smoke changes." Johnny replied, eyeing up the deepening dusk sky. "What are you? Part Indian?" she said sarcastically, folding her arms over her elbows to hold some heat in. Gage grinned crookedly at her. "Yeah." And then he actually chuckled. "Okay, Chet. Time for the first sweep." He grabbed up a shovel from the closet to use if they needed it as a break through tool. "Alex, find a coat to put on over your clothes from a closet or from your locker. It'll protect you from anything sharp." Kelly suggested, pulling out his own flashlight. "I've got a rubberized rain coat." she offered. "That'll work." Gage said. "Where's the closest spot to check first for people?" he asked her. "Uh, the pool. Ned's got a swim class going on right now. Five kids on the register." Alex answered. "Uh huh. And next?" Johnny said, reaching out for her hand to guide her over some debris on the floor in the dark. "The playground. Steve has two sets of parents with one toddler each to coach." "Any others?" Gage prompted, halting in front of a closed door to feel all edges of it first for hidden fire heat. "No. Just us three and those folks." "Okay. Are you ready to go into the back?" Chet asked, reaching for her other hand. Fear suddenly gripped the young woman. Whatever calm she had gained being with Johnny and Chet suddenly evaporated. Alex shook her head, tearing up as she gripped their gloves in her icy cold fingers. "You'll do fine. We won't go anywhere dangerous." Johnny assured her. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Burning sidewalks around a building. Photo: Curb on fire at night. Photo: Captain Stanley on an H.T. Photo: An aerial view of the Miracle Mile neighborhood. Photo: Chet Kelly looking scared. Photo: Roy looking pensive in a close up. Photo: Johnny preparing a dressing gauze bandage. Photo: A young woman with pressure being applied to a head cut. Photo: A Californian Y.M.C.A. building. ************************************************** From: patti keiper Subject: Bailed Butts Date: Sun 6/14/15 10:06 PM Mike Stoker made it a point to not step into the street where hundreds of panicking drivers continued to flee the downtown area. He kept himself between the curb and where Marco was seated on the bus bench at the corner of the intersection. He kept whirling in place, checking and double checking all the burning places on the asphalt surrounding them for signs that the ground underneath was beginning to sag and collapse. So far, the concrete was holding. His head literally shot up when he heard a familiar siren begin to grow from the west. It was Vince, weaving his way, Code 3, against the traffic flow of the mass evacuation, heading for their position. Mike switched to the squad's private police band. "Officer Howard. Sight for sore eyes. Is there still an escape route working? Marco's injured." he stated through the radio. Howard nodded his head as he angled the car towards the uptraffic flow and left his lights on and flashing to deflect any drivers away from the two firefighters. "We're fine that way!" he hollered, leaping out of the police car to open up the rear door so he could take on his riders. "How's he doing?" he said, moving his own radio so that it dangled from a strap on his wrist, freeing his hands up. "Getting a bit worse." Mike replied as Vince helped him support Lopez onto his feet. They carefully guided him into the rider cab of the squad with both of his arms over their shoulders. "I'll head straight to Triage. I grabbed a med bag and oxygen before I came. They're in the back seat with you." he said, hurrying back to the driver's side. Howard got in, turned his siren back on, and took off, doing a U turn hastily to reorient with the evacuation route so he could weave in and out, and around traffic, at will, at a faster speed. Lopez's head began to lull so Mike tipped his head back over the edge of the seat below the rear window to keep his ability to breathe easier. "This is bad, Mike." Marco gasped, trying to focus his eyes. "Not you." Stoker corrected. "Maybe out there perhaps. Now shut up and just breathe." he said, fitting on an oxygen mask over Marco's bruised face. "I'm going to look for other issues. Yelp if I find one." he said, and began to test the extent of Marco's injuries by probing touch. Vince got on his squad radio and keyed up the mic. "Squad 9 to IC-2." he radioed. ##IC-2 to Squad 9, go ahead.## came a transmission from Hank. "I've got two of your men, headed to your location. We need immediate medical assistance!" Vince shouted over the noise of the sirens. Captain Stanley's reply was preceded by a quick relieved explosive sigh. ##10-4, Vince. Bring 'em home. DeSoto and a doctors-and-nurse team from the La Brea tar pit museum are aware and waiting. What's your E.T.A.?## "Two minutes." Vince said. Mike Stoker's fingers sank into a soft spot just below Marco's ribs along the right side of his back. Lopez jerked away from his hands in pain and immediately started to heave with nausea at the movement. The engineer pulled off his oxygen mask. "Sorry. Get your head down if you're gonna puke. I had to find out where you got struck." he said, guiding Marco's head so it was between the man's knees and supported it there, fully expecting some projectile vomiting. But Marco waved his hand in a weak denial. "It's over.. it's over.." Lopez gasped. "Gimme that back." he said reaching for the O2. "It's gotta be a kidney, Mike. I remember this pain. From high school football practice.." he grunted, sitting back up stiffly, frightened..."I've felt it once before, after a nasty tackle." "Are you bleeding from there?" Stoker asked, cutting away Marco's T-shirt from his throat and stomach. "I don't feel like I have to piss at all." Lopez told him. "I'll take that as a... ...good sign." he said tightly. Mike nodded, reaching up to take a carotid pulse count. "Last thing you want is a ruptured kidney. Any red pee will earn you a date with a surgery table faster than one of Chet's water cans going off." he tried to joke. Marco didn't smile as he puffed in small breaths of oxygen around his back pain. "I hope they're both okay. There's been nothing on the radio." he said, holding up his own in a shaky hand. "What if they didn't make it out, Mike?" he said, beginning to get agitated in his shocky state. "Quit freaking out, Marco." Stoker said, letting go of the firefighter's neck. "Calm down. You're at 120 for a pulse." He glanced out all of the squad windows. "Looks totally fine to me. Think about it. This is just a mess with no horizontal bodies lying around for blocks. The only ones we know about were in our store. And Gage and Kelly weren't there, amigo. Major point in their favor. That was a single basement explosion which you mostly blocked with your butt, my friend. You probably saved their *sses with yours." Marco tried to laugh, finally. And winced. He hung onto the engineer's hands to help keep himself still as tears of stress leaked down his face. "Okay.. okay. Estoy convencido." he whispered tightly. "Ow.. p-pain's going up. About an eight now." he shivered. "I'll let them know." Mike said, getting worried at the cool temperature of Marco's skin despite the heat. He turned to the plastic partition separating Vince from them and slapped it. "Step it up, Vince. He's got intensifying problems." "Doing it." said the police officer. ------------------------------------------ Photo: Roy and Cap at an ambulance staging area. Photo: Marco being grip supported by Chet. Photo: Mike Stoker opening a turnout coat by the engine. Photo: Vince Howard, looking worried, outside. Photo: Captain Stanley at a command post. Photo: A burning car sitting by a street in the city. ************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sun 8/23/15 1:37 PM Subject: Boiling Point Dr. Brackett returned to Dixie McCall inside the base station. "How bad is it?" he asked, glancing at the run sheet tally Dixie had set out in front of her under a poised pencil. "Not too many calls yet with surgical candidate type injuries. Most were victims I could handle without needing a doctor." Dixie answered, changing out the master recording reel they all turned on when accepting paramedic transmissions. With her other hand, she hung up the red phone receiver she had been holding on a shoulder, back onto its cradle on the wall. "The fire department dispatcher said there's a Code I to process through their triage area in a minute or two. Hang around?" asked the head nurse. Kel eyed up the waiting room through their enclosed alcove windows and didn't see anything urgent as walk-ins from the downtown area explosion. Nor were there any ambulances past routine sitting at the E.R. entrance. "Sure. Looks like all of the burn cases are going to Cedars Sinai. Joe'll be happy about that. What's the firefighter's issue?" "Blast injury. Secondary impact against a wall from what they've been told. This one's the most serious so far." "Ooo." Kel winced in sympathy. "Is he conscious?" "Yes." she answered. "Roy's Triage Head according to this." she said tapping her notes. "And our assisting doctors Welby and Kiley, along with Consuelo, their nurse from the family practice, are the attending Medical onsite." "Don't tell me, they haven't been issued fire department radios." "All true. Not even a spare paramedic biophone. You're going to have to like being kept in the dark tonight. Sorry, Kel." Dixie sighed bruskly. Brackett's ire grew more crusty. "Where's Brice? He told me a few hours ago that Station 51 re-deployed with his Station 61 for an earlier ground gas sweep. Fat lot of good that did. He'd be a good one to handle that fireman during his transport here." Brackett said, reading her call station log. McCall shrugged, not even looking up at the paramedic rescue run status board on the wall next to them. "Kel, both firefighter crews are probably finding themselves caught up in this whole mess. They were out in the area." she said of the underground fire disaster. "I haven't heard a peep from Craig all day. You've got me beat there. When did you last see him?" she asked, worried. "Around nine this morning." he looked at his watch. "Ten hours ago? He and his partner brought in a broken toe case." Kel frowned. "Fun." Dixie remarked flatly, raising her eyebrows. "Too bad the rest of the night won't be half as boring at that." "You're telling me." Dr. Brackett groused, moving a stool over so he could park next to her to review the new disaster related cases on the patient charts Dixie was preparing. "Give me what you've got on the firefighter. I'll brain storm. Then see if you can find Brice to take this victim's run." he snapped. "Sticking like a tick to L.A. County Fire." she snorted efficiently, picking up the red phone again to dial out. "I think we've enough clout to nab a Battalion's ear long enough to arrange that." "We'd better have." Kel growled. "Tell the chief I require direct expert combat injury experience for his downed man. That ought to move a few mountains." Dixie grinned sharply in appreciation of his plan. "Using the words 'blown up' amply." "Works for me." Dr. Brackett replied. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Roy glanced up at the sight of Vince's patrol car arriving with its reds on. On instinct, he automatically stepped in the direction of Squad 51. "Park it." Cap warned quietly. "You're in charge. You're going to have to let someone else handle Marco." "I was just going to set up for them." DeSoto ansed, watching Drs. Kiley and Welby rush over to intercept and open the rear passenger door. He saw Consuelo Lopez quickly flag over two helpers carrying a spineboard from Staging. "We delegate. We don't do, in these roles." Hank said apologetically. "Your job's the bigger picture. Marco's here. You're going to have to be happy with just that." Stanley said firmly. "No. Turn your back. If you can't see what's going on with him, you won't find yourself getting distracted. You're already messed up because the others are still partially in hot water." "Flames more like." DeSoto mumbled, finally tearing his eyes away from the activity surrounding their friend to meet Cap's tightly controlled ones. "Hush. You heard Battalion. Gage and Chet have checked in. They're still actively on duty. And Stoker will be over here telling us any nitty gritty paramedic thing you wanna know before you can spit twice." DeSoto sighed in frustration. "But--" "Be. My. Head." Cap quietly warned. "I find myself in those shoes you're currently feeling cramped in, all of the time. Marco's breathing, Roy. I can see that from here. You'll find out soon that that's enough of a fact to last you until the end of this call. Now get back to Check-In. Looks like there are three green tags and a yellow waiting to see you." "Okay. If you say so, Cap. Can I ask who's got him?" DeSoto asked unhappily, angry. "Brice is coming." "That's good enough for me." he said finally, returning back to his place by the side of the fire truck strewn boulevard. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The YMCA was getting hotter. But Chet Kelly knew that it wasn't the building that was burning. The heat was coming from the ground beneath their feet. "Bit of a hot foot, eh, Alex?" he joked as Gage, he and the college aged girl receptionist made their way down the dark hallway. Johnny stepped on Kelly's shoe. Hard. "Nothing like a foundation slab three feet thick to stand on. Solid as a first class WW II bunker. We're perfectly safe." he grinned widely. It was entirely fake, engineered to damage control the hellbent firefighter's humor that Chet had let loose to blow off some mental steam. ::That certainly wasn't any emotional steam.:: Gage fumed inside of his head. ::We're not in enough danger yet for him to do any of that.:: The wide eyed stunned look on Alex's face that had been beginning to form went back the way it had come. She giggled nervously. "Too bad we can't all just jump into the pool. I'm sure the water's still nice and cool." Johnny and Chet's heads snapped around suddenly, and they looked at each other with Oh-Sh*t shock. Gage suddenly grabbed the girl's hand and began hurrying them along, following the signs leading the way to the inside swimming pool. "Come on, we gotta hurry. Move!" he urged. "W-What?" the girl stuttered, trying to master her roller-coastering sense of alarm. "We forgot. You guys have a chlorine pool here." Johnny explained. "If any part of the gas that exploded earlier's methane, there's a chance that sunlight can set it off in a chain reaction that'll blow up again." Alex let out a frightened sob. "Oh no. Ned and the kids! I'm sure he's got them in the water. It's in our protocol to get everybody wet if there's no escape possible in a fire." Chet got to the door they needed and tried to shoulder his way through it. It didn't work. "Try the key?" Gage suggested, looking at Alex. "I don't have it. Ned's got it." Both firefighters renewed their efforts to break through. "Something's blocking the way in." Kelly hissed, working hard. "It's gotta be the door jam. The explosion must have warped it. Let's try the shovel as a pry bar." Gage suggested. "Chet.. They've got side glass in there..." he said urgently. "I can see the sunset." "Is that enough?" Chet grunted, as he and Johnny strained to force the hinges open. "We've got ample heat." Gage hissed back, his face turning even redder with effort. "It's gonna be Chloromethane and Hydrogen Chloride. Won't be fun breathing in there if it's already started... *gasp* chain reacting. Brown gas first, right over the water's surface. Then--" They both worked desperately harder until both their muscles and voices were screaming. The aluminum framed pool entrance door gave way with a bang against the wooden wall panelling and the two of them staggered inside, dropping the shovel with a loud clang onto the pool's tile decking. They saw that Ned and the five children were indeed in the shallow end all huddled together in a knot of arm hugs. They were just beginning to cough. But they were in the shade and out of the worst of the almost hidden chemical reaction. "Ned! Get out of the pool! Get them all out now!" Johnny warned the male counselor. "We'll help you!" Alex said, gesturing for the kids to come to the ladder so she could help them up. Chet Kelly busied himself for ten seconds, hurtling a sturdy steel garbage can against an exterior glass wall that was facing away from any westerly direction, away from the sun. The glass shattered and immediately, outside air flooded in to dilute the forming gasses that no one could smell, but could only see as the slightest coffee colored haze on top of the water that was slowly writhing like a boiling froth. "Hurry! Go this way!" Kelly warned Ned. Snatching up the last child from the water, Chet ran with the others through the hole he had made through the deck window. Looking back as they ran for the playground and the others they wanted to find, he saw the dangerous muddy gas dissipate as silently as it had formed just at the same moment the sun slipped below the horizon over the mountains. "We're out far enough.." Gage panted, checking each frightened crying kid out in turn for any wheezes or asthma signs. He found none. "It's over. The stuff stopped." Chet agreed. "What was that all about?" Ned startled, grabbing up a few abandoned towels on the patio sun chairs for the children to use in the growing night chill. "I thought we'd be safe in the water. The sidewalk out here's burning." Chet stooped over, catching his breath as he flagged over the last YMCA staffer with the two sets of parents and toddlers from where they had taken refuge up a climbing apparatus of domed monkey bars to get off the ground. "Two bad gases." he said, holding up two fingers. "Were mixing... You had no idea..." he puffed. "We were this close to having another explosion.." Gage added, breathing hard with relief as he held up pinching fingers. "J*sus!" paled Steve as he took the slate Alex handed him to double check their attendance roster. "Can we get out of here?" "We're gonna have to wait for full darkness. Believe it or not, by the Y's still the safest place to be with its thicker floor base concrete. Nightfall will let us see the fire glow where the gas is coming through these ground cracks. Maybe then we'll see a safe enough way out to our fire trucks." Chet considered their options. "Up on the roof's gonna be too cold for the kids. The wind's picking up." "Too smoky for a chopper pick up. No place to land." Gage added. "Let's call for Search and Rescue to bug us out. They've had more time to check out all of the blocks that are still burning." "Where's the nearest fire door?" Chet asked, turning to Ned, Steve and Alex. "Behind that tree." Steve answered. "Why?" "We're breaking our way back inside to get to the same front lobby phone we used before to summon a ride out of here." Kelly replied. "I'll smash open a few vending machines. We could all use a little food and a lot of soda." suggested Alex. "Atta girl. Now that's what I call getting into survival mode." Gage grinned at her professionally. At Steve's dismay, Ned just shrugged. "Insurance'll pay for it." Then he followed Gage and Kelly, herding their charges in the right direction for the fire door. Alex smiled back at Johnny as they walked. "You guys can skip the force tooling this time. I've got a key for this one." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Photo: Fire smoke billowing off of a mountain. Photo: Steam rising from a pool. Photo: Gage and Chet flinching in turnout gear. Photo: A playground at a YMCA. Photo: Roy and Cap in helmets, watching at a distance. Photo: Two paramedics treating a downed fireman at a triage area. Photo: Dixie and Kel Brackett huddled over Rampart's base station radio. ************************************************** From: patti keiper pattik1@hotmail.com Sent: Sun 8/23/15 11:34 PM Subject: Unexpected.. A victim awoke in the heart of all the chaos, only a few hundred yards away from the basement that had self destructed in the ground gas explosion three hours earlier. The woman blinked grit and blood out of her eyes as she tried to suck in more than just a partial breath once again. A fallen fire extinguisher was the only thing keeping a heavy steel rafter beam from crushing her to death the rest of the way. All she could think about was the fact that her pinky and ring fingers on both of her hands were still tingling. ::That's cervical damage. Or at least.. some really bad pressure on a neck nerve. :: she thought analytically to herself. ::That's definitely what Roy would say to me.... if he was here.:: It had taken Roy DeSoto's wife almost three hours after Marco and Stoker had fled Kmart, to wake up fully and figure out exactly what had happened to her. Joanne had long ago given up shouting over the sound of the angry sidewalk flames as they hungrily consumed the upwelling ground gas coming out of the earth. She had been in one of the fitting rooms, zipping up the back of a really fine sun dress. That's what probably saved her life. She had had two walls between her and the main department store space's expansive window glass. They had offered her some protection from most of the raw force of the explosion and all of the flying shards' debris. Joanne had learned that there was absolutely no chance of being heard from where she was trapped. Her best yell didn't even penetrate the obstacles and echo anywhere else that was bigger. She realized that she would have to wait until rescuers searched out the tiny room she was inside of within the shattered footprint of the store. A crumbling piece of the roof began to rain down more choking dust into Joanne DeSoto's face at a wind gust through a new hole. She could see the guttering glow of the night sky as it warred with some faint fire light. Stars and sparks both, began flickering in the tangling smoke above her. "Oh, why did I have to go shopping today of all days? I should have stayed home with the kids after school." she gasped as the pain in her neck from the weight of the fallen beam grew. Futilely she tried to push it off with numb palms that were slippery with sweat from the heat. But Roy's wife had only succeeded in shifting it to a more painful pinching as it lay on top of her heavily bruised throat. The sudden increased pressure made her heartbeat slow down to a crawl. "Uggghh. Not again." she gurgled, feeling another black out coming on. "Can't.. br--" She kicked out, fighting back to consciousness and one of her gym shoes connected with something soft and yielding. Joanne suddenly stilled, her horror blossoming. Her struggling mind figured out exactly what the obstacle was. "Oh, I'm so sorry.." she murmured. "I didn't know you were.. there..." she whispered. As she had rested that first wakeful hour, she had identified three people who were lying dead next to her in her particular jumbled mass of debris. Her foot had just found a fourth person, nearly unrecognizable except for the soft give of their body. The fresh surge of blood tang and sour stool in the air confirmed another disturbed corpse and increased her nausea. Joanne struggled to breathe. Without ever having experienced it before in her life, she knew that it was the stench of death. Several long minutes later, Joanne fought down some stupidly irrational rising panic, and worked once again to stabilize the beam that was holding her prisoner. ::Why don't I hear anybody from the fire department?:: she thought weakily as she began to twist a few wire hangers together to make a hook with some reach. ::Is the collapse zone really that big around me? Those sirens are so far away..:: She began to pant, her suffocation deepening. ::Did I tell Craig Brice where I was going on the payphone earlier? I-I can't r-remember..:: Joanne DeSoto began to cry softly in the darkness as she fumbled and dropped her careful crafting. Her fingers had gone completely numb. She felt her whole body begin to rag doll and the world faded away in a flood of tears and retinal blood. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Marco Lopez began to pant, despite wearing oxygen. "No, don't let go." said Dr. Steven Kiley as he bent over the technicians removing the firefighter's clothes to conduct a full hands on trauma assessment. "Keep your gut tight for just a little bit longer. We're rigging up a MAST suit to help you out." Mike Stoker tipped back Marco's head a little farther for more breathing room. "Did he give up respiring on you at any time?" Steven asked 51's engineer. "Not at all. Maybe got the wind knocked out of him for a minute or two." Mike replied. "He got really stiff and sore though. Pretty fast." Dr. Marcus Welby nodded at Nurse Consuelo who began taking a quick blood pressure. "What hurts, son?" he asked Marco with a comforting smile that warmed Lopez down to his very bones. "Lower.. right.. back." the fireman gasped, trying not to move a muscle when he felt himself get rolled onto his side next to the trousers that had been set spread out on top of the spinal board he was on. "Let me see.." said Marcus, probing the area with expert fingers. He found an area of active guarding that was spreading to Marcos' abdomen over a flower of fresh red and black bruising. "Ah, kidney punched perhaps." Mike Stoker spoke up. "I checked him out pretty closely on the way here. There's nothing else going on except this." Kiley took the engineer's assessment with a grain of salt and spoke up. "All right. We're through. Position him on his back again and start pumping up the leg chambers first. One by one. Consuelo?" "Initial's 78 over 44." she reported. "Not too bad." she shared with a shrug for their listening patient. "I think he's snapping out of getting stunned doctors. His color's good." "Wrap him up well in some blankets after securing the board's straps. We'll skip the cervical collar. I don't think it's necessary. I agree with Marco's friend. I'm not finding anything else further that's off." Steven told Marcus as he finished examining the fireman's soot dusted head and neck. Welby nodded with satisfaction. "Up the O2 to full liter flow. Let's start a precautionary I.V. of Normal Saline, wide open, to get ahead of all this sweating." he ordered. Then his smile returned into Marco's view. "We can use the fluid line to administer a pain med, Marco. Do you want anything right now?" Marco tried to answer but just a grunt came out. "That's sounds a yes to me." Kiley said, checking out Lopez's eyes with a pen light. "They're dilated. I'll give him five milligrams Meperidine, pushed." "First leg's done." said a technician. "Wait on the second until we get another reading." Kiley told the others as he handed Lopez's intravenous bag to Mike Stoker to hold. Consuelo took a BP on Marco's opposite arm. "Finally climbing, doctors. 88 over 60." "Take another one when both the suit's legs and half the abdominal chamber are inflated." estimated Marcus. "I think that far will do the trick." Marco felt some blissfully warm blood begin to rise into his face. The MAST suit's body squeezing pressure felt good and his pain was easing off greatly even before his narcotic was injected. "Do you think anything's ruptured..inside?" he asked Dr. Welby, patting the rubber of the suit he was in for emphasis with one of his shivering hands. "Do you feel like you have to go to the bathroom at all?" Marco shook his head. "I'm just thirsty." "Then I'd say a definite no on a rupture." he replied. "We felt only normal outlines of all your abdominal organs on palpation. I'm hearing peristalsis now through my stethoscope. So your intestines and colon are largely uneffected. I'd say you're suffering from a bruised area of your renal plexus. We'll know more once we get you on a heart monitor. A blow kidney wise will effect your aorta's stroke volume temporarily. It's mostly why you're feeling crappy right now. Your current hypotension supports this finding. It's why we've put you into the anti-shock trousers. For comfort's sake, not because you're bleeding out anywhere." Nurse Consuelo chuckled at a third BP finding when the suit reached the psi levels the doctors wanted. "120 over 72." Marcus's eyes twinkled and he leaned close to Marco's ear. "How's your breathing now?" "Better. Much. Thanks." he murmured under the effect of the medication. Dr. Kiley rose to his feet and waved over a Mayfair crew with a gurney. "He's ready to ship out. Where's his paramedic?" he asked them. "Right here." said Craig Brice as he ran up to them from the street, peeling off his turnout coat and helmet. "I just got the request. Hello, Mr. Lopez, how are you doing?" Marco was drifting in a doze inside of his cocoon of blankets. He didn't answer him. Brice frowned and looked up at the others. Dr. Welby ducked his head in explanation. "Ah, that's the meperidine we gave him. His aorta's spasming due to a lucky plexus hit. Getting a strip's highly recommended, sir." Marcus suggested. "I'll get one right away." Brice said, all eyes and hands on his patient, gathering information tactilely and through his own observations. "Dr. Brackett and Ms. McCall will want his telemetry sent in as soon as possible." "Here are our notes." Nurse Consuelo said, passing off her vital signs sheet carbon with the doctors' treatment steps, medication dosages and time stamps. "We'll save the original for his coworker paramedics to eyeball. They're probably chafing at the bit about it as we speak." she said, tearing off the color coding on Marco's triage tag to yellow. "That they are, ma'am. The exact man you want to see for delivering that to is Roy DeSoto. He's by Engine and Squad 51 right over there." Craig replied. "I'll take it." volunteered Stoker. "I'm freed up until I see my captain for new orders." "Brice. Any updates.." "..will be passed along to Captain Stanley,..er I.C.2, expeditiously." Craig promised. "I'll hold you to that. See you back at the station." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The sound of a very loud EKG monitor's irregular bleeping startled Marco out of his drugged stupor. "Ahhh!...Is that me?" "Yes, Mr. Lopez. It's nothing to worry about. You're reading NSR with vagal artifacts." replied Brice when Marco decided to open his eyes and join the living. "What does that mean, Brice? I don't speak paramedic." he sighed wearily. "It means your heart thinks it got the wind knocked out of it like your lungs did earlier when you hit the wall." Craig replied frankly. "Excuse me. I've got Rampart on the line." ##Answer me, Brice!## came Kel's order through the biocom. ##What's the hold up?## "Our patient asked a question about his cardiac findings, Rampart. I answered him." There was a short silence on the other end of the biophone. ##Well, that's an improvement. What's your E.T.A.?## "Three minutes exactly." ##Take another set of vitals and report back to Nurse McCall with those in two minutes. I'm going to arrange for a second opinion on all of your reported findings.