This is a work of fiction. The story line has no basis in reality. This is not intended to make a political statement about any segment(s) of society. It is for entertainment purposes only.
Blindsided
By Carol D.
"Looks like we're down a couple bags of saline and some angios," Roy DeSoto remarked. The drug box sat open before him, a few of its contents spread on the concrete floor of the apparatus bay to facilitate the paramedic's job of inventorying the supplies.
"Hmmm, last shift must've been busy," Johnny Gage surmised. He replaced the biophone's antenna in its holder and snapped the lid shut. "Biophone's good."
"We have enough to hold us until after the first run. We can stock up then."
"Actually," Hank Stanley said as he rounded the squad, "you can head to Rampart now. Brackett's called a meeting of paramedics."
"A meeting?" Johnny parroted, alarmed. "What about?" His first reaction was invariably one of apprehension. Unscheduled meetings were often bad news. Roy's expression mirrored his concern as well.
"Nothing to be alarmed about. Just a new protocol that's going into effect," the captain said nonchalantly.
Roy shrugged. "Okay. You ready, Johnny?"
"Yeah, I guess." The lanky paramedic stood, hoisting the biophone and sliding it into its compartment.
Roy followed suit, repacking the medical supplies into the drug box and depositing it into its designated spot.
"See you when you get back," Hank said with forced cheer.
"Man, I wonder what this is about. I got a bad feeling, Roy." Johnny rubbed his chin and rested his elbow on the passenger door's window frame.
"Why are you worrying about something you don't even know about yet?"
"Did you see Cap's face?" Johnny turned to his partner, his own face tight with apprehension.
"What about it?" Roy demanded, irritated.
"He knows what this is about," Johnny stated confidently. "Think about it, Roy. Why would we get a new protocol now, when the protocols aren't even up for review?"
Roy shook his head and shrugged. "They want us to do something a different way, that's all."
"Why would that be, Roy?" Johnny dug.
"I have no idea."
"I'll tell ya why. It's because somebody screwed up," Johnny stated with certainty.
"You don't know that."
"What if it was us, Roy? What if we did something wrong and we don't even know it? We could be held up as examples of…of…bad pre-hospital care!"
Roy rolled his eyes. "Johnny, if we did something wrong, we'd know it. Brackett wouldn't blindside us in a meeting."
"Hmph! Don't be so sure!" Johnny slumped in his seat, scowling.
"I think you're worrying about nothing," Roy said calmly. "This could be a good thing, you know. They could be adding a new skill to our scope of practice."
Johnny peered sideways at Roy. "You think so?"
"I think it's just as likely as the alternative."
"Maybe you're right…" Johnny's voice trailed off as he considered the possibility. His face brightened. "Maybe they're finally gonna let us do needle decompressions!"
Roy, satisfied he'd defused Johnny's anxiety, smiled slightly. "Could be, Junior. Could be."
"I want to thank you all for coming in," Dr. Kelly Brackett said, addressing the room full of paramedics. About half of the attendees were attired in civilian clothing. "Especially those of you who are off duty," the doctor added.
"Like we had a choice," Tom Dwyer mumbled, to the amused chuckles of the others.
"I realize your time is valuable," Brackett said. "This shouldn't take too long. It's pretty straightforward." He handed a stack of stapled pages to the first man on the edge of the group, who took a copy and passed the rest to his right. As each man secured a copy of the new protocol, he began to scan it.
Dr. Brackett immediately noticed the frowns of dismay on the paramedics' faces. He'd expected this reaction. "How many of you heard about the inmate in the county jail who died in custody last month?"
The men glanced at each other to see who would remember. Bob Bellingham spoke up. "I think I read about that. He aspirated, didn't he?"
"That's the one," Brackett confirmed. "He was extremely intoxicated, went into a coma, vomited and aspirated. By the time the guards discovered him, he was too far gone. As a result of that incident, the inmate's family is suing the city of Los Angeles for wrongful death. They're seeking $5 million." The assembled men reacted with quiet murmurs of disbelief.
"What's that got to do with us, Doc?" Gary Campbell asked. "That sounds like a police matter."
"It used to be a law enforcement problem. Now it's ours," Brackett said.
"What do you mean?" Roy spoke up.
"The mayor met with the city council last week and came up with this plan," he said, gesturing to the protocol. "From this point forward, all publicly intoxicated and drug abusing citizens, including perpetrators and down-n-outs, will be transported to area hospitals under the care of paramedics, rather than being taken to jail by law enforcement."
This time, the exclamations of disbelief were louder. "You've got to be kidding" was heard more than once. The paramedics' faces registered emotions ranging from distaste to outright anger.
"I wish I was kidding, but I'm not. This is a mandate handed down by the mayor. For now, there's nothing we can do but follow it."
"You mean to tell me we've gotta call an ambulance for every drunk on a park bench?" Bob asked.
"Unless that drunk can get up and walk away, that's what I'm telling you," Brackett said. "That's the criterion. It's up to you guys to make that determination."
"What happened to the drunk tank?" Tom asked.
"There is no drunk tank at this point. The city won't take the chance of another incident like the one last month. The liability is too high."
"What's the hospital going to do with all these people?" Roy asked.
"Just like you, we'll have to treat them like patients. Most likely, they'll be put on a cot and left to sleep it off, while the nurses check their vitals every two hours. If they need hydration, they'll get IV's, possibly in the pre-hospital setting." This comment elicited a few eye-rolls in the room. "It's not going to be an easy adjustment for you or for us. There's going to be a serious space crunch in the hospitals. And the squads – you guys – will notice a sharp increase in your call volume."
"So, while we're busy giving a taxi ride to some drunk, a citizen with chest pain is gonna have to wait," Johnny stated tersely.
"Unfortunately, there's no other way," Brackett answered regretfully. The tension in the room was high as the men quietly reviewed the written protocol. After a few minutes, he asked, "Any questions?"
The paramedics glanced at one another, the futility of the situation all too evident. Finally, Tom Dwyer spoke up. "Are we done?"
"If there aren't any questions, you're free to go," Brackett said. He added to the departing men, "Call me if you have any questions."
"Thanks, Doc," a few mumbled morosely. The men filed out of the room unenthusiastically.
Johnny and Roy ambled to the nurses' station to stock up on the supplies they'd need. Roy glanced at his silent partner and saw the familiar scowl of discontent on Johnny's face. He predicted that once Johnny had time to ruminate on this development, he'd wind up into full rant mode. The senior medic couldn't say he blamed him. This development was going to place a greater burden on the system as a whole; not only the paramedics and other fire department personnel, but the hospital staff as well. At the moment, Roy couldn't pinpoint one redeeming feature in the new protocol.
As Johnny stooped to retrieve the items they needed, Roy fished around for a box to carry them in. They didn't notice Dixie approach.
"Hey, fellas. Looking for something, Roy?"
"Oh, hi, Dix. We're picking up some supplies and I thought I might find a box around here somewhere," Roy answered.
Dixie sighed wearily. "You're going to need it, too."
"Oh, not really," Roy said with forced cheer. "We're just down a couple bags of saline and some angios."
"That may be, but the new recommendations require you to carry almost twice your usual stock." She nodded at the protocol Roy had set on the counter. "Or haven't you gotten to that part yet?"
Johnny twisted as he stood up. "Twice? Let me see that." He plopped the few items he held down and leafed through the packet while Roy did the same with his.
"Oh. Yeah, here it is," Roy announced flatly.
Johnny pursed his lips and put his hand to his forehead, rubbing vigorously. "Man, I feel a headache comin' on."
"You and me both," Dixie muttered. A commotion down the corridor got the trio's attention.
"Take me home!" a disheveled man on a stretcher bellowed. "I jus' wanna go home you dummies! Get me outta here!" The paramedic and ambulance attendants guiding the stretcher ignored the drunken man's demands, their faces impassive masks. The man on the gurney wallowed ineffectually on the cot, unable to raise even his shoulders off the mattress.
Dixie, Roy and Johnny stared as the spectacle came near.
"Where do you want him, Dix?" Gary McIntyre asked.
Meanwhile, the man continued to yell and verbally assault his "rescuers." "Did you hear me, dumb-ass? Get me off this thing! Now! I don't need no stinkin' doctor! Get me outta here now!"
Dixie shook her head in frustration. The waiting room was full of legitimately sick people waiting to be seen by a doctor and they were short exam rooms. Rampart was not ready for this. "Just…let's transfer him to one of our stretchers and we can park him over there," she decided, pointing to a small alcove.
"Okay. Just so you know, he's not being too cooperative," Gary informed her.
"Great. Just great." Dixie grabbed some new patient forms and followed the gentlemen to the alcove.
Johnny and Roy watched the scene with a sense of dread. It was only beginning. They both knew the situation was going to get a lot worse before it got any better….if it got better at all.
"Squad 51, man down. Corner of 5th and Sepulveda, behind the Cork-n-Barrel. 5th and Sepulveda, behind the Cork-n-Barrel. Time out, 10:39."
Johnny uncrossed his legs and laid his newspaper down on the sofa beside him. He set his barely-touched bagel on the end table. Roy rolled his eyes and made his way resignedly to the squad. He received the slip of paper the captain handed him and in turn passed it to Johnny, who had just settled in and donned his helmet. They roared out of the station, lights and sirens going.
"Kind of gives new meaning to the term 'man down' doesn't it?" Roy asked.
"Every time I hear that, I wanna go hide somewhere," Johnny groused. He rubbed his stomach. "Man, I think I got two bites in…maybe."
"This is our third call today. I was hoping for a slower day after last shift."
"Don't remind me. Nineteen calls, fifteen hauls."
"Cork-n-Barrel. Isn't that that combination lounge and liquor store?" Roy asked.
"I think so. Likely spot for a down-n-out if there ever was one. Kinda early in the morning for a bender."
"He was probably at it all night, don't forget. It's late for him."
Five minutes later the squad pulled close to the destination and Roy cut the siren. He directed the squad into the parking lot and past a chain link fence that separated the back lot. There they saw a burly man in a too-tight polo shirt, standing over a heap on the asphalt, his arms crossed.
"Your turn, Pally," Johnny asserted. He'd had the dubious pleasure of running the call on the first drunk they'd had that morning at 8:15, right after they'd come on shift.
"I know," Roy mumbled. They retrieved their gear and approached the scene.
"Mornin'," Johnny greeted the man.
"I found him here when I brought some trash out," the stranger said without preamble. "I think he's alive. Can you guys get him outta here?"
Roy set the drug box down and knelt next to the motley figure lying curled up on the ground. "Hey, buddy. Can you hear me? Come on, wake up," he said loudly. The figure didn't move. Roy reached over and shook the unresponsive man's shoulder. "Hey, wake up. Come on, you can't stay here."
The grimy man with the greasy, matted hair stirred slightly and waved his arm in the air to ward off the intrusion.
"You need to get up now and walk home. You hear me? Time to get up." Roy stole a glance at Johnny, who knelt out of range of the man's strong smell of alcohol and body odor. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"I'll call for an ambulance," Johnny relented.
"What's your name?" Roy called loudly.
"Wen…Wendell," the man slurred.
"Wendell? Okay, Wendell. It's morning and you need to get up and go home. You can't sleep in this parking lot. Do you understand?"
"Piss off," the man mumbled.
Roy clenched his jaw. "Come on, let's get you up." He waited until Johnny returned from using the radio. "Let's get him on his feet."
Johnny effected a look of disgust but didn't hesitate to help his partner. They each grabbed an arm. "Okay, man, let's go. On your feet. One, two, three," Johnny said in a no-nonsense tone.
As the paramedics strained to haul the man to a standing position, the patient went intentionally limp, refusing to be of any assistance.
"Come on," Johnny snarled. "Get up."
"Forget it," Roy announced. They let the patient slide back down to a supine position on the sidewalk, where he promptly coughed up a blob of nasty looking spittle.
"Ambulance should be here soon," Johnny said. He rubbed his hands on his pants.
"Not soon enough," Roy replied.
In the month since the new protocol had been enacted, the paramedics of each station typically hauled at least three to four intoxicated individuals every shift, and sometimes more, especially on the weekends. The new protocol cast their roles in a different light than before, and many of the men were becoming disenchanted with the new clientele and their jobs in general. The generally unpleasant encounters with drunk and/or high patients who usually didn't exercise a high degree of personal hygiene or social tact were starting to wear on department morale. The paramedics had been subjected to a range of abuse from the unruly patients, from verbal tirades to actual physical assaults, though no one had been seriously injured. The assaults usually took the form of uncoordinated and easily dodged fists flying or the hurling of keys or loose change. The fire department personnel felt they had been forced to assume the duty of law officers without the authority that went with it, and they resented it.
Roy and John looked up at the sound of an approaching vehicle. It was a police cruiser. It rolled to a stop and two officers climbed out and sauntered forward.
"What've we got, fellas?" the one who had been driving asked.
"ETOH," Roy answered, invoking the oft-used abbreviation for alcohol utilized by medical personnel. "We're waitin' on the ambulance."
"Who is it?" the second officer asked. He peered intently at the man without getting too close.
"Wendell something," Johnny said. He was in no mood for pleasantries and he wiped his forearm on his forehead, the heat of the day already getting to him.
"Oh, Wendell!" The first officer smiled mischievously. "Wendell's a frequent flyer. Real personable too." He smirked.
"Uh, yeah. So we've noticed." Roy studied traffic for any sign of an approaching ambulance.
"Yep, me and Wendell go way back." The officer kicked the slumbering man's shoe.
"Don't we, Wendell?"
"That's nice," Johnny said flatly.
"Hey, taxi's here!" the second officer announced with glee as he spotted the approaching ambulance. Johnny and Roy exchanged a look of disgust.
The ambulance pulled up and Sam, the driver, emerged. He was alone. He went around to the back of the rig and awkwardly maneuvered the cot out without help. The paramedics, seeing him struggle, started over to help but he'd gotten it out already.
"Mornin', Sam," Roy said. "Where's your partner?"
"No partner today. Maybe ever," Sam answered, out of breath. He rolled the stretcher towards the patient.
"No partner?" Johnny questioned. "Whaddya mean? Is he sick?"
"Nope." Sam unfastened the gurney straps and unfolded the blanket. "We're going solo now. With all the new transports we're having to do, they can't afford to send two-man crews to every call anymore. Since they know there will always be at least two paramedics on every scene, and sometimes an engine crew, they think they can justify it."
"You've gotta be kidding!" Johnny exclaimed. "You mean, one guy driving and just the paramedic in the back from now on?"
"Looks that way," Sam opined. "At least as long as this new protocol stays in effect."
"Well, looks like you fellas have the situation under control," one of the officers commented. "Guess we'll be moving along." He slid his flashlight back into his belt.
"Uh, yeah. See you 'round," Roy said to the departing men. He could've sworn he heard a chuckle or two coming from the police officers as they re-entered their air-conditioned cruiser. Roy made eye contact with Johnny. "Let's get this over with."
Roy, Johnny and Sam manhandled the uncooperative patient onto the stretcher, secured him and lifted him into the back of the ambulance. Roy climbed in to attend and Johnny set the equipment he'd need inside. The man's considerable stench quickly filled the small space. Roy opened the side door window. "Let's just get to Rampart as fast as possible," he said to Sam, who nodded his understanding.
Johnny stepped back, secretly glad it was Roy's turn this time, but aware that the next one would be his. There was no escaping the new reality. He shut the ambulance doors and saw the vehicle off before climbing into the squad to meet his partner at the hospital.
Johnny walked into the Emergency entrance and made his way through the busy corridor to the base station desk, where he saw Roy standing. He placed a hand on Roy's shoulder.
"How's ol' Wendell?"
"Sleeping it off," Roy answered. "He'll be out of here by tonight so he can do it again."
Johnny nodded. "Yeah. Oh well…"
"Excuse me, fellas," Dixie said suddenly, sliding off her stool. "Room 3!" she called to the arriving paramedic crew, wheeling in an obviously ill older gentleman.
"Hey, that's 18's," Johnny said. "Wonder what they're doing here."
Stepping forward to lend a hand, Roy commented, "I don't know…but I have some idea."
Catching Roy's drift, Johnny moved to follow his partner into the treatment room.
Tim Consuelo looked up. "John, Roy." All four medics and Dixie quickly untucked the sheet from the cot so they could transfer the patient to the exam table. Tim kept up his report as he worked. "Gave him three blasts of nitro, with only temporary benefit. Morton okay'd two consecutive does of MS, three milligrams each. Those helped some, but he still rates his pain at a six out of ten."
The group smoothly lifted and transferred the man as Mike Morton breezed into the room to assume care.
"You need us for anything else, Doc?" Tim asked.
"That'll be all. Thanks, guys." As the doctor began ordering tests and medications, the four paramedics made their exit.
"AMI," Tim said, once out in the hallway. "Pretty bad one, too. He may not make it."
"Where'd you pick him up?" Roy asked, knowing that 18's paramedics were a long way out of their district.
"Senior Center on Montecito," Juan, the other medic, replied.
Johnny and Roy made eye contact and sighed in unison. That was in 51's district.
"What was your response time?" Roy inquired.
"It took us a good 15 minutes to get there," Juan said.
"Don't tell me," Tim said with a knowing grin. "You guys were out scraping up some drunk off the pavement."
"Yeah," Johnny said ruefully. "I tell ya, this new protocol is going to have disastrous results for someone. One way or another." He raised his eyebrow.
"Unfortunately, I think you're right," Roy agreed quietly.
"It's only a matter of time."
They knew there was nothing else to say. They were all in agreement…but until the protocol changed, or was dropped, the clock was ticking.