## Marco chuckled muzzily. "I trust those other doctors. Why doesn't Dr. Brackett trust those other doctors?" Brice didn't even bat an eye as he covered the phone receiver. "It's because they don't work together on a regular basis. It's a character flaw." Then he got back on the frequency. "10-4, Rampart. Stand by for another strip on Lead II." ##Standing by.## Marco almost laughed out loud. But then he remembered his much abused renal plexus and didn't tempt fate. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Johnny and Chet jumped down off of Urban Search and Rescue's Engine 103 in the Triage area. "Thanks for bailing our butts out, guys. We'll take charge of these YMCA folks and get them processed." The lieutenant who had driven the USAR's Quint, leading the way for the evacuation bus loaded with their victims, waved a hand and left to go back to Staging for a reassignment. Chet Kelly helped Alex the receptionist down the steps of the bus. "You're first, miss. There are doctors right over there who can take a look at your head cut." he said, tying on a green torn triage tag to her shirt from a stack of tags a fireman handed out to him in passing. "What about the others, the parents and kids?" she asked, still pumped up. "They're no longer your responsibility. They're ours. See?" Johnny Gage replied, waving over Nurse Consuelo who suddenly appeared with a handy wheel chair for Alex. "Everybody gets checked out. My paramedic partner's Head Of Triage, and he's not going to take no for answer. So sit and relax." he invited. "We insist." he said when she didn't immediately do so. Consuelo raised her eyebrow at Gage about Alex. "She's minor." he shared. "Maybe some gas effects on these kids and one of those male YMCA staffers. Hydrogen Chloride and ground methane." he volunteered. "What about you two?" she asked. "We're okay. Look, we've got to go touch base with our captain. And I've got to see Roy about a friend of ours who probably came in here to see you." "You mean Fireman Lopez? Good last name. It's the same as mine." "Uh, yes ma'am. But that's not exactly what I--" Johnny stammered. "He's already shipped out." she replied, grinning happily. "Already? What was his condition?" Gage gaped, fearing that the worst came for Marco such as his becoming a red tag priority transport. "Oh, we found him moderately shocky, but after treatment, he left as very stable." the nurse replied. "That's .. really good to know." Chet Kelly piped up, visibly relieved. "Come on, Chet. We're done. No offense ma'am,..Alex.." Johnny said, being diplomatic. "...but we've got to run." Kelly finished, "Duty calls, love." he grinned at the receptionist. "I hope we never meet again." he said, leaning into Alex's ear softly. She smiled at Chet, broadly. Kelly dragged Johnny off with him to report in to Captain Stanley and Accountibility before Gage could counter his excellent one liner invitation with one of his own. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: A fire engine outside of a Kmart Store. Photo: Marcus Welby and Steven Kiley examining someone. Photo: Nurse Consuelo Lopez smiling. Photo: An injured Marco on the ground, close up. Photo: Stoker, Chet, Cap by the Engine in turnout gear. Photo: A patient on a Mayfair stretcher getting loaded up. Photo: A jumble of debris in a roof collapsed room. Photo: Joanne DeSoto lying unconscious. ************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sun 9/06/15 12:12 PM Subject: Shared Wings Full darkness had descended, but the night was still hot and stifling. Mike Stoker spied where Roy DeSoto and Hank Stanley were standing at the edge of the triage area along the avenue. A row of ambulances were waiting to take in victims, with their lights flashing to ward off any civilian traffic still distracted by the disaster, near their loading zone. Hancock Park's fire flare was dying down, glowing eerily blue in what street lights still had power around the La Brea neighborhood. The usual land/sea breeze had situated itself in for the night into a steady easterly direction. The engineer saw that air bottles were no longer needed around Station 51's streetside staging area because of it. The fog meant guaranteed fresh air. The sight of his stationmates was a relief even greater than knowing that he and Marco had made it to safe ground. "Cap!" Stoker shouted. Hank looked up from the row of handy talkies he had inherited with his position as second Incident Commander that were lined up on the Engine's running board. "Hey, pal. How bad is it?" he asked eagerly, for news of the downtown earth fire. Another voice cut in eagerly from around the back of Engine 51. "Never mind that, how's Marco?" Gage demanded, with Chet following close at his heels. "He's--" Mike began. Gage interrupted him, spotting the care notes in Stoker's hand. He snatched them up. "Well, why didn't you say so?" he said, reading Dr. Kiley and Welby's notes quickly. "Ah,... a yellow tag. He's already with Brice. Chet, I think we can relax now." Johnny sighed, ignoring his captain and Stoker's bemused expressions. A third voice started up. It was Roy's. "Really?... He's..he's going to be fine?" DeSoto stuttered, taking the sheets from his partner's grip in ginger disbelief. He finally summoned enough bravery to start eyeballing what the doctors had written down. "Says right there." Gage grinned. "Let me see!" said Chet, grabbing the notes out of Roy's hands impatiently. "Kelly, you can't read those." said Johnny, admonishing. "They're in doctor speak. Give them back." "I'll take those." interjected Hank neatly, rescuing both his authority and Marco's triage papers. "Used to forms. I can read anything." "But.." Chet protested. "I'll translate for you, Chet. Roy, read over my shoulder." Cap suggested. "Fastest way to get your answers, around this guy." he said, pointing at Kelly. Chet made a face at his captain. Hanging his head, Kelly resigned himself to fetching out five water bottles for everybody from a cooler Cap had rerouted from Rest and Recuperation. Mike Stoker accepted his and cracked it opened. "Thanks, Chet." Cap finally opened his mouth. "Awake. Breathing. Pain controlled. Done. Now, Mike. Give me that report on that fire." he said with exasperation, smacking the sheets against Roy's chest so he'd take them out of his hands forever. DeSoto just smiled, agreeing with the outcome Cap summarized without speaking. He fielded Chet's dissatisfaction with getting just four words on Marco's condition deftly. "Ah, Chet. Come here.. we can go over these point for point. Drink your water. Then I gotta get back to work." Mike Stoker, Gage and Cap were already in deep discussion behind them. "It's a huge area, involving even pavement structures. Access is going to be an issue." the engineer supplied. "Already knew that." Cap checked off. "Cap. Chet and I,..we think it's methane down there." Gage countered with a new observation. "Oh?" Hank wondered. Johnny nodded his head eagerly. "We had an almost secondary in the Y when sunlight hit the smoke above a swimming pool. The air turned a definite brown." Cap let out the breath he was holding. "Oh, that's good. I mean, not... that you guys almost blew yourselves up, I mean... good as in predictable. Methane's gas outside the natural gas lines." "From the old field under the clay pan." Mike agreed. "Summer heat and rot build up." Hank chuckled in triumph. "It won't be spreading. What's burning is all that's going to burn." Hank realized. "From a blocks long pocket. What's left can only work straight up. That's good news, pals. I'll let him know." Captain Stanley got instantly on the radio to I.C.1 Battalion with an update. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Marco Lopez had held Dr. Brackett and Dr. Early's attention for almost six minutes. He could tell he was going to live by the fact that they had already left his treatment room to go get a cup of coffee before the triage victims began flooding in. He sleepily glanced up at Dixie who was arranging his chart for his transfer to a patient floor bed. "I'm not going to be put in the same room as Dr. Morton, now am I?" "We wouldn't do that to you." McCall smirked. "Seeing the man when he's in one piece and working in a lab coat is bad enough." Brice, minding the transfer of Lopez's I.V. line and oxygen tubing, commented. "Mr. Morton's got a less than satisfactory bedside manner?" "Where have you been?" Dixie oggled, chewing on a pencil end as she double checked Marco's orders. "Apparently not observing well enough. I'll remedy that right away." Craig said with discomforture. "Any closer and you'll burn holes through your patient's skin, Brice." Marco complained. He coughed, and his EKG monitor protested in a flurry of arrythmias. Dixie and Craig's hands both shot to Marco's shoulders. "Easy." she said. "Nice and easy." Brice repeated. "Your aorta still likes sneezing, Mr. Lopez." "Am I in danger?" Marco slurred, suddenly wide eyed. "No." Dixie smiled. "But you don't want any more cardiac meds assigned to you. Could rack up an even bigger bill." McCall joked. "We want to spare you additional money pain." "Don't remind me. So glad I paid my insurance on time last month." Lopez sighed. Brice looked up after running another strip off Marco's EKG monitor for Dixie. "I can do that for you. I am on the Fireman's Committee. If you join, I can take a bit out of your checks automatically." "No thanks. I'm poor enough. I'll.. keep my inefficiency. Happily." he said with conviction. "The union already takes too much out. I like to control my falls." "You mean like the last one?" Dixie jibbed. "Very funny. Like I really asked to be thrown around by a giant sized earth fart." Marco groaned. "Better a dirt fart than a hiccup." Brice offered. Dixie laughed. "Oooo, underground cave-ins are the worst." Lopez shivered. "I don't know how Gage can stand climbing into them all of the time to rescue folks." "Because he's crazy?" Dixie shared, shrugging. All three of them nodded their heads in like appraisals. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Roy had no more victims left to process. Not until the next batch was disovered still alive. Slowly, Urban Search and Rescue were making their way back to ground zero at the K-mart. The route they had taken eariler to bug out Gage and Kelly and the Y.M.C.A. victims had destabilized with numerous pavement collapses and a few sinkholes. Their eyes were now fire department helicopters manning spot lights over the area. ##I.C.2., This is Copter Ten on behalf of Engine 103.