As Roy drove, he glanced over at Johnny, who sat silently, apparently in deep thought. "Wonder what's for lunch."
Johnny shook his head fractionally. "We were five minutes away. Tops."
Roy knew his partner was still fuming about the situation earlier. It was true; the station was maybe five minutes from the senior center. The response time to that heart attack victim would have been one third of what it was, if 51's paramedics hadn't been on another call responding to a passed out alcoholic. Still, Roy knew there were variables besides response time.
"Johnny, for all we know, that guy sat there in pain for two hours before he called for help."
"Yeah, and maybe he didn't." Johnny's eyes narrowed critically. "We don't know, do we?"
"He's probably going to be okay."
"That's not the point, Roy! We're here to provide help for people like that old man having a heart attack! Not to be a taxi service to a bunch of irresponsible bums!"
"Look, I don't like it any more than you do. I think the cops should be transporting these people to jail. They don't belong in the hospital, at least most of them don't. But for now, it's the protocol and we have to live with it."
"Yeah, we'll live with it. Sure. But what if someone dies because of it?"
"Hopefully, it won't come to that."
"Hoping isn't good enough for me," Johnny mumbled.
Roy sighed. He agreed with Johnny. The system as it stood placed everyone at greater risk. But their hands were tied.
"Hey, guys, lunch is in the fridge," Captain Stanley said, barely looking up at the two paramedics entering the kitchen.
"Thanks, Cap," Roy responded.
"I'll get the plates," Johnny offered.
"It's still warm," Roy said as he pulled the enchilada casserole out of the refrigerator.
"Great!" Johnny eyed the dish appreciatively. He was starving.
The two served themselves and sat down to eat while Hank continued reviewing run reports.
"Man, this is good," Johnny enthused, his mouth full. He washed it down with a swig of milk.
"This report from last shift," Hank started, singling out one of the forms. "You guys weren't sure if this patient -- uh…Sikes was his name – was taking heroin or not?"
"He presented kinda funny," Roy said. "Strong odor of ETOH but recent needle scars too."
Johnny nodded. "I remember that guy. We couldn't get a straight answer out of him, which wasn't surprising. He didn't really act like ETOH, but his blood sugar was normal." Johnny took another bite.
"Yeah, sometimes when they mix alcohol and drugs it makes it difficult," Roy said. "One masks or distorts the symptoms of the other. And half the time they won't fess up to what they're doing, thinking we're gonna bust 'em, when all we want to do is treat them."
"They're so used to getting thrown in jail they look at us like we're cops," Johnny added. "Doesn't make our jobs any easier."
"I don't envy you guys," Hank sighed. He coded the report and placed it back in the stack.
"We don't envy us either," Johnny mumbled through a mouthful of food.
"That's the most sensible thing I've heard you say all day, Gage," Chet said, having caught the last part of the conversation. "But don't drag poor Roy down with you."
"It couldn't get much lower than that last call," Roy said. Johnny nodded his agreement, still chewing.
Chet plucked a clean fork from the dish drainer and approached the casserole. He stabbed the fork in and cut away a large chunk of enchilada, carefully raising it while cupping his free hand underneath. Hank observed the scene.
"Didn't you have two helpings for lunch, Chet?" the captain asked, his eyebrow raised.
"There's enough for these guys!" Chet said defensively.
"That's not exactly my point," Hank said, reaching over to pat Chet's slightly paunchy midsection. Roy snorted and Johnny smirked happily.
"Cap! I gotta keep up my strength, you know."
"Yeah, no telling when another Dumpster fire is gonna come in and you're gonna have to manhandle that reel line," Johnny deadpanned.
"Or rescue a kitten up a tree," Roy added.
"Oh, you guys are in rare form," Chet whined.
"Ah, Chester…as always, you can dish it out – literally – but you still can't take it," Johnny chided, grinning.
"I can take anything you can—" Chet started to retort, but was cut off by the klaxons.
"Squad 51, man down. People's Park, intersection of Wilmington and 2nd. People's Park, Wilmington and 2nd. Time out, 1307."
"Great, another one," Roy groused. "At least we got lunch."
"Just call us the paddy wagon," Johnny remarked. He tossed his napkin down and walked briskly towards the squad.
"That must be it," Johnny said, indicating the group of people gathered near a tree. Roy turned the squad onto a side street and stopped. They stepped out to assess what kind of situation they had. As they advanced towards the crowd, the onlookers parted and the paramedics caught a glimpse of a figure lying supine on the grass.
"Excuse me," Roy called, shouldering his way past the curious. "Let us through please."
"Everyone step back, please!" Johnny ordered.
They knelt and began assessing the patient, who appeared marginally responsive, his eyes slightly open but staring unseeingly. He wore jeans and an orange t-shirt that, while not clean, weren't as dirty as many of the patients they found in this condition. His thick, dirty blonde hair was an unkempt mop. His face and arms were badly sunburned, and he sported various crude tattoos on his forearms.
"Anyone know him?" Roy asked around. Johnny set about getting vital signs.
"He's a regular around here," a bedraggled looking bystander mentioned in a laconic tone. "I see him all the time."
"Anyone know what he's been doing? Drinking? Drugs?" Roy didn't expect the crowd to come forth with any useful information but he knew it couldn't hurt to ask.
"He drinks, I know," the man said. "Other stuff, maybe. You know, smack." He shrugged. "He seemed fine just a minute ago, sittin' up, an' then he kinda fell over."
Roy and John both had the feeling the man knew more than he was letting on, but was afraid to say.
"Roy, strong odor of ETOH," Johnny said, invoking the oft-used jargon in the medical field used to denote alcohol.
Roy lifted the Handie Talkie to his mouth. "L.A., Squad 51. Respond an ambulance to our location."
"Hey, wake up!" Roy ordered sternly. He performed a mild sternal rub with his knuckles. "Wake up. You can't sleep here."
The man groaned and raised his arms. "Lea' me 'lone."
"I can't do that," Roy responded. "See, these people here called us to help you. We can't leave you here."
The man's eyes shot open wider and he took in the crowd surrounding them. "Who called ya? Who was it?" he demanded, his shoulders rising off the ground.
"Sir, you need to calm down," Johnny advised, gently pushing the man back down.
"Not goin' to jail!" the man said.
"Look, we're not policemen. We're paramedics with the fire department. You need to relax and let us look you over. What's your name?"
"Larry." He eyed the paramedics suspiciously. "You look like cops to me."
Johnny met the man's wild-eyed gaze and felt a chill. This guy's not connected to reality. We're not gonna be able to reason with him. "You just have to believe me, okay? You're not under arrest."
"I feel sick," the man groaned, laying back. "You're makin' me sick! What're you doin'?"
"Hey, we're not making you sick," Roy said soothingly. "We're trying to help you." He turned to Johnny. "You have those vitals for me? I'm gonna call Rampart." Johnny handed the slip of paper to his partner and then dug in the drug box for a nasal cannula.
"How much did you drink today?" Johnny asked slowly, with no trace of accusation.
"Two…two beers." The man was lying back now, his arm across his eyes. "I'm dizzy."
"Two beers? Is that all? Are you sure?"
The man's eyes shot open again and his piercing blue eyes bore into Johnny's brown ones. "I don't hafta talk. You can't make me talk."
Johnny noticed the pinpoint appearance of the man's pupils and the way the orbs twitched restlessly. He suspected the patient had done more than drink beer. "This oxygen will help you feel better." Johnny attempted to place the nasal cannula but the man grabbed his wrists tightly."
"Keep that away from me."
Johnny backed off and held the innocuous tubing up for Larry to see. "It's just oxygen," he explained patiently. "It'll help you."
Larry folded his arms over his face and didn't respond. Johnny sighed in frustration and resolved to try again during transport. Some concentrated oxygen would help clear the man's mind quicker and make him easier to deal with, the paramedic knew. But he couldn't force it on him.
"Rampart says to transport ASAP," Roy advised. "They recommended an IV TKO."
Johnny looked up. "Ambulance is here. I'll get the IV en route." He was anxious to get this run behind him. This patient was turning out to be difficult.
"You sure?" Roy asked.
"Yeah. Let's just get going." He looked back down to see the patient lying there much as he had been when they first arrived. Eyes almost closed as if dozing off for an afternoon nap. "Sir, can you get up?"
The man groaned and lay still, refusing to cooperate.
Sam, the driver, walked up, the stretcher clattering behind him as he pulled it.
"Sam," Roy greeted.
"Hi, John, Roy. We gotta stop meeting like this," he quipped.
"This is Larry," Johnny stated. "I'm afraid he's not gonna be much help."
"Okay," Sam said agreeably. "He's a big guy but I think we can manage him." He positioned the stretcher next to Larry and the three lifted in unison, using the man's waistband and arms to wrangle his considerable heft. They plopped him onto the stretcher and Sam proceeded to strap him in and cover him with a blanket.