## "Go ahead, Copter Ten." Hank Stanley said, radioing back on his handy talkie. ##Multiple fatalities around the ignition point. We see 17 Code F's.## "Any live victims? Stations' 51, and 61 will be working their way in from the west." ##Unknown at this time. Remaining ceiling structures are blocking some views in.## Cap sighed heavily, thinking hard. "Ten, how about we send in some dogs?" ##They'll work.## agreed the pilot. ##Best access remains along Third. We see no fire erupting down the middle of that particular street.## Hank got on his radio. "Station 103. Risk the dogs. Copter Ten needs immediate support locating viable victims. Use Third." ##10-4, I.C.2. Station 103 copies. Utilize canine teams from Third. Going in.## Nearby Roy DeSoto sat wearily on Squad 51's running board while he kept within sight of both Cap and the Accountability table. He made the mistake of looking at his watch. ::9:30 pm. I sure hope Joanne and the kids enjoyed whatever was for dinner. I'm starving.:: he thought. A puff of wind and smoke blew a fluttering monarch butterfly over his head. The heat and the glow of the fire had confused it into flight, being bright as day. Roy watched it, transfixed, as the butterfly landed on the hood of the squad to rest. ::I wish I could fly away from all of this.:: he thought. "Want to change jobs?" he asked it. Startled at the sound of his voice, the monarch butterfly took off, attracted to the fire light burning from downtown. "Stay safe." Roy wished it as the butterfly quickly disappeared into the orange lit boil of smoke billowing down the hillside. He saw one last flicker of its wings. Then it was gone. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Joanne DeSoto awoke at a light touch on the back of one of her hands. In the flame glow from outside, she saw that a monarch had landed there to taste of the sweaty salt pooling on her skin. "Oh, hello, little thing. S-So thirsty, too. Is it morning?" The butterfly slowly flexed its wings, basking in the beastly heat of the ruined store. Joanne said hoarsely. "I wish you could talk to me about what's happening out there." The butterfly stopped drinking and folded up its wings, regarding the bloody human's face impassively. "The air must be okay. You're staying here." Joanne smiled. Then a spasm shot pain through her neck again and she gasped. The noise frightened the monarch butterfly and it took off, rising quickly through the hole in the ceiling, back the way it had come. "Oh, don't go. Don't leave me." she said, in confusion. "I'm sorry I scared you away." she whispered. "Please come back. I needed you to find me." But there was only silence and stillness. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Captain Stanley strode quickly over to Roy. "You're sprung. Brice is relieving you as head of triage." "He's back?" "Yep. Volunteered for the spot. He just got Battalion's approval." Hank said. "He's fresher for the task. I'll give him that." "Where is he?" Desoto wondered. "Right there." Cap said, pointing. Brice was coming over from the Accountability table, donning a white helmet with paramedic emblems on the side. Roy eagerly handed him his vest. "Thanks, Craig. Now I can join the rest of the guys down there and.." DeSoto stopped speaking when Brice took hold of his arm. "Brice?" he asked. "I just got off the phone with your babysitter, Roy." "What? I don't understand.." The rare use of his first name by Craig alarmed him. "I promised Mrs. DeSoto I'd keep tabs connecting the two of you for the duration. Roy, Joanne never made it home last night after shopping." Craig said. Roy peeled out of his Head of Triage helmet and threw it at Craig's feet. "Where did she say she was going?" he said, making for Squad 51 to retrieve his turnout coat, regular black helmet, and the ignition key. "Miracle Mile." "Why didn't you tell us this sooner?" Cap thundered. "I didn't know until now. Downtown's a big place. Beverly Center was not involved." Craig offered softly. "Apparently, she made a last minute change and didn't go there as planned." Hank got on his radio. "I.C.2 to HTs 51." ##HTs 51, Stoker, Gage, and Kelly. Go ahead.## came Stoker's voice. "Hoof it up here to Triage. I've got an immediate victim search assignment with a firefighter paramedic." The distinction of terminology and the tone of Cap's voice was not lost on the three of them. ##There in one.## replied Gage on his own radio. Soon, Captain Stanley issued last orders. "Use your air bottles. Take Squad 51. Follow 103's lead and do not move ahead of them. I want a report every five minutes. Got that?" Roy only nodded. He, and Chet piled in the squad. Stoker and Gage both got a firm grip from the outside and belted themselves to both the driver and passenger side running board mirrors using safety harnesses. Then the four firemen of Station 51 re-entered H*ll itself. Craig Brice put on the head of triage vest and tried to pull himself together as they disappeared out of view. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Lightning around Orange fire glowing clouds. Photo: Gage on a biophone at night by the squad. Photo: Roy DeSoto and Vince at night in Triage. Photo: A monarch butterfly on a woman's fingers. Photo: An aerial view of the Miracle Mile Shopping District. Photo: Units 134 and 103 Urban Search and Rescue. Photo: Cap on the engine radio mic. ************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sun 9/06/15 6:08 PM Subject: The Long Wait.. Hank's designated public information officer was hard at work at the edge of the triage field. The PIO spokesman firefighter was speaking patiently with the slew of reporters and news crews hoping to get the full story on the burn emergency taking hideous shape a few miles away. "So it wasn't an earthquake?" asked one reporter from Channel Two. "No." replied the PIO. "Sure felt like one." Another reporter, an anchor woman, piped up. "Can you give us a run down on victim numbers? People are wanting the facts, sir." "All right." the PIO said, with a lift of his helmeted head. "We have 20-30 stores evacuated in a four block zone around the Fairfax business district. Flares have been placed in the streets to redirect traffic, around that zone. 22 have been taken to the hospital. Main hospital's Cedars Sinai. Redirect is to Brotman Burn Center. All ancillary cases are going to Rampart General Hospital." "How many have been killed?" asked the first journalist. "A body count? We don't know those numbers yet. We're still in rescue operations mode, going after survivors. I'm sure you understand the priority of that." said the PIO evenly. The newspaper man broke off, self conscious of the subtle shaming aimed at him by the fire department officer. A woman reporter was more tacit. "What's the probable cause of the fire? It broke out very quickly. Surely you firefighters have general ideas about causes and where by now." The PIO man nodded his head. "I can tell you that we're currently getting very high readings at Gilmore Bank and across the street on the sidewalks in front of Kmart and in front of Ross Dress For Less building, too. We think it was natural gas, from a petrogenic source, normally held underground by a thick layer of clay. Somehow it has seeped to the surface where the gas collected in building basements until a spark set it off." "That's all very well and good, sir. But what are you guys doing about it to put it out?" asked a local journalist. The PIO received a distant nod from Hank Stanley to share the idea that Cap and Battalion had been working on over the last hour. So the officer spoke up. "We have a plan of tapping into the central region of gas we know is generating, located about eighty feet below the surface. At the top of a twelve foot stack, in each location we've chosen, a flame will be ignited to burn off any escaping gas. They'll be drilling all night and once lit, these taps should put out all of the sidewalk and road fires so we can begin to move around for rescue operations in full. I'm afraid these'll become permanent structures on sidewalks all around the city. It's the best, most quickly implemented solution, since the downtown area is no natural lake of tar with easy open air venting. We couldn't possible jack hammer enough holes in pavement to accomplish the same task fast enough before it all starts disintegrating due to the heat of the underground flames." "Are you saying the La Brea Tar Pits are to blame?" asked a radio personality. "No. They're what gave us the idea of the ultimate solution. To permanently vent this gas. From around our new skyscrapers, sidewalks and streets. The whole Miracle Mile District is a place that wasn't in existence as a concrete lid over old gas seeps even a year ago. Today we're learning that we absolutely have to obey the natural law of the land. These soils are literally screaming now for mandatory breathing room. So we are providing it." "Are we at fault for this disaster? Builders and architects?" "No. This effect and outcome couldn't have been predicted. Are we at fault for earthquakes and wildfires and dam breaks? Not all of the time." replied the PIO. "What else can go wrong?" asked another man. "There could be manufactured gas from the gas mains, bleeding off due to damage from the initial explosion that might be contributing to these flames we're seeing. Those secondary effects, if there are any, are as yet undetermined. It's a mystery at this point on the status of all of the downtown underground infrastructure. We're going to be using reports of loss of water pressure and phone lines as an indicator of potential problem spots. Water and phone lines usually run adjacent to gas lines within the same tunnels." "How long before all victims are accounted for?" asked a newspaper writing college student. This gave the PI Officer pause. "It.. could be days, maybe even a week before everyone effected is found. We simply don't know how many people have fled the fire area without calling friends and family. Gathering that kind of information, hospital patient influxes, morgue admissions, missing persons, takes a while to gather. But we'll do our best to get any and all information out to the media just as soon as possible. Now if you'll excuse me, I've