"I'll get the equipment, Roy," Johnny offered, "if you can help Sam."
"Okay."
In a matter of minutes, they had the patient and the medical equipment loaded into the ambulance for the trip to Rampart. Larry had been lying still and calm on the stretcher, eyes closed and quiet as a mouse. Johnny assumed he'd passed out again. He didn't notice Larry's surreptitious glances at him.
"Okay, Johnny," Sam said, appearing at the back door. "You need anything else or are you all set to go?"
Johnny glanced around. He had the drug box and biophone. The patient was stable.
"We're all set, Sam. Thanks. Oh, and I'll be starting an IV, so nice and easy."
"You got it."
"I'll see you at Rampart, Johnny," Roy called, poised to shut the doors.
"Okay."
The doors closed with a resounding thud and the rig began to roll, bumping along gently. Johnny spiked a bag of normal saline in preparation for starting the IV line.
"I'm gonna start an IV on you. You're sunburned and probably dehydrated," Johnny said loudly. He turned to his left to retrieve an angiocath and tourniquet from the drug box. He began to pivot back to the right to face the cot.
He never saw the fist flying towards him.
Bright light exploded all around him and a loud, high-pitched whine was all he could hear. Johnny's hands flew to his head as he felt himself topple to the floor of the ambulance. A hulking shadow loomed over him and his hands went out protectively but he was at a severe disadvantage, on his back and wedged into the small space between the cot and the bench. He drew his knees up to protect his torso.
"Hey!" the paramedic yelled. The sound of his own voice was distant and muted by the loud ringing still reverberating through his head.
"Not goin' ta jail!"
Johnny felt hands latch onto the hair on either side of his head and grip his skull tightly. His head and shoulders were pulled several inches off the floor before being slammed back down with a splintering thud. He didn't hear his own cry of anguish.
Sam steered the rig skillfully as he found himself sandwiched between two cargo trucks on the busy thoroughfare. Damn truckers think they own the road. He heard a thump in the back. "You okay, John?" he called without taking his eyes off the road.
"Hey!"
"Not goin' ta jail!"
"John? John!" Sam glanced in his rearview mirror. His view was partially obscured but there was no mistaking the upright figure of the patient and the jerky movements of a struggle taking place.
"Shit!" Sam cursed. "Hang on, Johnny!"
Sam flipped on the emergency lights and, cranking the steering wheel, careened into the inside lane, cutting off a sedan whose driver honked angrily. He stomped on the brakes and the rig skidded to a cockeyed stop near the curb. Sam jumped out and ran around, narrowly avoiding the traffic speeding past. He grasped the door handles and jerked the doors open to come face to face with the deranged face of the patient looming at the back of the ambulance.
"Not goin' to jail!" he bellowed. Johnny lay incapacitated, blocking Larry's access to the open doors and freedom. Larry stepped heavily on the paramedic's chest with one foot while swinging the other purposely forward.
Sam didn't react quickly enough to dodge the boot that came at his head. The toe of it caught him under the chin and threw him back and to the side. The pain was unlike anything he'd ever felt. Cupping his chin with his hand, he rolled back upright and scrambled to his feet. Not in time to stop what happened next.
Sam gaped in disbelief as Larry ran around to jump in the driver's seat.
"Hey you! Stop!" Sam screamed, running after him. But the door slammed and the ambulance lurched forward before he could reach the man. Sam banged his hands on the side of the passenger compartment, but to no avail. The ambulance accelerated quickly and merged into traffic, nearly missing a sedan as it did so.
Sam stared in horror at the departing vehicle. Johnny was still inside, injured. And the back doors hung open, swinging uncontrollably with the vehicle's every pitch and sway.
And I don't think he was in any shape to keep himself from flying out of that thing!
Roy drove the squad at a leisurely speed along the boulevard. He'd taken a few extra minutes at the scene to clean up the small amount of waste they'd left. The marginarlly helpful bystander from earlier had loitered around the scene and struck up a conversation with Roy. The paramedic reviewed the scene in his mind.
"Is Larry gonna be all right?" he'd asked hesitantly.
Roy glanced up. "Uh…yeah. He should be all right. He just needs to get his system cleared out and some fluids in him."
The man nodded, relieved. "That's good. I was worried he really done himself in this time."
"What do you mean?" Roy stopped scooping up trash and stood to face the man.
"Ever' time he mixes booze and angel dust, he goes off his head."
"Angel dust? He's on angel dust?"
"Yeah, he likes that shit for some reason. Me, I don't take the stuff. Messes with yer head too much, if ya know what I mean. But it didn't seem to hurt him this time. Just made him pass out 'n stuff. Not like he usually does, rantin' and ravin'."
Roy frowned as he listened to the stranger. He nodded distractedly. "Listen, I gotta get going. Thanks for your help."
"Sure thing, man! Take good care o' Larry!" He smiled a gap-toothed grin and waved.
"Don't worry about Larry," Roy said. It's not Larry I'm worried about.
As Roy drove along, something ahead caught his eye. A man was pacing nervously on the sidewalk, his movements jerky and stiff. There was something odd about his demeanor, as if he was distraught. He was dressed peculiarly as well, in black and white. The man suddenly halted and began waving his arm frantically as Roy approached.
It's Sam!
Roy quickly pulled over and jumped out, his pulse pounding. Something was very wrong.
"Sam! What's going on?" Roy searched the area, swiveling his body. "Where's the ambulance?"
"Roy!" Sam was beside himself, his voice breathless. He grasped Roy's arm. "You gotta call your dispatch! It's gone! He took it!"
"Who took it?"
"That guy! That crazy patient!"
"Where's Johnny?" Roy demanded.
"Johnny's still in it! That guy did something to him, I don't know what! And he kicked me right in the face! I couldn't do anything, Roy, I'm sorry!"
"I've gotta call dispatch. Get police out here." Roy's words were calm but his voice wavered just enough to reveal his alarm. He ran back to the squad to radio for assistance. In a short time he was back at Sam's side. He noticed for the first time the laceration on the attendant's chin but mentally noted that it didn't appear to be actively bleeding. Still, he retrieved the trauma box from the squad and guided Sam to the bumper, sitting him down. Roy deftly began cleaning and bandaging the cut, his hands steady despite his growing anxiety.
"Okay, tell me what happened."
Sam took a deep breath. "I was driving along here…oww!" Sam winced as Roy applied the cleansing gauze. "I thought I heard a commotion in the back, like a loud thump, and when I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw the patient up off the cot but I couldn't see what was happening. I called back to Johnny 'are you all right?' Then I heard him yell 'hey' and then nothing. I pulled over as fast as I could. I ran around and opened the door and this guy just kicks me right in the face, right here." Sam pointed to his chin. "I fell backwards, and that's when he jumped out and ran around to steal the ambulance. He drove off with the doors still open. Johnny's in there, and I think he's hurt. I don't know if he can hang on, Roy."
"The doors are open?" Roy asked, panicked. "Is Johnny conscious?"
A pained expression came over Sam's face. "I couldn't really tell, Roy. I'm sorry. Geez, I tried to stop him!"
"It's okay, Sam. I know you did what you could." There was nothing 'okay' about the situation, but Roy knew Sam was blameless. The paramedic shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. "Damn it, where are the police?"
Five more long minutes passed before a patrol car came screeching up. Two officers jumped out.
"What's going on? Something about a stolen ambulance?" Officer Frank DeCarlo asked. His partner, Ed Castillo, stood by attentively.
"You gotta go catch 'em!" Sam implored. "He's crazy! He'll kill Johnny!"
"Hold on! Catch who?" Ed asked. "And who's Johnny?"
"Johnny's my partner," Roy stated. "He was transporting a patient and apparently the patient became violent and overtook him in the back of the ambulance. Sam here was driving. When he pulled over, the guy assaulted him too and drove off in the ambulance before Sam could stop him." Roy sighed and gazed down the street. "Johnny's still in the back and he's hurt."
"Put out an APB," Frank ordered Ed. "Is it a Mayfair ambulance? Box-type?" he asked Roy and Sam.
"Yeah! Should be easy to spot. The guy'll be driving like a maniac and the back doors are hanging open! You gotta find him!" Sam was frantic. "One bump or fast turn and Johnny will be thrown out!"
"Don't worry, we're getting units on it right now."
Roy raked his fingers through his hair. A mental image of his partner tossed out of the back of the ambulance like a rag doll, possibly into the path of oncoming traffic, caused him to shudder involuntarily. He ambled over to the squad and braced himself against the hood, his strength suddenly flagging. Only one thought gave him hope: Johnny's okay and he's taken back control of the situation.
Somehow, Roy didn't believe that to be the case.
Johnny's own groan of pain brought him back from the brink of unconsciousness. He rapidly became aware of a repetitive jarring of his body that caused his head to strike something hard over and over. His already-throbbing head.
Where the hell am I?
Johnny forced his eyes open but the ensuing vision was blurry and shadowy. His stomach burned hotly. A loud, high frequency tone dominated his hearing, but faint strains of familiar sounds crept into his awareness intermittently. Sounds of equipment rattling with each jarring bump, car horns honking, emergency sirens, and a disembodied voice emanating tinnily from somewhere nearby crept into Johnny's head.
Squad 51, do you read? Squad 51, do you read?
Squad 51? That's me! I mean, that's me and Roy…where am I? Who's trying to contact me? Where's Roy?
The vehicle hit a large pothole and Johnny's head smacked the floor hard. An involuntary gasp left his lips and his hands flew to his aching head.
Man, I don't know where I am, but I gotta get up. This is killing me!
In his disoriented state, Johnny felt around for something to use to help raise himself. To the right was a smooth surface with nothing to grasp. But to his left, Johnny located an object with many intricate parts, most of them easy to hang onto. In fact, his shoulder was wedged painfully against part of it. Johnny grabbed onto a tubular section and struggled to turn onto his side, lifting his head off the floor. It wasn't easy; he felt weak and the new orientation made his head spin and his stomach flip. On his side at last, he gripped the bar tightly and panted through the effort he'd expended. He pried open his tired eyes and stared at the word only inches from his face until it came into focus: Ferno.
Ferno? I'm hanging onto a stretcher?
The vehicle braked suddenly, tearing the paramedic away from his handhold and causing his body to slide along the linoleum surface of the ambulance floor. Johnny rolled himself onto his belly to try to gain some control. He made a desperate grab once again onto the stretcher, this time in a different spot, but his purchase was short-lived. The ambulance accelerated forward sharply, propelling Johnny backwards and head-first towards the open doors of the rig. Seeing the bright sunlight in contrast to the shadowy darkness of the interior of the truck, realization of his plight suddenly took hold in Johnny's addled mind.
I'm in a moving ambulance and the doors are open!
Without stopping to consider how he'd ended up in this predicament, Johnny threw his flagging energy into self-preservation. Even though his eyesight was blurry, there was no mistaking the pavement rushing by just beyond the back bumper – a bumper only a foot from his present view. He knew his life literally hinged on how tightly he could hold onto the cot, and whether he could make his way towards the front of the patient compartment and relative safety.
Grunting with the effort, Johnny painstakingly slid his body backwards, careful to keep one hand on the anchored cot at all times. He'd progressed about two feet when the ambulance suddenly pitched sideways with a sharp turn. Johnny hung on with both hands as his body slid up against the stretcher. Worse still, a heavy object landed on his back, both stunning him and knocking the wind out of him.
The vehicle righted itself again and Johnny raised himself onto his elbows, dislodging the object. It tumbled to a rest near the equipment cabinet. He craned his neck to see the orange blur. The biophone.
If I can just get turned around, I can call Rampart and try to get some help!
Johnny rose shakily to his hands and knees and started to try to back out of the narrow space between the cot and the bench. He got to the head of the cot and decided the safest place to be was the small space in front of the jump seat. He'd be protected on three sides and wouldn't be as apt to be thrown out the back.
Before Johnny could settle into his safe haven, the ambulance braked violently, fishtailing out of control. Johnny was thrown towards the cab, his back striking a support beam at the corner of the front cabinet. The vehicle pitched again, this time the opposite direction from before, and sped up abruptly, sending the hapless paramedic sliding once more to the open back end and certain death. Johnny grappled desperately for an anchor throughout his uncontrolled slide. Miraculously, he managed to throw his shoulder once more in front of the cot's back wheel. Coming to a precarious halt, Johnny quickly latched onto the gurney and rested his head on a cool section of metal tubing, thankful to be alive, at least for the time being.
Several more police officers had arrived at the scene where the drama first began. Sam was repeatedly questioned about the chain of events leading up to the hijack and he consistently told the same story. Roy had only to pace nervously. As much as he wanted to do something to help, he knew it would serve no purpose for him to drive around aimlessly in the squad. Best to let the police handle it. The waiting was hard, though.
Ed Castillo, one of the first on scene, had been sitting in the cruiser when the radio transmission came over. He quickly stood up and called out, "Let's roll! They've been spotted! A unit is in pursuit!"
Roy's heart fell. In pursuit. That means that lunatic is still in control. He pounded his fist on the hood of the squad, his face a study in anxiety and frustration.
He watched helplessly as the patrolmen sprung into action, accelerating away quickly, their sirens wailing.
The police car followed closely behind the errant ambulance, lights flashing and siren screaming. The cruiser had no trouble keeping up with the bulky vehicle, although the driver was giving the officers a run for their money, zig-zagging unpredictably in the heavy traffic and making last-minute turns down side streets.
"I can see him. The paramedic," the passenger stated. "I can't tell if he's hurt. He's hanging on for now."
"Let's hope he doesn't let go."
Tires squealed as the cruiser kept pace with the rig around another sharp turn.
"Once we get some backup, let's try to force him into a rolling roadblock. He's too big to fishtail."
"Right. For now, we just keep him in our sights."
As the cruiser kept pace, the ambulance veered to the left and straight towards a median in the road.
"Look out! He's gonna hit the median!" the officer shouted. The officer driving braked and steered away from the obstacle.
The ambulance struck the six-inch high curb and the front end shot high in the air, crashing back down in time for the back end to follow suit, launching even higher. The left back door slammed shut in the process. Vehicles in the opposite lane swerved to avoid a head-on collision with the out of control truck.
"Man, he's crazy! Hurry up, he's getting away!" the passenger shouted.
"I'm tryin'!" The driving policeman expertly rounded the tip of the median, pulling the brake cable and letting the rear of the cruiser swing around to face the opposite direction. Pedestrians on the sidewalk stopped to stare.
Gunning the squad car, they raced to catch up with the runaway ambulance. Two more police units roared up from the other direction to join in the chase.
Johnny had sat up and turned himself to face the front of the passenger compartment again. He was determined to creep back forward to a safer place, away from the wide open back end. But his vision was still blurred and he reeled from dizzy spell after dizzy spell caused by the blows to his head. Making matters worse, the ride was exceedingly rough and unpredictable, from the constant jarring bumps to the sudden turns this way and that. He began to crawl haltingly forward, each movement carefully planned in advance. He kept one hand on the stretcher at all times. The vehicle's incessant pitching and listing made Johnny's stomach roil, a condition not helped by the burning pain already taking up residence in his gut. The strange buzzing in his head didn't help either.
He'd made it halfway to his destination when the ambulance suddenly bucked violently, throwing Johnny and everything else not tied down into the air. He felt himself airborne and then tossed sideways where he collided with a hard, heavy object. He plummeted head-first into the stairwell by the compartment's side door, and crumpled into an unconscious heap, his head and shoulders spilling into the lower step and his legs splayed awkwardly between the jump seat and the cot.
Roy sat in the squad's driver's seat in the ambulance bay of Rampart Hospital, listening to the radio transmissions going out over the airwaves. He'd just dropped Sam off to have his chin stitched up and his jaw x-rayed. So far, there was no news about the missing ambulance or his partner. Roy tried to believe that could be a good thing; if Johnny'd been thrown out, a squad would have been dispatched to treat him and so far, he hadn't detected any rescues of that type.
He didn't hear the chief's car pulled up.
"DeSoto?"
Roy startled at the chief's voice.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you." The chief smiled kindly.
"Oh, it's all right. I was just listening to the radio."
"Waiting for news about Gage?"
"Yeah."
"I can understand that. Listen, I've been briefed on everything that happened. We have to believe Gage is going to be all right. He's a resourceful young man. If anyone can worm his way out of a fix, it's Gage."
Roy smiled politely. He knew that's what the chief expected him to do. "I'm sure you're right," he said without conviction.
"Anyway, I wanted to pay you a little visit here, and also speak with that ambulance driver." The latter was said with a hint of condemnation.
"It wasn't Sam's fault," Roy asserted in the other man's defense. "He and Johnny were both blindsided. Sam did all he could to try to stop it from happening."
"Well, as a routine matter of course, I still have to speak with him. This kind of incident warrants a thorough investigation; I'm sure you can understand that."
Roy nodded wearily. It's not even resolved yet and you're hot on investigating. How about doing something constructive? "Sure, Chief. I understand."
The chief clapped Roy on the shoulder. "Look, DeSoto. There's no sense in you sitting around here, waiting. Why don't you go on back to your station. As soon as it's over, someone will call you."
"I'll consider that, Chief. If it's okay with you, though, I'd like to stay here a little longer. Just in case I can be of some help." Just in case Johnny's brought in.
"It's up to you. Try not to worry," the older man said heartily. "These things have a way of working out." The chief turned away and entered the emergency room.
Roy leaned his head back and sighed. That's when he heard the transmission.
"Station 16, traffic accident with injuries, involving an ambulance. 2100 block of La Charles, 2100 block of La Charles, cross street, Broadbent. Time out, 15:24."