another briefing to attend. I'll return to this post in two hours with more." he said. Then the firefighter in dress uniform left the press behind, leaving the police to handle crowd control so no one followed him into the restricted Staging Area set up by all of the Fire Departments responding to the explosion. Hank met him at his communications post. "Thanks, Mac." "Sure thing, Hank. What a bloodthirsty lot. All they care about are corpses." "We're a sick species. We all gape at car crashes alongside the freeway, don't we?" Cap snorted. "Not me." "No, not us. We respond to them. On or off duty." Cap said, clasping a hand in appreciation of Mac's thankless job. "Heading for chow?" "Yeah, want some?" "Anything you can grab." replied Hank. "Give me twenty. I'll be back with a truck load. For you and Mr. Brice." Craig Brice nodded confirmation of the food run on his behalf. Then he faced Cap reluctantly. Hank noticed, and gave him his full attention. "Sir, I should have said something sooner." Brice said, his voice nearly a whisper. "About what? You were busy. You can't keep a phone call you had with a coworker's wife in the foreground while you were working. Especially for a call like this one. It's too big." "But Joanne told me where she was going. I should have remembered." Brice minced. "She said Miracle Mile, Beverly Center, right?" Cap said, rubbing his eyes. "Well, yes.. but--" "Then she changed her mind, Craig. Women do that all of the time. The fact that she might be missing is not your fault. At all." Stanley reiterated. "There are hundreds of thousands of people in the Miracle Mile neighborhood. Even now, with this going on." he said jerking a thumb up at the mushroom cloud of smoke rising above the city. "She could be stuck in traffic, holing up in a restaurant until the roads clear enough to go home. I know for a fact that the phone lines are jammed up. Nobody's able to get an open line. The only ones working are all the payphones in the disaster area, simply because no one's using them yet." Brice's gaze remained clouded and troubled. The vague, distant look in his eyes bothered Hank. A lot. "Brice, are you... getting another one of your funny feelings?" 'Yes, sir." Craig said, studying the ground. "I hoped I was wrong, that I was making up what I'm feeling. But I'm not. My stomach is literally sick... with this, sir. I know Mrs. DeSoto is not okay. I know the DeSotos well enough. Joanne DeSoto wouldn't put off calling her family. She'd find a way, captain. And it's already ten thirty in the middle of the night." Cap sucked in a breath, fighting an emotional reaction. Unbidden, his eyes swept over the helicopters taking turns hovering over Kmart, their spot lights and loud speakers questing for signs of survivors, bright beacons, stirring up the thickening sea fog. A passing firefighter, returning from the Fairfax area, walked by them. He didn't even wave. From off his turnout jacket, came the sour smell of death and new decay in the heat. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Johnny Gage, Chet Kelly, Mike Stoker and Roy DeSoto trailed behind Engine 103's fire teams in the darkness. Eerie jets of knee high fire were still emanating from every sidewalk crack in the area along Third, except for on the street. It was like being high up on a roller coaster track, with a glow-in-the-dark hellfire world surrounding the ride's cars. "Air's not safe." reported an air masked Kelly, sticking a gas detector out the window of the Squad while they coasted closer to the Kmart block. Everybody's voices were muffled in their apparatuses. "Then how are they handling it?" Gage asked, throwing a helmeted head over at the teams with dogs walking ahead of their advance. "They're all wearing masks. Their dogs, too." Chet reported, using night vision binoculars. Swallowing hard, Roy fought the urge to gun the engine and speed around 103, to get to ground zero, the first search point, a little faster. Johnny finally lost patience and disconnected his life belt from a squad mirror. "I'm going to go ask one of them a question." he said lightly jumping down from the runner board. He was able to easily walk faster then the pace they at which they were searching from their vehicles. "I'll be right back." Gage jogged ahead of Engine 103 and reached one of the canine S and R teams. The German Shepherd, straining ahead on the leash of a lieutenant, was distracted by Johnny's arrival and looked up, his glass goggled eyes steaming inside of his muzzle mask and canister filter. "Sorry, boy.." he said, gesturing the search command at him in re-enforcement. His handler leaned forward to Gage's faceplate in question. Johnny swallowed dryly as they walked. "Umm. I have to ask, are you a search dog for live rescue or body recovery? My partner wants to know. His wife might be out here." The fireman specialist's eyes glistened in sympathy through his air mask. "Live ones, first. Both of us." he said, gesturing to his companion team pacing parallel down the road with them in the orange gloom. "I'm sorry to hear that." he hollered back. Johnny gave him a wave and fell back to rejoin the trailing Squad 51. "What was that all about?" Roy asked him when he had rehooked his life belt snaffle to Roy's driver mirror again. "I asked him how long until we get there. That's all." he lied. "About an hour." replied Mike. "We're a mile away from the Kmart." Their squad radio burst into life with a command from Battalion One from Hancock Park. ##Squad 51, you're ordered to remain with and transport out any live victims as soon as you encounter any. Bring them to triage in your stokes and get new air bottles. Then return trip, with a follow up transmission report, back to Engine 103. Do you copy?## "10-4, Battalion One." said Roy, shouting loudly to be heard on channel through his mask over the radio mic. "Why?" groused Chet. "We've got enough air for the four of us to last six hours if you count the ones up top in back. "Our victims are going to need some of the supply. We can't use any of the medical oxygen around all of this fire." Stoker replied. "Methane's too reactive." "Oh." Kelly moped. "How long now?" "Three hours. Best case run to base and back if we get only one find between here and there." estimated Stoker. "D*mn." cursed Roy under his breath. His gloves hid how white his fingers were getting as he clenched the steering wheel. "I hate superceding I.C. orders." Gage noticed his building stress. "Do you want me to drive?" "No, Johnny. I'd probably start running there on foot." DeSoto told him, scared. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copter Ten was back hovering over the Kmart. Its sharp eyed pilot spotted something odd and pointed it out to his co-pilot. "What's that over there?" His night goggled partner sited along the pilot's finger direction. "Looks like a monarch butterfly." "They fly at night?" They both watched the monarch struggle upwards, until the rotor blade wash pushed it down and away from the hole from which it had emerged. It was swept out of sight and out of their minds in an instant. "Can't see down there." said the co-pilot. "There are some intact rooms, even though the roof's gone." "Mark it for the dogs." said the pilot. "Marking. Southeast quadrant, sixty feet from the west fire door. Side C." he replied. Then he toggled PTT foot button on the floor with a boot. "Copter 10 to Engine 103. We've found a potential survivor pocket. Looks like a few changing rooms are still partially intact. One of us can show you where with a spotlight. What's your E.T.A.?" ##Copter 10. We've just found a victim. An old man. Squad 51's bringing him to triage. We'll be at your location at midnight. The dogs are no longer point signalling. We can make that time stick.## replied USAR's engine. "2400 hours. Roger." said the pilot. He turned to his partner. "I'm pulling up. We need to refuel. Copter 10 to Copter 5. Give us some head room. Then move to cover our last coordinates. They're a future search area marker for 103's teams." ##Copter 5 copies. Taking over your hover point in one minute. Your air space is clear.## "10-4. Leaving for base." Copter 10 angled away from the shattered department store, leaving it behind in total darkness. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Is he taking the mask?" Roy shouted to Johnny as they knelt by the seventies something man they had located inside of a bus shelter next to the Y.M.C.A. Chet Kelly and Mike Stoker had rushed to get out the stokes while the two paramedics worked to stabilize their patient. "Yeah, he's breathing!" said Gage, holding the faceplate of a spare air bottle over the man's face while the others quickly tightened the straps around his head and face. "But he's burned a bit about the chest and hands. Second degree with blisters." "AhhhHHH!" the man screamed as the fresh air revived him back to consciousness. "Easy, easy!" said Gage. "Keep that over your nose and mouth. The air's bad out here in the street!" shouted Stoker, who finally pinned the man's head still in between his knees while the others prepared the stokes stretcher with a yellow burn sheet and saline. "What's your name? Can you talk?" "Elroy!.. Jenkins.. Wh..what happened to me?" "Gas blew up in a basement. Looks like you were burned trying to get away." Roy told him. "Tried to ...open a hydrant with a tool from my mechanic's shop. But the sidewalk got too hot. I think I blacked out." "You'll be fine. What else can you tell us? Have you seen anybody else stuck here in the fire?" Gage asked. He watched Stoker taking over the man's tool. The engineer flung open the water valve on the nearly hydrant and its welcome fountain of water shot up and around the bus shelter in a cooling cascade, protecting them from further harm. Mike then rushed back inside the glass enclosure, after getting himself thoroughly wet with water. "Mister...I...heard screams.." gasped the man as he coughed out some of the gas in his lungs. "Coming from where?" DeSoto asked, opening up the man's seared work overalls at the neck. "The Kmart." he replied. "Right after the ceiling fell in." he sobbed in shock. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "They've found one near the flash point." said Dixie to Dr. Brackett at the base station at Rampart. "How bad?" "Some respiratory issues, noncircumferential burns to the front of his chest and palms of his hands. Conscious. But he's in his late seventies." "Okay. We'd be better off not being his receiving facility. Have him flown to Brotman Burn Center A.S.A.P." "Will do, Kel." and she turned back to Squad 51's call. "I'll issue your standard orders for him. Squad 51, 10-4 on your victim's injuries. Have him airlifted to Brotman Center. Keep his burns covered, oxygenate him, and start two large bore Normal Saline I.V.s to counteract any subcutaneous fluid loss. 2 mgs M.S. for pain. Monitor his vital signs closely. Transferring your base transmission to Brotman in thirty seconds. They are ready to receive your radio's patch. Per Brackett: The flight care nurse will assume your victim's care once they land." ##10-4, Rampart.## said Johnny. Dixie McCall hit the flashing white commit button on the base station receiver and then she cradled the red phone with Brotman's waiting doctor on the line with a snick. She heard Gage and BBC begin the rest of the call over the speaker. "That's it. We're done with this one." "Yeah, but how many more are we going to get? Aren't all of our beds close to being full?" Dr. Brackett sighed, only half listening to Squad 51's chattering radio. "Thirteen away from capacity with one surgical room left open." McCall confirmed. "How many surgeons? We can always use a few treatment rooms for operating space in a pinch." "Six total, including you." "I'm honored to be on your list. I'd better get a short case. Somebody M.D.'s got to remain at the paramedic base station for the rest of the night just in case Dr. Kiley and Dr. Welby get too busy handling triage victims." "I can do that." volunteered Joe Early as he stepped into the room. "I heard a helicopter might be inbound." "Diverted." said Dixie. "It was a burn case." elaborated Kel. "For being resource heavy?" Early asked. "Yes." Dr. Brackett replied. "We don't have enough people or supplies to handle burns tonight. Maybe in a day or two. Believe it or not, those two small downtown medical centers have one up on us. They get all of our priority deliveries and personnel because they're still on fire." he scoffed, folding his arms over his elbows. Joe Early raised both eyebrows in surprise. "Sounds like the fire department should get a better move on that as a remedy." "You said it." Kel agreed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Roy DeSoto and Johnny Gage stayed kneeling in the grass at the Triage Landing Zone while their patient took off in Copter 10. The loud buzz of the props only increased their sense of urgency. "Let's head back!" Johnny shouted, running for the squad. "I'm driving!" "Think we can speed a little?" Roy DeSoto asked him, his face pinched as he buckled into the passenger seat. "I'm not telling." said Stoker, fully belted to his side door mirror from where he stood on the running board. "I doubt if Vince even cares about speeders. Not tonight." said Chet, taking a firm hold on the mirror and door frame from where he stood on Johnny's side runner board. Cap pulled out the clinch pin on their indecision. "Petal to the metal. Get back searching!" he ordered, swinging four new air bottles into the stokes they all had re-roped and loaded on top of the squad's rails. Squad 51 peeled off the triage field with a full set of red lights and siren going full tilt. Cap grinned as copious dust and gravel spun up into his face at their departure. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Gage standing on the runner of Squad 51 in a fog at night. Photo: A burning warehouse at night. Photo: An explosion in the distance along a night city scape line. Photo: A USAR firefighter and his search dog looking through rubble. Photo: Copter 10 using its search light. Photo: A monarch butterfly flying at night. ************************************************** From: patti keiper (pattik1@hotmail.com) Sent: Sun 9/06/15 11:36 PM Subject: Butterfly.. Dr. Kiley looked up as Consuelo flagged both he and Marcus down for a priority patient. "Doctors.." she prompted. They both hurried out of their camping chairs near a water dispenser they seemed to be drinking by the gallon on the triage field. All of the light towers the fire department had erected over the field only seemed to increase the ambient temperature of the air. "What do we have?" Dr. Welby asked her, crouching by a military litter that had been set down onto the red tag tarp. Their patient was a young adult male and he was stiff as a board and non-breathing. "A hypothermia case." "In this heat?" Steven exclaimed. Nurse Lopez nodded affirmation. "They found him in a freezer in a grocery store. Witnesses said he went in there instead of running because he thought he'd be able to get away from the fire." "Did it work?" Marcus began to cut away the employee's clothes from his partially frozen arms. "No. This hand's got third degree burns on it." Kiley glanced at the firefighter ventilating the unconscious man with positive pressure oxygen. "Keep it up. Does he have a pulse?" "I can't tell." said the rescue man. "He's too cold. We were almost afraid to move him. You know what they say about critically low body temperatures and blood movement." "You had to." said Consuelo, her face grim. "I'll hook him up to an EKG." she said, moving to go get the defibrillator. "Even if we can't feel it, we'll be able to see any heart action that way. Look, He's alive. He's actively bleeding from his head." she said, pointing. Dr. Kiley bent over with a flashlight. "She's right. It's almost... spurting a little." "Arterial." Marcus agreed. "Somebody put pressure on that with a dressing." A Mayfair attendant did so, being careful not to get in the way of the man's ventilations. "Is he warming up too fast out here?" asked Kiley, wiping away some sweat from the night's heat from his face with the back of his arm. "Possibly." answered Dr. Welby. "We have no way of knowing and no way to control how fast he going to do it. Not easily." The firefighter breathing for the man using the resuscitator had an idea. "How about cooling him down with hose water from that engine?" he said, pointing to Engine 51. "That Ward's been sitting out here in the sun all day. Her water's probably luke warm at the most, or even slightly cool. The water in her reservoir's certainly not icy any more. Maybe that'll help regulate him." he suggested. Marcus Welby pursed his lips. "It's worth a shot. I'll go find someone to open her up." he said, rising back to feet. "Consuelo, I want that EKG set up yesterday." "Almost there, drying this ice off his chest." she said, working fast. Welby reached Captain Stanley's side at the edge of Triage in about a minute. "Captain, we need your Engine." he stated. "What? Is there a fire?" "No, we've a young man who's been frozen in a freezer. We need to slow down his rewarming rate or his heart's going to stop on us." said the older doctor. "We want to use a fire hose on him." "I'll go." said Brice. "It'll only take a minute." "Do you know how to prime the hose pump? It's pretty complicated." Hank asked the paramedic. Craig bit his lip, thinking. "The red reel line's easy enough. I've done that valve access before." Cap pursed his lips. "I won't stop you. We can't use Engine 51 anyway. Not enough man power. Go do it and then get back. I'll triage what I can while you're gone." said Hank. "On it, sir." said Brice, jogging along with Dr. Welby to the man's side. Consuelo spoke up. "He's got a rate of 26, ventricular rhythm only." she said, returning Datascope paddles to the man's skin so they could see the display. "That's still better than the best CPR." said Brice, crouching down long enough to try and feel for a coratid. "Can't feel anything here." "But I can hear it here." said Dr. Kiley, looking up from the stethoscope he was using. "We'd better hurry. This guy's forehead is starting to sweat while his arms are still frosted over. We don't want that kind of reaction." Brice quickly began a fanning spray over the man's body, avoiding getting his arms or legs wet. "Ah, he's finally getting goose bumps." Marcus reported after about a half minute bath or so. "That's enough for now." He said, waving off the water. Brice turned off the light hose and dropped it onto the ground near the man's head. "We'll soak him down again once these start to fade away." Kiley agreed. Brice nodded at the idea. "Pretty easy to gauge a steady body temperature if he's got some." "Yep." said Steven. "That's what we'll do. We'll keep him in the chill zone until we push in some bicarb to neutralize his acidosis." "I'll start a venous cut down in a subclavian vein to get access." Dr. Welby decided. Craig stepped away, excusing himself back to Triage. "The lever's pretty simple, doctors. Just pull on this handle here. When he ships out, flag down any firefighter and he'll drain the hose and roll it back up onto the engine." "Thanks for your help, Mr. Brice." said Consuelo as the two doctors began giving the intensive care the frozen man needed for his one shot at surviving. "Anytime." Craig said to her. Then he hurried back to Captain Stanley's side. "How's he doing?" asked Cap. "He's life or death. If he makes it, there's a good chance he'll lose some limbs." Brice said truthfully. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The stars had fled away. And thick fog had poured through the hole in the ceiling inside the Kmart debris pile, burying her in wetness and a stifling heat. There was a jolt that sent stabs of agony into her spine that woke her up the rest of the way. Joanne felt herself slipping.. ::Oh, not the ground!:: she begged mentally. ::Don't shift. Don't shift!:: She was afraid the beam lying across her neck would settle lower than its already strangling position. The breath had started rattling in her throat long ago whenever she tried to doze a little around her pain. Fear lanced through her. ::Will I suffocate if I pass out again?:: she thought. ::My neck must be swelling if .....I'm having trouble breathing on my... back.:: The shaking of the floor went away. Joanne realized that it had been a small ground quake not far beneath her. ::Something's melting. Is it the foundation? Is it burning?!:: Mrs. DeSoto felt panic begin to rise inside of herself to a level that was difficult to fight off. She began to gasp in the heat and darkness, panting faster and faster, until she began to feel dizzy. The world danced away from her consciousness..... Then there was a great noise that she both heard and felt down to the core of her very being. Crack!! -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Broken. That's how she felt now. For each of her children's births, that's how she felt inside, then. But she had been so happy to see them. First her son, then her daughter. And above her each time was Roy's face, beaming proudly down as he and the family doctor held up their newborns, naked down to the skin, just seconds into their very own birthdays. Two times, pain had mingled with the intense love only her husband could mirror back to her. And for that, she was grateful. Joanne began to laugh at the joys she would always have in her life. ::My family. Oh, how I love you so.:: ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As the rest of the ceiling collapsed, the monarch butterfly managed to escape, but not before one of its wings was badly broken. It flew up toward the moon. Higher and higher, until all of the burning heat surrounding it, was gone. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dawn was just rising above the disaster block. Station 51 and Engine 103 had been working at the Kmart site, for hours. The subterranean fires had been quenched as the drill taps performed as planned, venting the gas safely up a hundred chimney stacks embedded into the ground and lit with torch poles by construction and fire crews working throughout the night. It had been an easy business determining which sidewalks and streets had survived being burned and which ones hadn't. The ones weakened had turned to powder and had collapsed into the ground as multicolored sand several feet deep. Bulldozers and heavy truck rollers had made even the collapsed ways safe afterwards for rescue crews to get downtown to begin more earnest operations. The dead, when they were found, were covered, left in place, and marked with red flags for forensic investigators. "I hate sand." grumbled Chet. "You might as well try to dig holes in water." Sweat was pouring down his face in rivers as he shifted his grip on the light aluminum shovel he was using. "Not far now." said the lieutenant. "We're almost at Copter Ten's coordinates. Let's keep digging." "You say the dressing rooms are near here? That there were some still standing?" asked Mike Stoker radioing out as he took a breather from his turn at digging out a passageway into Kmart's sunken footprint. ##Yes.## reported the pilot, flying far overhead above the fog. From his vantage point he could not see the crews working below him. He could only remember what he had seen before it was covered up in a mist that his spotlight could no longer penetrate. ##Sounds stupid, but a butterfly showed us where the rooms were when it flew out of one last night.## "Well there's nothing here now but a huge sinkhole in the ground. So we've been trying to dig out the changing room attendent's desk. Perhaps a victim tried to crawl under there." said USAR's point man to the pilot over his headset. "That part of the floor's still here." ##You are in the right place. I've found the fire door on C side. It's even with the flare you just shot up. Its wall remains intact and is undamaged.## Johnny Gage took a stand in the most open place afforded in the debris pile that was once a department store. "The dogs can't be wrong. They both reacted here. Strongly." he said, aiming his flashlight down into and around the sinkhole. I'm seeing hangers and piles of clothes down there. This has got to be near where the changing rooms were at any rate." A hollow thunk of a shovel's blade against wood rewarded a firefighter. "It's the desk. The one they said was there." Six firefighters jumped around him and began probing with sticks. One by one the wire probes sank down to a glove's gripping fingers as they worked across the area. But then one sank down only a few inches and stopped against a definite resistance. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Captain Stanley didn't know what to say. It was Roy DeSoto who spotted his wife's station wagon in the parking lot of the Kmart. Not much was left of it from the force of the explosion. A taffy and wood paneled shell was all that remained. That and a license plate. "It's hers, Cap. She's here." he said tearfully. "I know. I've got every man I can get working on it." Hank said, his voice breaking. "But there's no one left alive, Cap." DeSoto cried, strings of saliva tangling on his lips. "Hey, Marco and Mike made it out. Who's to say she won't, Roy? There's every chance." Weeping, Roy sank down on the ruined fender of the station wagon and buried his face in his dirty hands. "There's no chance in H*ll, Cap! Just look around us. There are body parts everywhere. I've never seen blood flung so wide and far from a building like this. Not until today..." he whimpered, humbled, angry and deeply, horribly saddened. Cap took him into an embrace and just held him. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Come on, Daddy, pleasssse." begged Chris. "What is it?" said Roy, peeking his head out of the kitchen. "Did you see this?" Chris asked him. "See what?" "The newspaper. Daddy, I think you're in it! See? There's Squad 51." "I am? I mean, it is? Where?" he challenged. "Right there. Daddy, what does ethyl mercaptan mean? Isn't that a girl's name?" "Hmm, let me read up on it for a minute. The article might say." Minutes later he stunned his son with an answer. "Wow, I guess I'm famous. Johnny, the others and I are in it and the writers are talking about this new chemical. Do you know what this means?" "No, that's why I'm asking." "This means, well, because of your mother and Kmart, they've invented an indicator odor they now put in natural gas so we can tell whenever there's a gas leak." "Isn't dinner ready?" his son asked, already bored. "It's almost ready." their father replied. "When is 'ready' ready?" echoed his daughter, tottering behind her older brother's chair. "Because I'm really getting hungry." and she started laughing, sounding just like Joanne. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- ::Joanne... I'm really happy again today. Because I'm living each day to the fullest on your behalf.:: thought Roy, much later on a bright, cool, autumn day. "Now can I eat them?" asked his youngest, pointing at the steaming strawberry waffles he had made. "All right." he said. "Yey!" she cried happily. "Half-Me... Now thank your big brother. He's the one who set our table." Roy DeSoto teased. :: Roy, if it was you who died in the accident, and I survived, I would have led a life like this.:: the voice of his wife whispered in his mind. The warm, wheaty taste of the waffle dissolved in the rich sweetness of the strawberries on his tongue, as Roy slowly chewed. He sighed. ::Do you think that's heartless?:: Joanne wondered inside his head. Roy remained seated, with his eyes closed, remembering. ::It might be heartless, but living my life to the fullest is a token of our love for you.:: his mind replied to her memory. ::That is so like you, Roy.:: she ghosted. ::Anyone can do that. But you... You're not making enough of an effort. You aren't as happy as they are.:: she beamed. ::Who?:: he echoed. ::Our son and our daughter.:: she rippled. ::Roy, do you happen to remember my last words?:: ::Uh, your last words?:: ::You must have heard me. After they pulled me out. Try to remember.:: ::Let me think now, your last words.. were....:: He struggled. Finally, a tear welled out of an eye and landed on the edge of his breakfast plate as he finally recalled them. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ In a flash of pain, he was back inside the hole, with Joanne, lying neck broken, in his arms. ". . . . . .thank you. . . . ." came the words on a last breath from battered lips. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "..no.." he said quietly, fighting not to cry in front of his children while they giggled over their food. ::It was an accident, Roy.:: came her soft echo. ::But-:: ::Reality is always a little bitter. Accept that. Don't live as though you're dying. Please Roy, enjoy your life. It's so painful for me, to see you suffer like this.:: she soothed, soft and light. ::But I can't forget you.:: Roy sobbed in his head. ::If it's not you, it's no one.:: ::No. You're all right now. You all are.:: Joanne smiled invisibly. ::Why?:: ::Because I've just conveyed my last words to you. Although my time here is over, I'm always with you.:: Out in the DeSoto garden, the monarch with the broken wing flew higher and higher, until she disappeared into the mist, and the pure morning sunlight. FIN Movie Four, The Long Hot Summer, (Episode 57) Emergency Theater Live. 2015. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo: Dr. Welby hugging a mourning Roy. Photo: A close up of Dr. Kiley, getting wet. Photo: Captain Stanley and Battalion One talking at night. Photo: Roy and Johnny searching a dust falling debris pile. Photo: Firefighters digging at a cave in. Photo: A broken winged monarch butterfly flying into the morning sun. ************************************************** ***This current episode has just been completed. ***Keep watching here daily for a new episode's ***scene installments. ************************************************** Emergency Theater Live® =+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+ Host- Patti Keiper in the United States. ** Theaterhost@voyagerliveaction.com Emergency Theater Live® "Offstory" Email Address For Midi Music Requests and General Inquiries **emergencytheaterlive@yahoogroups.com Emergency Theater Live® "Send To Story" Email Address For Sending in a Story Contribution to the Current Episode (You must join the preproduction list here in order to write for Emergency Theater Live®) http://www.voyagerliveaction.com/emergency.html Emergency Theater Live® Homepage https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/EmergencyTheaterLive/info Writer's Pre-Production Distribution Site http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=8897711333 The Emergency- Station 51 Club on Facebook ____________________________________ Mark VII Productions and Universal owns all of Emergency!© and its Characters. © 2015. 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