"La Charles and Broadbent," Roy murmured, his mind racing. "That's just a couple miles away."
Roy cranked the squad's engine and roared out of the ambulance bay and off Rampart's property. As soon as he hit the street, he switched on the lights and sirens. The hell if it's against regulations.
Johnny stirred to consciousness and immediately realized he was in a bad way. He was lying head down, wedged against a hard surface, his chin pressed into his chest. His breathing passages were occluded and he gasped for air.
I thought I hurt before…I think even my hair hurts now.
Johnny tried to use his arms to push upward, but his right arm gave out and a searing pain shot all the way to his shoulder. "Ahhh!"
He rotated left and wedged his left arm and shoulder down, and with all the strength he could muster, pushed upward, scrabbling back with the help of his legs. The throbbing in his head competed with the new agony in his right forearm. The escalating pain in his stomach was merely a footnote to his other miseries. Johnny tried to breathe through the encroaching nausea that threatened but it soon overwhelmed him. He propped himself on his left elbow and awaited the inevitable, his mouth watering tellingly.
He vomited into the stairwell he'd just struggled out of, each heave sending stabbing pains through his midsection.
Johnny lay his cheek down on the ambulance floor and gave in to the excruciating pain, hoping that by lying still he'd find some relief. The frenetic motion and relentless jolts of the vehicle made relief an impossibility. Every bump felt like a new assault on his battered body.
In the distance, he heard the incessant wailing of sirens, the bizarre soundtrack to this whole bizarre ordeal.
How long's this been going on? And when's it gonna end? He had faint recollection of what had brought him to this misfortune, but a hazy memory told him it had something to do with a violent patient.
Johnny groaned miserably and folded his left arm under his head, resting his cheek on its smoothness. That's when the wild ride came to an abrupt and ruinous conclusion.
A tremendous force hurled Johnny forward. He flung his arms out for stability, the pain in his right one all but forgotten as he desperately sought purchase. Then he felt himself airborne yet again as the world seemed to rotate without him. Johnny tumbled helplessly towards one wall of the ambulance, glanced off of it and slammed down roughly. Each collision elicited another yelp of pain as the air in his lungs was expelled forcefully.
After an interminable time that lasted only seconds, he lay, utterly still and unmoving, staring dazedly at nothing. There was no more jarring, no more bumping. He waited. He couldn't do anything else.
"Look out, he's gonna crash!"
"Shit!" the other officer hissed, slamming on the brakes.
The pursuing policemen all watched as the ambulance entered the intersection against the red light. The driver of the semi-truck was helpless to stop the momentum of his giant rig. It crashed into the driver's side of the front cab, pushing the top-heavy emergency vehicle into a grinding roll, sparks flying from the metal's friction with the pavement. It finally skidded to a stop on its roof, having left a trail of broken glass and pieces of trim in its wake. The semi veered off to one side and limped to an anti-climactic stop.
Frank DeCarlo radioed for emergency medical help as the remaining dozen officers jumped out of their patrol cars and converged on the scene.
Johnny lay in a stupor, his mind registering on some level the metallic taste of blood. His eyes refused to focus; his ears refused to hear. He detected thumping noises and excited voices beneath the roar that filled his head. A fuzzy face suddenly appeared, hovering over him.
"Lie still. Help is on the way."
The words sounded far away. Johnny blinked at the face that split into two and then merged back into one. Even though unfocused, it didn't appear familiar to him.
"Can you hear me?"
"Ca…can't," Johnny rasped. He started to raise his hand to his ear but the pain in his arm stopped him. He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Don't move! Stay still!" The young officer turned to his co-worker. "How long until rescue gets here?"
"They'll be here soon. Coupla minutes."
Roy sped to the scene even faster than he usually went on emergency calls. His first appraisal of the incident yielded little information. All he could see were the police cars angling around the wrecked vehicles, blocking them from view, their emergency lights flashing impressively. From the other direction, Roy saw the squad and engine from 16s approach. He skidded the squad to a stop, threw it in park, and hopped out, running full speed to the ambulance. When he saw its wheels in the air, he faltered slightly, feeling as if he'd been hit in the chest.
Oh no…
"Let me through." Roy shouldered past two policemen blocking the entrance to the patient compartment and stepped onto the ceiling of the upturned rig. Another officer knelt next to the victim, his partner.
"He's kinda dazed," the policeman reported. "I think he may have a head injury."
Roy stared at Johnny who, only an hour earlier, had been perfectly healthy and whole. Now, his usually vibrant brown eyes gazed dully. Blood streamed from his nose and stained his lower face, seeping into his mouth and turning his teeth red. His breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps. Johnny's right hand lay at an unnatural angle. Although the lighting was poor, the injured man's pallor was obvious beneath the developing bruises.
"Johnny? Johnny, it's me. It's gonna be okay," Roy said reassuringly.
"I don't think he can hear," the officer commented.
"Johnny, can you hear me?" Roy said more loudly.
"A…a little. Not…good."
"Okay, that's okay. I'll talk louder." Roy pondered the possible reasons for Johnny's difficulty hearing. The most troublesome was the presence of fluid in his ears, a sure sign of a serious head injury. He fished his pen light out of his pocket. About that time, 16's paramedics showed up and squeezed into the tight space of the ambulance.
"I'll get outta you guys' way," the officer said, retreating.
"Roy, what've you…my god, is that Gage?" Stan Mathers asked, incredulous.
"It's Johnny. He was assaulted by the patient, who then hijacked the ambulance. Then he crashed it." Roy realized he had no idea of the condition of the patient who'd been driving.
As if reading Roy's mind, Phil Froman, the other medic, said, "I'll go check on the driver."
"You mean to tell me the patient clobbered Johnny and then took him for a ride?"
Roy nodded. "That's pretty much it. Down-n-out. Probably on PCP. Do you have a c-collar?"
"Unbelievable," Stan uttered slowly, each syllable as distinct as a separate word. He fished a cervical collar out of his trauma box and started to apply it to Johnny's neck.
"Mathers…." Johnny whispered, almost inaudibly. "S'at you?"
"Hey, Gage! What'd you get yourself into, man?"
"Pulse is 110 and weak. B.P.'s 94 over 58," Roy reported.
"Not sure…not…my fault," Johnny insisted weakly.
"Johnny, I need you to tell me what's hurting you," Roy said. He ripped the edges of Johnny's shirt apart, sending buttons scattering, before he slit the undershirt open with his trauma shears. Fresh bruises of different diameters dotted Johnny's torso. One large, oblong bruise dominated the upper abdomen.
"Head…s-stomach…my arm…right arm." Johnny winced as Roy palpated his skull, finding tender spots on the back and near his right mastoid area. "Roy, I…my vision's…pretty blurred."
"Can you tell me what day it is, Partner?"
"Iss…uh…Thursday," Johnny slurred.
"Good. What city are you in?"
"Well, I…started out this mornin'…in Los Angeles…don' know where I…am now." Johnny's voice was breathy and weak.
Roy grinned and glanced at Stan. "Okay, you're doin' great so far. Do you remember what happened to you?"
"Uhhhnn…huh?"
"Can you tell me what happened to you?"
Johnny blinked slowly. "N-no. Not…sorry."
"That's fine. I'm gonna look in your eyes and ears, all right?"
"Y-yeah."
Roy performed his examinations while Stan prepared an IV. "Equal and reactive but sluggish. Ears are clear of fluid, but I see a little bit of blood in the right ear. Johnny, I'm gonna palpate your chest and belly, okay?"
"Careful," Johnny implored.
Roy started his examination over John's collarbones, ribs and sternum, finding nothing of significance. When he pressed on Johnny's upper abdomen, the injured man grunted sharply and guarded himself.
"Johnny, do you feel pain in your shoulder?"
"Wha'?"
"Do you feel pain in your shoulder?" Roy asked more loudly.
"N-no."
Roy turned to Stan and addressed him less loudly. "He's got rigidity and tenderness in the upper quadrants. Could be a bleed."
"I agree," Stan answered.
Phil reappeared in the back with Roy and Stan. "Other guy's 10-24," he said, indicating the patient was deceased.
"What about the truck driver?" Stan asked.
"Minor injuries. Engine crew's wrapping him up now. How's Johnny?"
"Probable concussion, possible internal bleeding," Roy replied. "Could you splint his forearm here? Looks like distal radius and ulna fractures."
"You bet." Phil busied himself getting the arm splinted. Although gentle, the manipulation of his arm caused Johnny to hiss in pain.
"Johnny, did you lose consciousness at any time?"
"Consciousn…LOC," Johnny said, coaching himself as he strained to remember. "Uhn…I think so. Yeah."
While Stan hailed Rampart on the biophone, Roy looked around him for the first time. Medical supplies were scattered throughout the interior of the totalled rig. Squad 51's biophone lay damaged in a corner, its lid nearly torn off and a corner dented in. The drug box was empty, its shelves bent and broken. Emesis ran down one wall from what used to be the floor. Smudges of blood were evident in different spots.
"Roy?" Johnny croaked.
"Yeah, Johnny. I'm here."
"I'm…not feelin' so great."
"He's diaphoretic," Phil reported. "Respirations are up to 30."
"Is the ambulance here yet?" Roy asked, realizing how strange that sounded.
"I'll go check." Stan stood and exited the confined space.
"Johnny, what's going on? Talk to me."
"Feel like…passin' out. Real…dizzy. Loud noise…like…like…" Johnny's eyelids drooped.
"Johnny? Johnny?" Roy clenched his jaw. "Open up that IV, let's give him a bolus." He fumbled with the b.p. cuff to recheck John's pressure, his apprehension compromising his normally smooth skill with the device. He finally obtained the reading. "His pressure's dropping. 84 over 52."
"Ambulance just got here," Stan reported, stooping to re-enter the box.
"Rampart, patient's pressure is down to 84 over 52," Phil transmitted. "Patient has lost consciousness."
"10-4, 16. Transport as soon as possible, be vigilant about his airway and monitor vitals every five minutes."
Roy and Stan rode in the ambulance with Johnny. Stan took another blood pressure reading.
"B.P.'s holding steady at 88 over 56. The bolus helped."
"Good," Roy said, happy for the smallest bit of good news. "I'd be a lot more worried if it was climbing too high." He didn't have to explain what they both knew; that a high blood pressure might indicate dangerously high intra-cranial pressure.
"You said it," Stan agreed.
"You know, this bruise looks peculiar," Roy commented, indicating the oblong mark on Johnny's upper abdomen. "What does it remind you of?"
Stan studied the lesion. "Might sound crazy, but it looks like a footprint."
"That's what I was thinking."
"You think he stepped on Johnny?"
"If Johnny got in his way, I'm sure that's exactly what he did." Roy gently depressed the area again. "Rigid. Something's ruptured in there and he's bleeding." The senior paramedic's face took on a grim countenance.
"I'm sure whatever it is, Brackett can fix it," Stan offered by way of reassurance.
"Oh yeah, I'm sure," Roy concurred. "But it didn't have to happen. That's what frosts me. This whole thing didn't have to happen." He didn't notice Johnny's eyes open.
"Roy?"
"It's me, Johnny. We're going to Rampart." He leaned in close so that Johnny, immobilized in his cervical collar, could see him.
"Can't…hear good. Wha' happened?"
Roy tried to put aside his worries over Johnny's repetitive complaints about his hearing. "Do you remember anything, Johnny?"
"Amb'lance…wrecked?" He frowned, his lashes fluttering.
"That's part of it."
"Huh? I'm not…" The rig hit a bump and he winced. "Is my…arm broken? Hurts a lot."
"I think you broke your arm," Roy confirmed, nodding. "Johnny, can you see okay? How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Uhhh…" Johnny blinked hard. "Three? No…four?"
"Don't worry about," Roy said, patting his partner's shoulder.
Johnny swallowed. "Roy? I'm…a little…worried. How bad? Somethin' wrong?"
"You'll be fine. Just take it easy, okay?" Roy felt guilty brushing off Johnny's concern, but he couldn't honestly reassure the injured man that nothing was wrong.
"Roy?" Johnny's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Yeah, Johnny?" He leaned in close.
"Wha'…happened?"
Roy and Stan exchanged worried glances.
Roy sat perched on the edge of the sofa, staring at the television but not really seeing it. Soap operas and game shows held no allure for him, especially when he was as preoccupied as he was now. An occasional nurse would enter the room, glance his way, then finish whatever business brought her there in the first place and hastily leave. By now, the entire emergency room staff had heard about what had happened to the paramedic in the ambulance with the crazy patient. It was the talk of the department, even among the staff members who hadn't been part of the receiving team.
The senior paramedic cupped his chin in his hand, ignoring the tingling in his shoulder blade from the impending cramp that threatened. He'd sat in the same position for so long he ached, but he couldn't seem to summon the impetus to move. His own comfort seemed frivolous now.
The door swung open once again, but Roy didn't look.
"Roy, how's Johnny? I got here as soon as headquarters could get a replacement for me," Hank Stanley said, seemingly all in one breath.
Roy broke his frozen posture as if awakening from a trance. "He's in surgery."
"How bad is it?" Stanley took a seat down the couch from Roy.
Roy shrugged. "Don't really know yet. He, uh…got a pretty good whack on the head. And he's bleeding internally. That's what they're working on now. Finding the bleed and stopping it."
"What about his head injury? Is it serious?"
"Probably not too serious. He doesn't have signs of pressure building up, but it's at least a concussion. He was a little repetitive with his questions about what happened to him. That's always something to pay attention to."
"You said something on the phone about his sight and his hearing?"
"Yeah. Well, Brackett thinks the blurred and double vision have to do with the blow to his head. He has a large hematoma on the back of his skull," Roy explained, pointing to the area on his own head. "The center for eyesight is back there. Brackett thinks it's temporary, that the bruising to his brain is causing it."
"And his hearing?"
"His right eardrum is ruptured. Johnny doesn't remember what happened, but that guy probably clocked him right in the ear. He was blindsided, basically. It was just enough to daze him to where the guy could overtake him."
Stanley shook his head. "You know, all that talk about someone paying the price for this new protocol…I never imagined it would be one of you guys. I pictured a citizen suffering because of the slow response time. Never imagined it would happen this way."
"You and me both, Cap." Roy rubbed his forehead. "Something's gotta be done. This can't be allowed to happen again."
Kel Brackett and Mike Morton walked in, their surgical scrubs stained with sweat. Brackett peeled the cap off his head, leaving an indentation on his forehead. He smiled in response to Roy's and Hank's looks of anticipation.
"He's doing fine."
"He'll be okay, then?" Hank asked.
"He should recover well," Brackett replied. "He's got a few weeks of R&R ahead of him, but I don't see any reason why he won't return to full duty."
"What did you find?" Roy asked.
Dr. Brackett's mouth twitched, a tic he often exhibited in serious moments. "It's a little unusual, actually."
"Leave it to Gage," Morton commented, smirking.
Roy and Hank exchanged puzzled looks.
"What we found is, Johnny's xiphoid process is broken. It was pushed downward, presumably due to blunt trauma, and it caused a tiny perforation in his liver. That's where the bleeding was coming from."
"Xiphoid?" Hank asked. "You mean that thing on the end of his sternum?"
Morton nodded. "That's the one. You know, the one they teach you about in CPR class."
"Compressions done too low can break the xiphoid process, damaging tissues beneath," Roy recited from memory.
"What could have caused that?" Hank mused.
"He has a severe bruise right in that area," Dr. Brackett said, pointing to his own midline region. "Whatever caused that probably caused the fracture."
"Stan and I thought it looked like a shoeprint," Roy offered. "About the right size and shape."
"So the guy kicked him?" Hank asked.
"Actually, I was thinking he probably stepped on him," Roy theorized. "It would make sense that first, Johnny was hit in the head, which knocked him to the floor. Then, when Sam stopped the ambulance, Johnny was in his way. So he stepped on him to get past."
"That must've hurt," Hank opined.
"If he was even conscious at that point." Roy turned to Dr. Brackett. "What about his eardrum?"
"The otolaryngologist is grafting it now. It was too big a hole to heal well on its own. This way he'll recover faster." A shadow crossed the doctor's face.
"But?" Roy coaxed. "Is there something to worry about?"
"Not necessarily." The doctor hesitated. "It's just that, with an injury of this type, the aftereffects can be unpredictable. He could sail through with no problems. Or, he could end up with persistent ringing or buzzing in his ear, or even debilitating dizziness that could go on indefinitely. There's just no way to predict."
"Wow," Hank whispered.
"Only time will tell," Dr. Morton said.
"Well." Dr. Brackett pushed away from the table he was leaning against. "I'll let you know as soon as everyone's finished with him. The otolaryngologist is still working on his ear and after that the orthopedist will set his arm." He grinned tiredly. "We'll get him in recovery and you can see him." Brackett started to leave, but stopped and turned back. "Why don't you go get something to eat in the meantime? You look beat."
Roy chuckled. He was exhausted. And now he felt it was all right to admit it. "I am. Maybe we'll do that."
"Good." Brackett swung the door open and exited, followed closely by his younger colleague.
Roy and Hank sat in silence for a moment. Finally, the captain spoke. "Seems like good news."
"Yeah," Roy said. "Seems like it." I hope things are what they seem.
"Watch out for the threshold…don't trip," Roy cautioned about the raised entry.
Johnny stopped and threw his friend a withering look. "Roy…"
"I'm sorry," Roy said sheepishly. "I just wasn't sure you could see it okay."
"I told you, I can see fine," Johnny insisted. "Besides, this is my home. Don't you think I know my own doorway?"
"I just—" Roy began.
"You're just being a mother hen," Johnny finished for him, smirking.
"I guess you're right."
Roy, carrying a potted plant in one hand and a sack full of get-well cards in the other, followed his partner's slow progress into the main living area of the apartment. Johnny shuffled carefully, his casted arm braced against the still-tender surgical scar on his abdomen. He guided himself along with his left hand until he reached his favorite place, the well-worn couch. With a look of happy anticipation, Johnny collapsed in a controlled fall backwards into the welcoming cushions of the sofa. Relaxed and spent from the trip in from the car, he leaned back, closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.
"Ahhhh…home sweet home."
"Feels good, huh?" Roy asked, smiling. This wasn't just a happy moment for Johnny. Roy was genuinely relieved that his partner's recovery was apparently going well. After all the grim possibilities Johnny had faced, he hadn't encountered any serious complications. Looking at him now, on the couch, Roy thought that, except for a couple of outward clues – the cast on his arm and the aging bruises on his face – Johnny could have merely dozed off while watching a football game.
"Feels great," Johnny answered. His mouth curled in a half smile and he regarded Roy through half-closed eyes. "Take a load off, Roy." His expression turned serious. "I'd offer you a beer or somethin', 'cept I don't remember what's in the fridge."
Roy rounded the easy chair and settled into it. "Well, I was just getting around to that. You should be all set. Mike and Marco made sure your fridge was stocked before you came home. Joanne did your laundry and washed your sheets. Oh, and she put a couple of casseroles in your freezer. All you have to do—"
"Wait, wait." Johnny held up his hand. "You mean to tell me that Joanne…washed my sheets?" His pale complexion turned crimson.
Roy had to stifle a laugh at Johnny's uncharacteristic modesty. "What's the big deal? They're just sheets." Roy's eyes twinkled mischievously.
The thought of his partner's wife handling something as intimate as his sheets inexplicably embarrassed the younger man. Another thought occurred to him. "My laundry? She did my laundry?" That meant she'd washed his underwear, too!
"Johnny, relax! What are you getting so worked up about?"
Johnny looked like he was going to be sick. "Oh…nothing." He forced a weak smile. "Thank her for me, wouldya?"
"I will, but you know she was happy to do it." Roy was certainly enjoying Johnny's discomfort.
Johnny winced and brought his hand to his forehead.
"Johnny? What's wrong?" Roy asked, turning serious.
"It's nothing. Just one of those spells. You know, the visual thing, it kinda hits me now and then." He smiled self-consciously. "Everything gets blurry and the room spins for a few seconds. Let's just say it's a good thing I'm sitting down."
"Still?"
"Yeah, but it's happening less and less each day. Brackett says that's normal."
Roy nodded thoughtfully. "How's the ear?"
"Doing better. The ringing finally stopped. My hearing's not 100% yet, but at least I don't have to put up with that damn noise." He smiled wanly, suddenly looking very tired.
"You gonna be okay by yourself?"
"Oh, yeah. Actually, I'm looking forward to a little peace and quiet. You don't get much of that in the hospital, you know."
"No, I don't suppose you do."
There was a tap on the door.
"So much for peace and quiet," Roy said, rising. He opened the door to find Hank Stanley there. "Come on in."
"Cap!" Johnny exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"Isn't a captain allowed to visit his men?" Hank asked in mock indignation. "Especially when they've just been released from the hospital?"
"Well, yeah, of course," Johnny hastened to answer. "You didn't have to come all the way over here, though. Everything's fine." Johnny hadn't moved from his sprawled position on the couch.
"Is everything fine, Roy?" Hank asked, his eyebrow raised inquiringly.
"Well, all things considered, I'd say yes," Roy said. "The patient's a little fatigued, but that's understandable."
"Uh, when you two are finished talking about me like I'm not here, could I trouble someone for a drink?" Johnny asked. "Or is the pampering over? I could get it myself…" He sat forward, bracing his midsection again, preparing to rise.
"Sit still! I'll get it," Roy volunteered. "Anything for you, Cap?"
"Sure, whatever he's having." Hank replied.
Johnny gave a self-satisfied smile and relaxed back against the couch. Hank helped himself to Roy's previous spot on the chair.
Roy returned with three soft drinks, handed them out, and sat at the opposite end of the couch from his partner.
"Thanks, Pally." Johnny gulped his thirstily. "Guess I'm still a little dehydrated."
"You're in good shape, then. You'll find lots of drinks in the kitchen, thanks to Mike and Marco." Roy took a swig from his tumbler. "Did I mention Chet changed the oil in the Rover? And after he brought it here for you, he talked to your landlady about the mail. She's been keeping it for you."
"Wow," Johnny exclaimed quietly. He smiled humbly. "I guess a guy really knows who his friends are after somethin' like this. Not that I had any doubts."
The three sipped their beverages in silent reflection.
"Well," Hank said, breaking the silence. "One of the reasons I'm here is I wanted to tell you about my meeting with the chief."
"The chief?" Johnny asked, concerned. "Is something wrong? I hope you didn't get in some kind of trouble over all this, Cap. If anything, it's my f—"
"Would you shut up and let me talk?" Hank interrupted him, a hint of a smile on his face.
"Sure, Cap. Sorry." Johnny sipped his drink again, peering contritely over the rim of the glass.
"The chief and I had a long discussion about what happened," Hank explained. "This incident has gotten a lot of people's attention and raised a lot of concerns. Not just the fire department, either. The police are very concerned about a repeat performance because of the danger to the general public. It's bad enough what happened to you, John. But it's a miracle some innocent bystanders weren't killed by that maniac in the course of the chase."
Both Roy and Johnny nodded solemnly. The captain's words were chilling. What if someone – perhaps children, or members of a family – had been harmed by the deranged man's actions? It was too horrific to contemplate.
"Bottom line is, no one – not the fire department, not the police department – wants to take a chance on something like that happening again. The original committee who drafted the recent protocol is scheduling emergency meetings to review and revise it accordingly. I don't know what the end result's going to be, but whatever it is, it's bound to be safer and more sensible than this crazy business we've been forced into."
"It's too bad," Roy began, "that it had to take something like this to get across to them. Johnny could've easily been killed. I'd say it's pretty damn miraculous he survived it."
"I agree, Roy," Hank said. "No one intends to make light of what happened to Johnny. In fact, the chief was furious about it. I've never seen him so steamed up about something."
"It's true, though," Johnny added thoughtfully. "Someone else could have been hurt, or killed. I wish it hadn't happened at all. But I'm glad it was me and not some innocent citizen. We know our jobs are dangerous. We know every day we come to work we're taking a risk."
"Yes, you take a risk when you enter a structure fire, or when you speed to an emergency in the squad," Hank agreed. "But in the back of the ambulance? With a patient?" Hank shook his head no. "That shouldn't be a high-risk circumstance."
"What do you think will happen now, Cap?" Roy asked.
Hank shrugged. "I don't really know at this point. My guess is that the police will resume transporting these people to jail, as long as it's determined they're medically stable. That's going to be the hitch. Someone will have to make that determination, and that's likely to be the paramedics. So while you'll still be called to these kinds of scenes, you won't be transporting nearly the numbers you have been, which will reduce your risk and free up your services for others."
"That sounds reasonable," Johnny said. He tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a yawn.
Hank drained his glass. "I need to get going and let you rest." He rose and extended his hand to pat Johnny's shoulder. "It's good to see you home, Pal. You call me if you need anything. Anything at all. I mean that," he emphasized by pointing.
"I should get home, too," Roy said, standing. "Is there anything I can do for you before I go, Johnny?"
"Nah. I'm all set. Thanks to you and the guys."
"Okay. Call me anytime, day or night," Roy advised sternly.
"I will, I will. I'll be fine. Stop worrying."
"You heard the man, Roy," Hank said. "I think he's trying to get rid of us."
"I am," Johnny stated, smiling. "Get out of here."
The two bid hasty farewells and departed. Johnny sat in the quiet of the apartment for a few minutes, enjoying the solitude. He soon grew bored.
Peace and quiet? Too quiet!
He picked up the TV remote control and flipped the set on. Traversing through the channels, he came upon a re-run of Adam 12 in progress. With a contented sigh, he settled in for the program and soon became engrossed in the story line. By the end of the show, Johnny had lapsed into a restful sleep.
It was good to be home.
A huge thanks to Kenda for the speedy and invaluable beta read. I'm indebted! You're truly an asset to the fandom.
As always, my heartfelt appreciation to Tigger for the high-quality Emergency site she's developed and maintained over the past couple of years. It's an honor to have my stories housed here amidst those of some of the fandom's most respected authors. Tig was the first site owner to extend herself to me, lending her support, patience and advice while I toiled through my admittedly modest body of work. She always went the extra mile, formatting the stories and providing graphics in a way that showcased the tales very flatteringly. For that, I'll forever be grateful. And in the process, I made a great friend. You're the best, Tig. :o)